"How are today's herd of test subjects doing?" The Salrilian SimLab official queried the chief of torture.

"Test subjects 165 and 159 stopped functioning this morning."

A glint appeared in the SimLab Official's eyes. "And Test Subject 22?"

"Test Subject 22 has been operating for years. The others usually last a week at most."

Fascinating. While the others focused on comfort and morale, Test Subject 22 had focused solely on surviva. For years it had withstood the intense Salrilian torture needles, the electric rooms, the iron beatings. "Let's celebrate our success. Test Subject 22 is the most adaptable being we have encountered yet."

"I'll bring the bait."

- - - - -

He sat there in the corner, huddling in the darkness. His face was bloody, his long and unkempt beard was tattered and unshaven. His hair was long and torn, burnt at the ends. On his scarred back were the torn remnants of one uniform or another. He didn't remember.

He shivered like he always had, but today, if there was one, seemed different. The days seemed to melt into each other, with no discernable day or night, but somehow he remembered something. Unusual. They had spent years drilling the humanity out of him, turning him more into a type of animal than a person.

His fists clenched when he heard slithering behind the huge metal door. Force fields deactivated. Someone entered the room, shoved into the room by the Salrilian guards.

It was a young woman, wearing a blue-and-white uniform.... U..... E.... C.... he strained to remmber what the letters meant. She regarded him in panic. Then, something else entered the cell. No wait, it was more like a smell.... It smelled delicious! The familiar smell took a moment before he realized what the delightful aroma was. The smell of a baked potato!!!

It made him salivate fiercly. For years he had been fed the same grey goop, but this was real food! "You have done well." A translated voice boomed out from the source of the smell. "But we have one last test, on the effects of our other tests. We have here a delicacy from your world. You want it." A beautiful, but bloody broadsword landed on the floor with a clatter. The voice continued. "Kill her and you can have it."

He picked up the sword and pounced on her, blade raised high. He hacked and slashed in an animal frenzy, not listening to her screams of agony and begging for mercy. The Voice was pleased. The potato was tossed onto the floor right next to the woman, the force fields reactivated and the massive door closed, once again leavving him in complete darkness.

------------------
I know not who or what I am, nor where or why I am here, I remember nothing, and I know nothing; but while I don't know why, I do know is something is terribly wrong.

The Mariposa cruised into the Fortuna system and sidled up to the enormous Bazidanese station. The docking tube extended to the battleship and latched onto the starboard crew hatch. Minutes later, the hard dock was complete. Regent Minister of whatever was left of humanity Jackson Spann strode through the corridor and into the station. The honor guard there saluted. The Bazindanese ambassador greeted him.

"Welcome to Fortuna Freeport Minister Spann. You rooms have been prepared. Some of the other delegates are still arriving, so the talks won't begin for a day or so. Until then, please enjoy the amenities we have to offer here."

Spamo bowed back to the ambassador. "My thanks for your hospitality. I am eager to start the peace talks as well. But some rest and food sounds good right now. Lead the way Ambassador." Spamo didn't try to pronounce the ambassador's name until he had the pronunciation right. No use offending someone now. His stateroom was comfortable, and adequate for someone of his rank, though years of living in cramped shipboard cabins made the rooms seem spaciously lavish. There were also adjoining rooms to house his staff. Spamo thanked the ambassador profusely for the fine rooms before the Bazidanese official left. Then, Spamo walked over to the desk and keyed up a line with William Darkk. Darkk's face appeard on the monitor almost immediatly.

"Jacko, there you are."

"Hello William! I've finally made it here. I'm sorry I didn't arrive earlier. Getting the Mariposa out of Sol was a little hairy."

Darkk raised an eyebrow for a moment. "I don't doubt it. Oh, and I've heard of your 'promotion'. Self-imposed?"

"Yes Will. Don't worry, as soon as the talks here are done, I'm going to restructure a few things, if there is anything left to restructure. I don't really want to be in this position very long. But I want to get an Earth Government back on its feet."

"What kind of restructuring will you be planning on?" asked Darkk.

Spamo shook his head slightly. "I'll bring that up later. It takes more time than I've got here to discuss that. Don't worry though. It's nothing like the UEC. I like it a lot actually, it shows promise."

Darkk's eyebrow raised once again. Before he could answer, Spamo continued.
"There's a lot of work to do Darkk. And still lots of people out there who don't like us humans much."

Darkk nodded in agreement.

(Satisfactory? Sol in control of the Woven, Spamo leader in name only, that oughta be bleak enough.)
------------------
Ne Cede Malis Sed Contra Audientor Ito

(This message has been edited by El Spamo (edited 03-20-2001).)

(No one should post until Spamo realizes that more than 1/2 of the ships in the Sol system are hostile, 90% have cloaking, and all have better advantage ratings than the Gaitori/Human fleet)

(Human fleet? What human fleet? )

------------------
Time is the best teacher, yet it kills all of it's students.

(Cloaking really isn't as good as some people think it is
BTW, Pallas, could you email me some stuff on this Diety thing?
I'm looking forward to taking down a few immortal beings ;))

------------------
Formerly-Rampant Human-Coded AI

This RPG sucks! It's nothing but a bunch of behind-the-scenes talk and no story, and half of that doesn't make any sense because you don't tell the readers what the hell you are talking about. I'm just going to make my plot into a set of Chronicles.

------------------
I know not who or what I am, nor where or why I am here, I remember nothing, and I know nothing; but while I don't know why, I do know is something is terribly wrong.

(Precisely Slug. The human fleet pulled out of Sol afterwards, except for a few spy ships. Other than that, it's more or less at the mercy of everyone else. Now, enough with the OOC, on with the thread! Unless I need to change even MORE of my post, which I think satisfies everything.)

------------------
Ne Cede Malis Sed Contra Audientor Ito

Mag and his crew were just finishing the modifications to the transport. They had been towed to a trading post by a Gaitori search and rescue team, and everybody had assumed that the transport was theirs, and that they'd had some sort of accident on board. Now, the transport was heavily modified, and fit for the sort of things that Mag had gotten the Flamewave into.

The Integrity had gone under extensive changes. The hull structure had been heavily reinforced, and type of shield generators used on Ishiman Cruisers had been installed, making it a very durable little ship. High power engines, along with premium afterburners had been installed, nearly tripling the ship's top speed. For weapons, a rapid fire high-density photokinetic beam cannon, only found on the newest Ishiman military ships and the black market, had been installed on the side. Two concussion missile launchers had been installed, one on the top, one on the bottom, in concealed compartments. Most of the troop areas had been converted to concussion missile storage, allowing them to hold five hundred missiles. The launchers were unscannable while hidden, and they could extrude above and below, respectively, the surface of the transport if they needed to fire. One seller on the black market had had Audemedon and Salrillian parts for sale, and Mag had purchased and installed a hologram generator, a superlight booster array, and a stealth shield, along with the typical dark Salrillian armor.

The mess hall had been cleaned up, and a filter had been installed on the viewports to keep harmful amounts of radiation out. Several droids had been bought to run the mess hall like a restaurant, and combat droids had been bought and stationed around the ship to defend from EVATs, which had proven to be a major problem for the Flamewave. The parts of the troop area that hadn't been converted to concussion missile storage was now the cargo bay, and had been filled with various expensive human wines, which Mag was hoping to sell to the newly reestablished UNS.

As the Integrity slid out of the docking bay doors, Mag set a course for the Sol jumpgate, and the Integrity then created a bright flash as it engaged superlight.

------------------
"I am the supreme dictator of the universe, it's just that nobody knows about it yet."
"Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow."

(This message has been edited by Mag Steelglass (edited 03-21-2001).)

Wind of Blades idled slowly up to the asteroid.
700 meters...
600 meters...
500...
400...
350...
300...
250...
200...
150...
100...
50 meters

"No mistaking it at this range, brother."
"Yeah sis, it's one of them."

A small pod dropped from the ATR next to the HVD. The pod shot over to the asteroid.
After a few seconds, the asteroid changed course 30° left and then vanished from sight.

"I still don't like this."
"It's just something if we ever have to go to last ditch scenarios. I'm praying we never even have to come for it again."

A jumpgate opened, and the ships rushed through.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NGC-56781 VII

The seventh planet in orbit around a sol-type star. It was a gas giant, vast, massive, and dangerous. Perfect conditions for a DEF base.

Spamo's "government", the UNS, had put Darkk on perminant retainer. Currently, the real power was in the hands of the Woven, and the thought of a conspiracy ruling Earth made Darkk nausious. Fortunatly, Spamo was working on it. Darkk would wait for him.

In the meantime, a very nice base was being put together. Escapade had been fitted with a docking coller, allowing it to hold the Tarantula Carriers. But that wasn't the biggest modification. Structural hard points had been reinforced, and anchors attached, allowing the ship to hang in the upper atmosphere of the gas giant by means of a giant balloon, several km in diameter, made of Ishiman Advanced Materials Inc. SmartSilk™. It would hang there and serve as a base.

To launch ships clear of the gravity well, some plasma boosters had been purchased. To launch the Escapade clear of the gravity well, special procedures would be needed. First, a KarbonThread (Ž IAM) planetary cable (1.2e6 km long) would be fired, attached to a large rocket. Once clear of the planet, the rocket would open, revealing the solar sail, another product purchased from IAM during his stay in Ishima. The solar sail would pull on the tether, dragging the ship clear of the planet.

For now, Darkk would settle in to drill and wait for instructions. He was looking forward to combat with the "rebel Obish" he was hearing rumors about...

(Pallas, PLEASE email me and fill me in.)

------------------
Formerly-Rampant Human-Coded AI

Nine years.
Nine years, 7 months.
Nine years, 7 months, three days, 5 hours, 46 minutes, 22 seconds.

Most test subjects wwere lucky to survive a week in the simlabs.

Test Subject huddled in the cold blackness, his sweat had colled to chunks of ice in his mangled and long hair. The temperature was as it had always been during those nine years, but tonight it felt colder, angrier. He knew he wouldn't survive much longer.

The Salrilians had worn him down to skin and bones, tortured him, confined him and tested him for nine years, but sooner or later he would give out; even he knew that.

He could feel his head drooping and his mind slowing down. He stopped shivering as his body began to give up.

Perhaps they were the mad ramblings of a dying and lonely man, but outside, sounds could be heard. Gunfire in the hallway, explosions outside, flames licking the cielings and walls, and cries of Salrilians at this unpredicted event.

The metal floor shook, sending him sliding to the room as the artificial gravity began to fluxuate. He salivated at the aroma of meat. Then he promptly realized the aroma was of burning flesh. He fell onto his side and spilled out the meager contents of his stomach in disgust.

The heavy door in front of him clanged loudly.

He wiped his mouth with his bare arms and coughed the rest up.

The door began to buckle.

He finished coughing and, with great effort, sat up, panting.

The door gave way and splintered, spilling intense light into the dark chamber. He raised his arms as if to protect himself from the bright light which burned his eyes, accustomed to the darkness.

He could feel himself being carried off, dragged upright by the arms out of the room and down the hall. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was an insectoid alien giving him a concentrated look....

------------------
I know not who or what I am, nor where or why I am here, I remember nothing, and I know nothing; but while I don't know why, I do know is something is terribly wrong.

The Woven - really the Salrillians - had Earth under harsher control than they had during the Cantharaan occupation. The population, already halved twice by the years of war was once again separated out and culled of any who might pose a threat. Millions of Salrillians and various others under their control were being shipped in and millions of humans were being moved to other captured worlds a thousand light years away to speed their 'integration' into Salrillian culture. Then, in a particularly blatant and shallow attempt to pacify the humans, they had appointed Jackson Spann as the leader, then they had left the hobbled planet, but not before leaveing several million secret police agents, both Human and Alien to infiltrate the population, and watch their every move.

Wizr was shocked. He had watched the proceedings, he had made as much effort as he could, but the Salrillians were driven. The Ishiman claim to Earth was not to be honored. It would be annexed by the Prophets of Salril, who would oversee its 'reconstruction'. Wizr knew what that meant.

The Salrillians had already cut up and demoralized the population. They would go further. Then they would go through Earth and the colonies, and gouge them for every ounce of resources on them. Then they would leave Earth as a remote outlying colony on the edge of their influence, perhaps graceing it with a refueling station or a large orbital platform. But Earth, if it could not be saved, would be destined to be a gutted backwater, and humanity a washed out race.

Wizr would have none of it.

He had his hopes for the Phylidions. They considered themselves brothers of the humans, fruit from the same tree. The Phylidions were as near Human as could be found in the galaxy. Rumor and superstition said that both races were descended from some ancient galactic power, and while it is widely held to be nonsense, there are many similarities between the ancient civilizations on Dominus and Earth. Through extraordinary luck in having an early First Contact, the Phylidions had developed into an interstellar Empire hundreds of years ago, and upon discovering that the Galaxy was a cruel, evil place to young races, had locked themselves away inside their vast corner of the spiral arm, closeing their borders to keep out all outside influence, blocking hopes of expansion out into the galactic west, to the outer arms past the 84th Radii.

The Ishimans had tried to establish contact many times, but the Phylidions had been entirely unresponsive. They were all but forgotten thoughtout the spiral arm, which made it espescially curious that the Phylidion fleet had shown up to save Earth. Unfortunately, their entrance had been short, and as soon as the battle ended, their fleet had retreated, leaveing analysts wondering what possible motivation they might have had.

Wizr needed to find out. The Intelligence comittees and the Foreign Relations comittees were already hard at work trying to figure out as much as they could about the Imperium, hoping that some internal change had sparked a reform in their foreign policy. Wizr needed to muster all possible force before the Salrillians had tightened their grip on Earth, and regained their footing.

He had already allocated spent trillions of credits on Humanity, half of it out of his own pocket, and he was not going to allow the investment to falter because of some half baked delusions by the Prophets. They were in trouble too. The intelligence comitee had several reports of trouble on Salril, and Wizr's unoficial contacts had said that Salril Prime had been ruined by an Audemedon fleet, while their armada was away fighting at Sol. The reports spoke of a tremendous ship that crushed the defence fleet and left Salril defenceless, to be ravaged by huge monsters that spat clouds of poisonous gas.

Wizr knew what they were. The Alenade. They had been the subject of children's stories while he was growing up, a creation of the Grolk, they were supposed to roam the galaxy, devouring planets that stood in their way. The last time they has struck, his grandparents hadn't been born. Audemed had found a terrible weapon.

------------------
Faris eck Vaenar Maletena-Wizr, Trey'ish of the Ishiman reestablishment comittee.
"I don't think I'm alone when I say that I'd like to see more and more planets fall under the ruthless domination of our solar system."

A terrible weapon in his brothers. Borne of the same creators, the Alenade had fought alongside Audemed to destroy their captors. That was more than two thousand years ago. Now, they were together again, working to fight a new captor. The Alenade were now circleing a distant star, filled and bloated with the tremendous ammount of organic matter they had cleansed from Salril, tremendous sails outstretched to gather the heat and light, photosythesizeing several thousand years worth of energy, makeing up for the time spent lost, wandering in deep space, storeing energy in preparation for the jump to the next starsystem. Normally, this took hundreds of years floating through darkness to reach the next system to ravage. Now, with Pharris' ship to move them, the Alenade were free to gorge at will. And gorge they would. With Audemedon and Pharris to protect them, they could move through Salrillian space with no fear, wreacking havoc as they did.

The Salrillians had not had time to figure out what the Alenade were yet, and were too young a race to have records of their previous attacks. They were the stuff of legends even at the time of their creation, and they were unheard of in this time. They had surprise on their side, and they would use it.

------------------
NEW NAME FOR THE DREADNOUGHT
The Hard-Boiled Egg
Why?
Because she cant be beaten!

He awoke with a start. Fear, hunger, disorientation, all whirling around him like a tornado. He saw a pair of the terrifying insectoid aliens lumbering towards him, instinctively he lashed out, leaping high in the air. In a panicked rage, he clamped his eyes shut and clenched his teeth tensly, letting his arms move freely to their liking.

He gradually became aware of the intense silence. He peeked one eye open. Somehow, he had gotten on top of the two crumpled and lifeless bodies of the aliens. he looked down at his hands, stained an intense green from the copper-based alien blood.

He spun around, reeling in terror, as the door behind him opened. He saw another alien waddling towards him. It spoke in a voice he did not understand for a minute. Then, the words gradually soaked in as he remembered the language.

"You killed two of ours. You call us Gaitori. From now on, I am your master."

------------------
I know not who or what I am, nor where or why I am here, I remember nothing, and I know nothing; but while I don't know why, I do know is something is terribly wrong.

David Bowman wandered slowly across the desert, his feet sinking in the sand with each step. Behind him, his tracks stretched back seven miles to a motorcycle at the bottom of a deep wadi. His long white robe and headress flowed around him, keeping him cool even in the heat of noon. He looked at his watch, then up at the sky. The twin suns burned even through his Oakley sunglasses. He dropped his bag and pulled out a communicator. He folded out an antenna, and waited until the screen flashed.

Signal Acquired. Time to LOS: 00:17:35:32

The clock moved to the top corner of the screen, and a status screen came up, showing the vital statistics of the SS Andalusa that he was connected to, in orbit passing overhead. A calm monotone voice came out of the speaker.

"Hello Dave. How are you today?"

"I'm doing fine, ACK, How are things up there?"

it took several seconds for the message to relay up to the Andalusa, to be boosted out into the Nebula, where the SS Barbarrossa was ramscooping fuel for her next voyage. On board, the ACK Intelligence (TM) Ship Management Computer piped out a response that shot down to the Andalusa, and in turn down to Bowman on the ground.

"All systems are running at full functionality, all cargo is secure, and refueling is ahead of schedule at 56% of capacity."

"Excellent work Ack, now about these weird sand till lines you saw, where are they? I'm looking at the old photo, and I don't see jack. I had to leave the bike behind at a cliff, so I'm pretty lost. Could you give me a hand?"

"Of course Dave, allow me to fix on your location."

Bowman's screen changed to a live feed from his ship above him, it started out just on him, then panned out to show the whole area.

"Cool, Ack. So where am I?"

"You are right in the area. The dunes all around you are inconsistent with those in the rest of the region, though those about twenty yards to your direct north are particularly irregular. I would suggest a thorough recording of the area on video to allow further examination later."

"Very good, ACK, I'll get on it. Unless something strange happens, I'll be back on the Andalusa before the next flyover. See you then."

"Good bye Dave, Good luck."

The connection dropped, and Bowman switched the pad to camera mode, and began walking to his north. He couldn't tell the difference in the dunes, but the weird pattern had been clear from the air. Perhaps he could do a radar scan of the area when he returned. It certainly was a geological oddity.

He was just at the bottom of a dune, museing over the possibilities when the sand beneath him gave out and he found himself in a bizzare dark room, on a large pile of sand that spilt through a smashed skylight, covering most of the floor in a huge pile. He pulled off his sunglasses to see in the dark, useing the light from the camera to illuminate the walls of the room. He approached them, and found them to be lined with computer terminals. He cirled the room once with his camera, and then returned to a door on the wall. He tried the switches, then he trid banging on it, then he tried prying it open with the tip of his shovel. It didn't budge. He was shaking with excitement. He was amazed by what he saw, and scrambled back up the sand pile to the ceiling, and began jogging back to where he left his bike. He certainly would come back, but he knew an old friend of his who would be very interested in the remnants of an advanced civilization in the middle of a distant, unexplored nebula.

He rode the bike back to his lander, then launched, preparing to rendezvous with the Andalusa, already thinking through the contents of the message he would write to William Darkk.

------------------
NEW NAME FOR THE DREADNOUGHT
The Hard-Boiled Egg
Why?
Because she cant be beaten!

Mag had been on the surface of Earth for two weeks, and had sold most of the wines already. The Salrillians were really in control- the UNS didn't have much power at all, but Mag was allowed to sell to the human civilians, as long as he gave 25% of his cargo and half of his earnings from selling the other 75%. This brought his revenue way down, but he decided that it would be good for morale to stay anyway. The human crew members became very excited and relaxed, and their state of mind found its way to the rest of the crew. Mag was currently working on the engines, fine tuning them, when a Salrillian approached him. Mag turned off the laser torch and tinted his "eye" back to red, instead of dark brown.

"Can I help you?" Mag asked the Salrillian.

"Yes... well, I'm from the Salrillian security forces, and I'm here to investigate your ship and ask you a few questions."

"Go ahead," Mag said uneasily. The Salrillian and Audemedon parts on the Integrity had been bought off the black market. He didn't know exactly what the Salrillian would do when he found out.

The Salrillian spoke into a communications pad for a bit, and Mag lowered the platform he was on, so he could get off and talk with the Salrillian.

"One of our scanning and investigation teams is on the way. Now, onto the questions. First off, what model of ship is this?"

"An Ishiman transport. I don't know exactly what model it is."

"I see. And how did you acquire it?"

"My crew and I were on it, when it got disabled, and the previous crew all got killed when that happened..."

"And where were you at the time?"

"I was in the Sol system when it was disabled, and it drifted through a jumpgate into the Free Trade Zone."

The questions continued, and Mag could tell that the Salrillian was not pleased. A bit later, the scanning and investigation crew finished working, and their boss talked briefly with the interrogator. The interrogator turned to Mag.

"Well, I'm going to go review the information we collected, but I'll be back soon. Thank you for your cooperation."

Mag called his crew, and told them to get ready to leave. He was glad he'd bought those combat droids, because he had a feeling he was going to need them really soon.

------------------
"Why do we have to mow our lawns? What's wrong with the 'natural' look?!?"
Visit my site, if you're interested:
(url="http://"http://www.MSPlugDevelopment.n3.net")www.MSPlugDevelopment.n3.net(/url)
Email me at vertical_file@yahoo.com with a review and a rating (out of 100) for an Ares plug, and I'll put it on the reviews section.

(This message has been edited by Mag Steelglass (edited 03-29-2001).)

Darkk was feeling quite excited as he climbed down the rope ladder into the pit.
When Dave had notified him of this find, he had taken Outrun and come at once.

His ship was tail-sitting 15 meters away from the hole, ready to leave.
But Darkk didn't want to leave soon.

All around him were dozens of ancient pieces of computer equipment. A quick check of the insturments indicated that none of the electronics around him were recieving power. Neither was the door. Ah well. A quick vibro-cutter sweep cut through the locking latches, and Darkk slid the door open. The scanners indicated something down the hall had power.

Darkk slowly entered the room, noticing the clothes of now-decomposed ... somethings ... on the floor off to the side. It was quickly apparent that he had seen the writing that was everywhere here before. He remebered the meanings of the words, but couldn't place the language at the moment.

"Main Power" - the switch was at "standby"
"Main Activation" - off
"Main Computer" - down
"Startup instructions..."

This was interesting. Apparently, in their final moments, the inhabitants of this space had attempted to bring a computer online. All his life, Darkk had been plauged with curiosity. He read the instructions, then fliped power to "on", computer to "activate", and pushed in the activation button. The screen asked for the authorization code, and he entered the nonsense-sequence on a card nearby - it was accepted.

A long bar-shaped outline appeared, and gradually began to fill. While he waited, Darkk scanned the atmosphere for fun. After getting bored, detecting nothing more exciting than a few traces of acidity and some ancient organic compounds that indicated the planet was once inhabitable, he turned back to the monitor.

The bar was gone. Suddenly, he felt something attach itself to the top of his head and lift him off the ground. He suddenly began to remeber things, his memory spiralling forward and forward from memories of his childhood so early he could not normally remeber them to his early adulthood to his experiences on the Ares to his fighting against the Cantharans and the Salrilians and the UEC and on and on...

Finally he fell back down to the ground. Dave, who had been staring up at him, ran over and picked him up. Suddenly, he became aware of some text flashing across the screen.

_
Primary initialization complete
Self-image formation based on accuired subject
loading personality.ailib .............. done
loading heirustics.ailib ..... done
loading fighting.explib ........................ done
loading selfimage.ailib ...... done
Startup Complete
_

Darkk suddenly noticed a glow in a corner. It intensified and shifted, until it took the form of a young woman with long, cyan hair, and a blank look on her face.

"Hello, William Darkk. AI Enforcment unit 01 is functioning within acceptable paramiters. No further organic intervention is found to be necissary," she said.

Suddenly, the blank look left her, replaced by an inteligent, inquisive expression.
"So, you're a 'human'. Interesting past. You're not exactly the species I'd expected to be awakened by, but that's irrelevent."

"Oh, so the reason your hologram is that of a human is that you were awakened by one?" Darkk responded.

"Yes. The procedure is to base the self-image off the lifeform that activated me, altering for personal variations..."

"Like gender!" snickered Dave, realizing that the image looked like an effiminate Darkk.

"Well, it's based off his sister too, but there is a family resemblance," replied the image. "and in any case, I have work to do, and must be leaving. See you again."

Suddenly the image faded, and there was a violent rumbling noise. Then the ground heaved, and Darkk and Dave were tossed in the air. As they fell, they noticed that they seemed to fall oddly slow. When they landed, they felt slightly lighter.

When they ran outside to the Outrun , sensors painted a shocking picture - a quarter of the planet's mass on the side facing away from them had almost disappeared - not quite, as a densification of the nebula in that region accounted for it, but it was quite gone from the planet. On the screen, a faint blip, visable just a moment, indiated something had left the other side under cloak.

Darkk and Dave hurriedly launched before the atmospheric shockwave reached their position, clearing the atmosphere just ahead of it.

------------------
Formerly-Rampant Human-Coded AI

(This message has been edited by Fleet Admiral Darkk (edited 03-29-2001).)

(This message has been edited by Fleet Admiral Darkk (edited 03-29-2001).)

He folded his arms and shrank into the seat. The Gaitori were straightforward, that was one thing, but he had no way of knowing they were not lying to him. With no other source of information, he was forced to believe them.

"Welcome back, friend! I am gy'Tall of the Information Senate. When we stole you back from your captors in the simlabs, we were saddenned to discover you had nearly none of your origional memories intact. You and I were once good friends, so it is my job to... restore your memory."

"Who am I?"

"You have no name. You are a human."

"What is a human?"

"Humans are the subspecies of the Gaitori. We created you all eons ago to be our servants, however your were all but wiped out by our enemies the Obain. You are the last survivor of your race."

"I.... I am?"

"When was the last time you saw one of your kind?"

"I don't remember..."

"See? You are the last of your kind. Repeat it, human."

"I... am the last of my kind."

"Next question please."

"Who are the Obain and why did they wipe my people out?"

"The Obain are a race of evil beings, xenophobic and rampant. They are the enemies of all the races in the Galaxy. They were first found by your people, the humans. The Obain eradicated your people because they were the ones that introduced them to the rest of the galaxy."

"But... but why? How many did they kill? Who were my people?"

"As I said before, the Gaitori created your people to serve us. Under our guidance and nurturing, your flourished to a population of billions. The Obain are completely immune to reason, logic, pity. They brought a reign of terror to your people after bringing them to your knees, and then they finished them off. The Obain are a secluded and evil race, and by exposing them, humanity brought on it's wrath."

He was shocked. "How can... I mean, what... erm..."

"You want to know how we can stop them."

"Yes... tell me!"

"Before you were captured and imprisioned by the Salrilians-"

"Who are the Salrilians?"

".... brothers of the Obain. They too reign terror unto this galaxy. As I was saying, you were an agent we sent into the Obain's space. In the last moments before your capture, you said you had tapped into an immense power that, if used right, could be used to destroy the Obain forever, but your were captured befoe you could transmit that information."

"I was?"

"Yes. We need you to tell us what you knew."

"But.. I don't remember!"

"What was it? A weapon? A ship? A creature?" gy'Tall got closer and closer to him, breathing heavily.

"I...." He gasped.

Disappointed, gy'Tall slumped back. He voiced the security speaker and left the room. "Put the human back into hybernation. We'll continue the interrogation tommorrow...."

------------------
I know not who or what I am, nor where or why I am here, I remember nothing, and I know nothing; but while I don't know why, I do know is something is terribly wrong.

He studied the records carefully. Not a trace. He was astounded. Smiling gently, Wizr wrote a note of congratulations to his bookkeepers, the accounting office of the Reestablishment Committee. They had hidden the cost of a tremendous space platform and all its furnishings in the year budget without making so much as a ripple. He would arrange for some form of reward, but he had more important things to do.

He would furnish the space station as a secret base of operations for a new UNS resistance. It was already being towed into a distant nebula. From there, the humans could plot their eventual liberation without the Salrillians staring over their shoulder. It was a tremendous facility, capable of housing ten million people, plus the crews of the hundreds of ships that could stay in its hangars, bays and docking rings. Situated nicely in the middle of an asteroid field, it would also have plenty of resources for the construction facilities that it had. He hoped that any sort of haven from the occupied planets would be of help. He hoped Admiral Spann would be able to use it.

Another piece of interesting news from the intelligence committee was that the Phylidion border was open to select ships and cargo. A new Ocitate had been appointed, and was cautiously experimenting at foreign trade. Badizan, Ishima and Elejee-based traders had caught wind, and were rushing to see who would be the first to reap the rewards of a ripe new market. Wizr, however had plans for his own trade group. The 5000-odd merchant vessels that had enrolled in the "Lycinian Trade Union" had loaded up their holds at the news, and had launched for the frontier while all other ships heading towards dominus were impounded at the ports, or stopped for customs searches at the border. Wizr's ships had little competition to worry about from Ishiman traders.

Wizr pocketed his palmtop, as the ship landed in the docking bay of one of Salril's new "mining stations" in Sol. It was built like a fortress, with gun emplacements like one. He was not allowed to land on Earth, but he would soon fix that. He walked to the office of the Lieutenant viceroy. He would get what he wanted. It was what he did best.

------------------
Faris eck Vaenar Maletena-Wizr, Trey'ish of the Ishiman reestablishment comittee.
"I don't think I'm alone when I say that I'd like to see more and more planets fall under the ruthless domination of our solar system."

It had been a long sad trip back to Sol.

I'm their leader now. I have to help my people.

Spann stared out of the window of his seat of his executive transport. Earth lay below, the once beautiful blue orb scarred by the hulks of crashed ships and stray munitions. After three occupations and nearly endless war, Earth had been reduced to a near total wasteland. Spann was home. He could still remember the humiliating "peace talks." The Woven divided up UNS territory like a cake, each taking the piece they liked, and the Salrillians taking Sol as an annexed territory.
_

The Salrillian delegate stood.

"On the case of the division of Sol, Woven members shall receive their alloted portions as controlled by the UEC. "

The Cantharan, and Gaitori ambassadors looked pleased. They both gained much. The Bazidanese, Elejee and Obish were indifferent, almost sympathetic to the UNS. They dared not show any outward sympathy.

"Item 2, Ishiman claims to the control of the Sol system are not valid. Sol shall be annexed as part of the Prophets of Salril. Further reconstruction shall be under our jurisdiction."

A ripple passed through the room, and Spamo shivered.

"And finally, Admiral Jackson Spann shall be appointed the leader of humanity, and shall abide by the decisions of the Prophets, as they benefit Sol."

A slap in the face, in diplomatic terms. He would lead humanity. He would lead a broken race, ravaged by war, decimated by occupation, and now subjugate to those they had fought against for so long... _

"Sir, we're landing now. Please strap in."
The voice brought Spamo out of his stupor. He fumbled with the restraints on his seat before securing them in place. The transport dropped into the atmosphere, and angled towards the western coast of what was once the North American continent. The easter side of that continent was a moonscape of craters and radioactive fallout, a result of the ferocious battles held on the surface. Minutes later, they landed at the captial of Earth. Spamo walked into the ground transport that would take him to his sham of a leadership.

<><><><><>

"Sir, there's some documents here for you to sign."

Elizabeth, Spamo's personal aid laid a thick sheaf of papers on his desk. Written in Salrillian, Spamo had no doubt that they were more initiatives and acts from Salril intent on removing the identity and will of humanity. Spamo picked up his pen to begin signing the odious documents. Then he looked up. Liz was still standing there.

"Yes Liz?"

"Sir, there's more." she motioned to the stack of papers.

Spamo lifted the top of the stack, and the middle sections were cut out to reveal a small pad. Spamo lifted out the pad and began reading. He looked back up at Liz.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes sir. Everything is in place. The transport leaves in two hours."

<><><><><><><><>

Spamo brought up a comm with the Salrillian ambassador on his palmtop.
"Look, I'll sign those acts of yours as soon as I get back. I'm sure they can wait that long."

"Minister Sspann, I would appreciate those documents signed sooner. Surely others can make the trip for you. Your place is here."

"No Sri'thyss, I've made that clear. It's my duty to inspect the new mining emplacements at Alpha Centauri. I'll be back within the week."

"Thiss is totally unacceptable Spann..."

"Goodby Sri'thyss. See you in a week." Spamo closed the communication with a smile. The doorway to the transport closed behind him. Spamo walked to his seat and strapped himeslf in next to his aid.

"This is it Liz." he said. The transport rumbled as it took off. Liz's hand crept into Spamo's as the transport climbed into orbit.

...
"Shuttle Rhine transmitting clearance codes."

"Clearance codes acceptd Rhine. Proceed."

Spamo's shuttle soared throgh the silence of space, and into the glowing jumpgate. Some time later, the shuttle emerged at the edge of the Alpha Centauri system.

"This is the shuttle Rhine requesting immediate assistance. Repeat, this is the shuttle..."

The communication cut out as the shuttle was engulfed in arcing electricity. Hull plates blackend. The crew on the orbital station were in a frenzy preparing a rescue ship. Too late. The Rhine burst apart in a million glittering fragments, showering the station with tiny tiny meteorites.

The communique went out a short while later. Minister Spamo was killed in a freak accident involving engine malfunction and catastrophic failure of hull integrity. His executive transport was destroyed. No surviviors. The Prophets were pleased. One very troublesome human gone.

<><><><><>

"WHAT!? You've got to be kidding."

"I'm sorry sir. That's what the news says."

Maletena Wizr sank into his chair in disbelief. Minister Jackson Spann was dead. Not of a battle, or old age, but of a freak accident in the middle of space. It seemed impossible, but it was true.

"Order a full investigation. I smell foul play."

<><><><><><>

"Sarah, it's not possible. How did it happen?"

Sarah Darkk pursed her lips in distress. "Apparently there was a major malfunction of the engines on his shuttle. It showed totally disabled, including ejection systems. He died in the explosion."

Darkk shook his head. "No. Not like that. Not Spann. He's too much of a hardass to go down like that."

"I know Will. I'll see what I can find out."

<><><><><><>

A small pod drifted in space. Hours passed, then a freighter passed nearby. The freighter was quite unremarkable, one of the hundreds of scavengers hungry for making a profit off the tons of salvage made available by the recent wars. The pod was just another piece of metal to make a profit off of. The pod was tractored into the cargo bay, and opened by the crew.

"Wait! That pod is special. All of you get out. Except you Janson, and you Dek. You stay here."

Captain Yar was a burly man, well suited for the tough work of interstellar salvage. He pried open the small pod. Light poured in on the inhabitants. Yar looked down at a three blinking humans. Then he grinned.

"'Bout time you got here Jack. I was wondering if you weren't going to show up."

Spamo crawled stiffly out of the tiny craft. "And I've no doubt that you'd be just as happy to leave me out there Yar you ol' pirate."

Yar laughed roughly. "Woulda saved me a load o' trouble tha' for sure. Now hurry and get outta there."

Spamo helped out Liz and Noah, the pilot of the transport. They were led across the cargo bay by Yar to a pile of rusty metal and twisted piping. One side of the heap was a door.
"Here ya go Jack. She looks like ****, but she'll get you where yer goin'. Good luck."

Spamo opened the door to the tiny craft. Liz and Noah climbed inside and began to prep it for launch while Dek pulled off some of the extraneous rusted metal. Then he too, climbed into the craft.

"Thank you Yar. You're a good man. I hope that when this is over, we'll both be able to drink over it." Spann saluted to the grizzled captain.

"Aye Jack. You too. Safe journey now."

The small ship drifted out into space. The thrusters burned, and took it towards a merchant jumpgate nearby. Four people, another ship in the masses traders proliferating in the galaxy. Nobody would notice at all.

<><><>

(Spann's disappeard for a while. He'll be back very soon though. Don't worry.)

------------------
Ne Cede Malis Sed Contra Audientor Ito

_
New life
New life, fresh from its prison, now walking in the air
Stretching its damp limbs, tossing its legs
Scampering in the tall dewy grass
Running, sumersaulting
Seeking bounderies, finding, testing, crossing
Reseeking, refinding, retesting, recrossing
And enjoying being ALIVE
_

The Bazidanese convoy sailed straight ahead after leaving the jumpgate. It was carrying a cargo of valuable military electronics, destined for an Obish colony nearby. 14 transports, escorted by 2 battleships, 12 escort cruisers, and a destroyer.

Suddenly, a jumpstream opened right on top of them. 10 Cantharan cruisers, 2 carriers, and an HVD leaped out - all broadcasting their owners as "AZK Raider Group". The carriers superlighted to either side of the rear battleship, and poured in broadsides while pounding everything near with missles. The cruisers dropped out on the rear of the destroyer, shreading it, while the HVD blasted the Bazidanese escort cruisers to bits. The lead battleship went up in short order.

No pirate losses.

By the time the Gaitori patrol arrived, the transports had been so thoroughly gutted that the ships had to be identified by DNA analysis of the residual bloodstains of the crews, left sticking to the metal corridors when the airlock seals were slashed open.

All security camera footage and sensor logs had been erased by large EMPs detonated in the computer rooms of each transport.