Adolph Hitler stood at a podium at the Olympics and spoke of the dawning of the most glorious age in history. His voice boomning and commanding, and his movements aggressive and deliberate, and the crowd cheering just as vehemently with every line of the speech. Even though the diffused signal was polished and sharpened by every implement available on the Left hand of Doz , there was still no color, a fuzzy image and bad sound quality. Yet although the Salrilians had collected a plethora of detailed scientific information of this odd species, this broadcast (which was only now reaching this star system, being broadcast in the primative radio waves) was quite possibley the most important; for it demonstrated when they reached this technology, what they looked like, and millions of subtle details of their psychology.

Mek Het crouched down (an agressive and dominating gesture of the Cantharans) and pondered what he was seeing. "And they broadcasted this how long ago?" He asked the floating worm next to him.

Ninety-Six Cantharis standard years ago. Roughly One-Hundred and Twelve of theirs.

Mek Het said nothing in response, know the 'telepathic' ability of the Salrilian liason would signal his urge for the worm to continue.

This was broadcast out at the time of a pan-global military conflict. This species was brought to our attention by the end of that conflict- the detonation of an atomic nuclear fission weapon They have advanced since, but primarily the advancement is limited to technology. Because of this, they almost exterminated themselves and their biosphere in another very recent pan-global conflict.

This did not bode well to Mek Het. During his time on the Crusades he's noticed that nuclear fission is not long before interstellar flight. "Have they left their planet yet?"

(/i)Yes, and they have launched interstellar colony ships. However, those ships were launched before the meteor impact. The ships themselves are primitive sub-light vehicles, and the species has not yet advanced beyond radio communication.(/i)

"You're certain?"

Always, Som of Tay Ros. Anyway, the prophets forecast that due to their recent conflict, they will not have interstellar capability for quite some time, and it will be even more time for them to aquire the ambiton and resources for it.

"So I'll assume that extermination won't be necessary this time?"

Odds are .0013% that extermination will be needed.

"Looks pretty simple, but how useful will they be? They're prone to infighting and are fresh out of a world war."

Recomended procedure is quarentine.

Mek Het tried to hide his disdain. "So why are you asking for the force of Tay Ros for this?"

Merely a stepping stone and formality. It furthers the guise of your 'Crusade' and the location makes a good stopover point on the way to Gaitori space.

Now it was making sense. The Gaitori, while not very advanced in technology were highly advanced in infrastructure-they built cheaply, efficiently and quickly, and were already building an empire. Their neighbors, the Obish, were also building an empire, and the budding interstellar nations were on the road to war. The Gaitori however, were a little more gullible and nowhere near as stubborn as the Obish, and with a little force would bow down before the Order.

Ah, I assume we have nothing more to discuss?

"No, I believe not. Thank you and farewell, oh prophet."

The floating worm bowed its head, and proceeded out of the bridged flanked by two metal arachnids.

Osirus AFB, July 26th, 02:15 AST

Reid was once again at a bar. Probably his tenth time int three days. Tonight he was rapping the day in the Officer's Club. The activity was a little odd tonight. A strange buzz and apprehension along with a noticable increase in workload among the lower ranks, and a lot of tight lips, ear whisperings and closed-door discussions among the upper echelon. He didn't care. With the way the new world was shaping up it was probably a problem with the patterns of wallpaper.

"Evening Reid," Said a familiar voice.

Reid looked to his left to see the aged face of Richard "Buck" Rogers, another former pilot from the 7th Airborn. "Howdy, Buck. Had a feeling I'd run into you here."

"Yeah, it's like a little family reunion for those of us that are left. You know Mark Pharris is up here, too."

"I know, ran into him at the wingman's bar across the base. He made it to Major now." Reid took a pull from his drink. "What are you sitting at these days?"

"Colonel. Never thought I'd your superior. Hell, I figured you'd be running this place."

Reid smiled. "Doesn't bug me. The amount of command I got was enough. You know me."

"Yeah, I know you but I still can't understand why you threatened to retire if they promoted you."

"Because I knew I was that valuable."

"Well it's unfortunate." Buck leaned in closer and suddenly got very serious. "Because if you were a higher rank you'd know there's something big is going on."

Reid shook his head. "Yeah, everyone is fretting about something. But how big could it be? It's not like there's a war going on."

Buck grabbed Reid's arm. "I'm serious, Reid. This is way beyond some PR bull****. This is the biggest thing since the war."

That statement made Reid pause. Buck, like all combat veterans, never made light of the war. "Well I'm only a Major so I'm out of the loop for a while."

"Actually..." Buck dug into his uniform's breast pocket and produced an envelope with a UN seal on it. Reid knew what was happening-he'd shredded about a dozen of them before.

"Buck, you know I c-"

"For god's sake, sign the damn papers! Now I know I can't order you to do it, but as a friend I can ask you Reid, please pull your head out of your ass for once."

Reid took the papers and stared at them for a while, before finishing off the rest of his drink. "I'll decide when I'm a little more sober."

"You've got until 19:00 hours to decide."

------------------
sdrawkcab dootsrednu tub sdrawrof devil si efil

Minister Jommo sucked up another D’Saagro nut from the dispenser on his right and chewed thoughtfully on it. The control deck of the Silent Night Predator hummed and glowed quietly in the low lighting. It lacked the superfluous view screen that many space vessels felt the need to have. The ship was alone, and felt so out on the outermost very rim of Elejeetian space. Alone or not, it did not need escort, being capable of outrunning or outfighting anything it was likely to fall foul of. Nevertheless, Jommo felt ill at ease...

“You are troubled Jommo” said Anic quietly.

“Correct.”

“I suppose it told you to wait...”

“Yes.”

“I did warn you it would.”

“You were as ever, correct”
The two were presently alone on the Command Deck.
Jommo dwarfed Anic by a factor of at least three. Elejeetians were rather large and bulky creatures.
The Minister imbibed another nut slowly. D’Saagro nuts were somewhat addictive, used by most of the Elejeetian population. They grew only on the homeworld, and although could be grown elsewhere, so called nonworld nuts lacked a certain something.

“The Cantharians will encounter the Humans soon.” Anic said.

“These Huumanz you speak of, they lack the power to resist. They are relatively weak.”

“Humans.” Anic corrected.
“They will fight and they will lose. Unfortunately they will be inclined to fight to the end. It is in their nature to resist.”

“Your efforts to influence the fate of the Fnords was not a success” said Jommo.

“The Fnords were not sufficiently useful to us. They were not an expansive species. And we were observing more than interfering.” Anic reflexively turned to face the Elejeetian, a pointless move as it brought one face to face with a kneecap.
“Besides,” Anic turned away from the kneecap again “we were more interested in observing the Cantharians on this occasion.”

Anic moved over to glance at the multicoloured cream and green holo-plot of the galaxy floating off left centre on the bridge. An area magnified to show a scatter of blue points.

“The Humans have been expanding. They are explorers, travellers, warriors.”
Anic turned again to look at Jommo, a more effective move this time with the increased relative distance between them. “The Humans are survivors Jommo, perfect for our needs.”
“We will do better with them.” said Anic “It will however be necessary to ensure that they surrender to the Cantharians at the right time, before they are annihilated.”

“What will be the role of the Elejeetian Empire?” Jommo asked.

“I don’t know yet.” Anic lied.
Anic pondered the map. Aud, Sal, Cantharian on one side, Obish, Ishman on the other.
Gaitori, Human, Piioni and others in the middle.

“Their location is strategic and their obvious helpers are the Ishman.
The Ishman have always used the smaller races to hold the Cantharians at bay. This will be no different, except that they will need help this time. At some stage the Empire will need to become involved on the Ishman side, probably when Audemedon or Salrillian forces become a problem.”

“It has been a long time since the Salrillians have moved in this direction.”

“They are already involved Jommo” said Anic, which brings me to the present.
I have transferred the data I gathered on my trip to your ship.
The data core of a Cantharian Destroyer, and other data gathered from a Salrillian Carrier and an Audemedon Cruiser. There is also some fragments from a Cantharian Cruiser. Pay special attention to that. Send me word when it is analysed. It may answer some interesting questions.”

“It will be done with haste.”

“What are the Ishman up to lately?”

“Up?” Jommo’s response made Anic smile with amusement.
Telecomputapathic or not, the translator still managed on occasion to miss a colloquial nuance.

“What have the Ishman been doing?” Anic said.

“There has been little activity in Ishman space,”
Elejeetians never used surplus phraseology such as ‘Ah’ or ‘Ah I see’.
They were a straightforward species.
“A few minor encounters with Cantharian forces”

Anic liked species that were straightforward.
Jommo munched another nut.
“An early alliance between the Humans and the Obain would favour both of those races.” Jommo said.

“Yes” said Anic. “That it would.”
“I will go now Jommo.”

“To Orphie?”

“No, Earth.”

“Earth.” If the Elejeetian had any surprise in his voice, the translator didn’t pick up on it.

“Yes, I need to take a close look at it myself now.”

“Shall I send word to our operatives there?”

“Yes” said Anic. “I will contact them when I arrive.”
“Go with peaceful thoughts Minister Jommo.”
.
.

.
.
Anic watched the Elejeetian cruiser jump out of the system.
Yes, time to go to Earth.

Home.

Anic was still largely human, and certainly blended in when there. The fact of Anic’s being human had no bearing whatsoever on how humanity would fare in the future. Anic had been lifted from Earth many years previously and was now human in genetic origin only. Operatives came from most of the races throughout the galaxy and all of those lifted were introduced to the bigger picture long before they were let back out into the field.

------------------
Oh, so it is another bug hunt then...

Darkk stared softly at the image of Earth on his monitor. The probe sending it was little larger than his hand, and the beam it was sending back little wider than one of his hairs. Darkk was watching for a sign that the message would be heeded.

In the meantime, a second probe was flittering about inside the atmosphere, recovering research from the great probe swarm directed at that planet a hundred years ago.

It was heavily cloaked and soon it would finish transmitting and find a nice volcano to immolate itself in. Darkk was quite proud of the work Irthantan engineers had done on the probe's concealment instincts.

He turned off the view, and looked at Cantharan fleet movements. Earth would have to hurry up. He also studied the Obish/Gaitori situation. Their expansionist movements were destined to collide head-on like asteroids going in opposite directions in the exact same orbit.

He doubted the Cantharans would hesitate to snap up whatever was left. He'd have to prevent that.

Darkk turned to the picture of a female Irthantan. Irthantan did not marry in the traditional sense, relationships were fluid and could be made and broken quickly with little hard feelings. Most males did have a prefered female, however. Darkk's was a diplomat who worked on Ishima prime. Quite strong, he remembered, feeling the scar on his cheek from their last meeting. He hoped they would meet soon. He had to get another one on the other cheek.

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

(This message has been edited by Fleet Admiral Darkk (edited 09-12-2003).)

07252050-2044h / Off the coast of Nevada

The middle of the Pacific was hardly Nok's idea of a landing zone, but he grudgingly acknowledged the pilot's choice. The operation was intended to go off without the humans noticing, even if it meant making the Cantharan crew a little uncomfortable - Cantharis barely had lakes, let alone oceans. Nok closed his eyes, and heard the bottom of the lander come into contact with the water.

Two small submersibles emerged from the bottom of the lander's hull and surfaced in order to pick up their crew. Within a few minutes, they were loaded with supplies to last two weeks, a detachment of underwater-equipped EVATs, and Nok himself. As the green doors closed behind him and the portholes turned blue in the water, Nok looked over to the other craft.

Nok blinked rapidly and repeatedly (indicating thought). He turned to the onboard computer and checked its inventory - no cloak. Without one, Nok felt distinctly uncomfortable, especially on a covert mission. With luck, no one would bother looking...

07252050-2303h / Silicon Under, underwater city

It was past eleven o'clock, time for Peter Marec to head home. Still, the two blips on the scanner bothered him. They seemed about the right size for whales - but humpbacks traveled in pods, not twos. He sighed and decided to spend a couple more minutes setting the scanner to follow them. If they were really whales, they'd have to surface some time overnight. If not... then, with luck, one of his superiors would know what to do.

Finished, Marec picked up his bag, and headed for the door. He took out his time card and turned off the lights. All that remained was the faint blue light from the two objects on the scanner. Blip, blip, blip, blip... Marec shook himself away and headed off. He'd have an answer in the morning.

------------------
(~%) ssh localhost
The authenticity of host 'localhost (127.0.0.1)' can't be established.
RSA key fingerprint is 93:33:b4:fc:b8:03:b4:45:15:31:99:1a:a3:1f:a5:ac.
Are you sure you want to continue connecting (yes/no)?

Tanaka's boots hit the floor before the alarm klaxon could sound a second time. He'd slept a good seven hours. In seconds his weapon belt was lashed on and he rushed to the bridge. "What's going on?"

"Cover's been blown. A pair of UN cruisers have been depth-charging us for almost five minutes now. They're getting closer to the mark."

"How the hell did these stiffcollars find us so fast? What's it been, two weeks?"

"Twelve days. They're getting better. Once they bust down the walls of the rock and they can see us they'll use precision torps to knock us out. I don't think they're going for prisoners this time."

"Don't be so sure. They may want justice, but they're really after the hardware. The Aeneas is critical to the navy's new fleet design. They won't blow this baby up, not as long as the brass are breathing down their pencil necks." The cave shook and chips of rock floated to the floor under the bombardment. He looked around out the bridge portal at the cave. All of the equipment that had been set up to service and repair the ships had already been packed up.

"All right. Have the skirmishers scatter. Each takes a different one of our main exits, keep going in that direction. With luck those cruisers won't be able to decide which to follow until they're out of range. With more luck they won't even attempt to chase them beause they're chasing us. We'll take the back door. Everyone rendezvous at...Let's see, hmm... You know, we could stand a change of scenery. Greener pasture and all that. We'll meet up off the coast of Borneo, here." He pointed to a chart on his console.

He pressed a button to send a scrambled transmission to the other subs, to which he told the plan. "Now, be swift, be nimble, and take care of yourselves. I expect to see all of you on the other side. Have a good trip, and I'll see you in the East Indies." The skirmishers powered up and assembled themselves in front of tunnel exits in the cave leading in different directions. At a set time they took off, near maximum speed, opening the throttle all the way once they cleared the cave. The cruisers did hesitate, and the speedy craft shot away to safety. The Aeneas dropped a device that simulated her sounds and signals onto the cave floor, then quietly dove into a tunnel dug in the seafloor. The tunnel streched two hundred miles before opening into another cave. After checking the waters for unfriendlies, the pirate sub slipped away along the seafloor toward the great gap of ocean that was once Central America.

------------------
-Traek Cicion, barkeep extraordinaire
"PS: If nothing's working around here, it's because I'm laughing so hard."
-Durandal

Darkk lounged in his chair. Reports of infiltration of Earth by agents of Cantharis and Eleeje were troubling. Eleeje were usually considered allies, but Darkk didn't trust large herbavores, most likely due to a long predator-prey history.

Cantharis, however, was just plain worrysome. He considered dispatching counteragents, but Ishiman ships had no cloaking devices. Even the primative radar of Earth would detect them. He'd have to find an alternative. Hmm. Darkk commanded the probes to connect into the internet of Earth. And he had to program English into his translation neckband...

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

Tanaka stared at the cell phone on his desk in the captain's quarters of the Aeneas. He hadn't intended to bring it here. It had simply been on his belt when he took it.

What was happening was impossible. It was ringing. Not knowing what else to do, he picked it up. "Hello."

"Congratulations, Mr. Tanaka, on the theft of your fine ship. I assure you I have no alignment with the forces searching for your little ship. My name is not relevent. My identity is not relevent. I merely want you to do something with your ship for me."

"Pardon me for being uninterested at the moment. We're fleeing for our lives here."

"I thought you might. I supposed it would come to this. You're going to do it or I'm going to broadcast live updates of your location."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"My very powerful transmitter can send to your cell phone. My reciever can hear from it. The mile or so of water is merely inconvenience. I can see your submarine quite clearly. Very foolish of your government to invest so much in it. Soon the waters will be as transparent as the air. My satilites can see you, Tanaka. My satilities can tell on you."

Tanaka considered. "What do you want?"

"There are two whale-sized objects near silicon city. Pulverize them. Just a warning, it might take a few good torpedo hits."

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

The sun was a good deal closer than Rodger would have liked. Of course, this is where the engineers wanted it. And by heaven, they'd get it. Rodger looked at mercury, somewhat too close for comfort as well. "One THOUSAND twenty-four square miles of solar panels," he thought to himself. "What in Nemesis's sphere could that be required for?"

He watched as one of the mammoth segments, built at the new Luna plant, was nudged into position. He checked over the budget again. At least they'd given him enough money. His team would build the panels and frame. Team A was building the core. He wasn't cleared to know what the core would do, but he assumed it was important. Possibly it would beam power back to Earth as a microwave beam, but that didn't seem right. The dang thing was positioned wrong. So were the reflectors they were putting up. There had been talk of a new intersteller voyage. Also, there was a ship called the Apollo under construction, but that was just another steller frieghter to Mars, right?

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

"Keep Below 300 feet and follow that course as tightly as possible."

"Have I been varying too much?"

"No, I'm just reminding you. It's very important for the sensors."

"Roger."

"We're doing good so far, just keep it up."

"Gotcha."

Harrison switched from the rear cabin intercom to the cockpit channel.

"Pushy bastards, these wet-navy guys, eh, Roosevelt?"

"Tell me about it, Master Chief, you weren't there when Restler and the ground crew was loading their equipment."

"For serious."

Harrison went back to keeping the course. In the back, ten navy technicians monitored the sensitive EM scanners that were being used to scour the mid Atlantic for something that the pilots were not cleared to know about. He looked at the combat information screen, which pointed out the locations, courses and speeds of the dozen or so Lucys that had been drafted from his air wing to carry similar EMP arrays in a net over the Atlantic.

"I wonder what they lost this time..."

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

The pirate king strode onto the bridge, weapons swinging on his belt. He looked over his ragtag command crew, and shook his head, chuckling. "We've been hired."

Adam Xavier looked up. "Excuse me?"

"I've been contacted personally by someone who wants us to do a job. Pretty straightforward, we just have to blow something up." Bewilderment popped up on the men's and women's faces in order of comprehension speed.

"Contacted how? We didn't pick up any transmissions."

"I don't know exactly, but the signal came through to the cell phone I use when I do spying and raiding ashore. Yes, the one that has no number and that only a select few other devices can communicate with."

"It could be a trap."

"Of course it could be a trap! Anything could be a trap. However, whoever has hired us is capable of locating us and, therefore, of selling us out. One way we take a risk, the other way we will definitely be found. Set course for Silicon City. We'll bring along two of our little subs and keep them on parallel courses far enough behind us to escape if it's a trap but close enough to back us up if we need them. Our other skirmishers'll stay here for now. They know what the next two rendezvous points are if they're sniffed out. Let's get going, fellas."

------------------
-Traek Cicion, barkeep extraordinaire
"PS: If nothing's working around here, it's because I'm laughing so hard."
-Durandal

"Where's the loadmaster? Who did this to one of my ships!?"

Restler yelled out from underneath the Endeavor. A young warrant walking by turned and ratted out the offender.

"The loadmaster had the techs crane it in, then went to the bar. That was like, ten minutes ago."

"God damn civil aviators!"

Restler jogged over to his car and jumped in, speeding off towards the bar.

He got out, leaving the engine running, marched into the bar, and a few moments later, mereged, dragging the poor unsuspecting loadmaster out and tossing him into the car. Restler's tires screeched as he peeled out.

"Just what the hell do you think you are doing loading up a ship like that? You could have gotten us killed, and now you have delayed launch! What is your major malfunction, numbnuts? Were you born this stupid or did it take practice? Well!? EXPLAIN YOURSELF, LOADMASTER!"

"I... I... I just supervised the truck drivers bringing the array in, then I had the crane operators load it and made sure it was secured and padded properly, then I went to the bar to kill time before the flight. What happened?"

"What exactly do they teach you at loadmaster school? Don't you know how to balance a payload? Do you understand why there are sensors on every hardpoint in that ship's payload bay? Did you even look at the ship's load computer!? That antenna array is your's, isn't it? It's your ass if it breaks, isn't it? So what the hell were you doing loading it without balancing the bay? I painted center of gravity marks on the floor in that bay so the crane operators could visualize it, and you had them dump 40 excess tons behind the COG without thinking about a counterweight! I've had enough of untrained loadmasters. You are not here to take joyrides! You are here to make sure your equipment makes it up there in one piece and gets installed correctly!"

Roberts screeched to a halt in the hangar and kicked the civilian out of the door.

"Now get over there and find me a crane operator. I'll be back in ten minutes with oxygen and water to balance the load, you'd better be ready, because the Major is piloting this flight, and has to get to the moon for a meeting afterwards. He WILL NOT BE PLEASED if you make him late, Civilian! NOW HAUL ASS!"

Resler peeled out again and screamed across the tarmac to the oxygen plant. He'd need to scramble up a few trucks and drivers, then he'd need to update the cargo manifests, and pick up the major from whichever landing pad he landed his Lucy at. All in a days work for a good crew chief. He put the hands free set on and keyed the button on the steering wheel.

"Tower control, this is Super-Six-Three, requesting clearance to cross runway four. Also requesting an ETA and landing location on 109th flight 31149, inbound. Over."

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

Darkk looked at his model of his command. More specifically, at the ring. A gateship's gate ring is primarily the most powerful telescope ever built. Using gravitational lensing, at full power it can form a lens the radius of a star system. The resolving power could find a certain communications device on Earth under billions of tons of water, and could send and recieve from it in tight beam. The antenna cost as much as the rest of the gateship a thousand times over. The gateship broke the budget of Ishima and it's still broken to this day.

Darkk was very grateful for it, now more than ever. His reports indicated humans were a kindred, warlike spirit. Even if they did have a tendancy to go overboard on the nukes.

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

In solar orbit, Vicky and her team were installing the laser core. It would push the Apollo to its rendezvous, once the Apollo was finished, of course.

With stupid beaurocratic delays, the Apollo was behind schedule - again.

She sighed. She smiled and the "Really, really, severe eye hazard" sign on the emitter of the laser. Eye hazard nothing. If the focus was tightened all the way, it could burn through an asteroid in seconds.

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

Pharris nosed the lucy out of its hypersonic cruise, into a steep dive. It was always easier in suborbital flight than the orbital drops, where they had to bleed off much more energy. the lucy grumbled as it began to bleed off speed despite the steep dive. Two hundred thousand feet below, East Asia loomed, a deep green next to a deep blue. Pharris tried not to let the beautiful view distract him from watching the sensors and holding formation with his flight leader, a mere hundred yards off of his one o'clock.

He looked away for a moment to watch the gunships scream past him to make their survey of the LZ. They were much lighter, despite their guns, and were glowing bright orange as they dissappeared into the cloud banks up ahead. Pharris looked through the top cockpit glass, watching the contrails from the air force escorts as they watched for any hint of enemy fighter cover.

He took a moment while things were slow to reach down below his seat and rub the ears of the kitten wrapped up in a flight jacket under his seat. She'd need all the comforting she could get. Pharris put his left hand back on the left stick. he wouldn't be able to take it off for another hour and a half.

The flight barrelled through layer upon layer of clouds as Japan grew to fill his view, but Pharris' eyes only watched the air for three out of every five seconds, the rest of the time he was watching the displays projected on the glass, following the computer generated pipe in. A voice came over the radio channel. It was the Major.

"Five minutes."

Pharris keyed the appropriate trigger on his flight stick to address his crew chief in the back.

"Five minutes, Mike, charge the guns and standbye on the doors."

"Roger"

In the back, the crew chief and the gunner cycled their electric chainguns and prepared the doors, probably signalling five minutes to the human tanks that filled the belly of this flying machine. Up front, warning lights began to flicker, indicating that the gaggle was leaving the jamming field from the AWACS, and that the ground SAM Stations were waking up. The pipe suddenly got much steeper as the LCU-1s tried to pick up speed again. Pharris could now make out the huge sprawl of down town Tokyo. He saw what he thought was the park that was yellow flight's LZ. He'd get closer and make sure.

He saw missiles come up, but none of the lights were on, so these were probably unaimed shots to try and spook the gaggle. The Lucys were pretty stealty, probably as a result of their famously ugly silhouette. A missle sped between yellow one and his ship, yellow two. Pharris maintained formation. In another ten thousand feet, the AA guns would open up. Pharris keyed the cockpit intercom.

"Hands on."

Next to him, WO Downey put his hands on the controls, just in case a stray round hit Pharris.

"Roger"

The guns opened up early, but Pharris didn't flinch as the air filled with tracers. He tried not to remember that there was one tracer for every fifty shells. He heard the other flights start calling in hits. Down below, he saw explosions as the gunships sped across the city, guns and missiles sending up plumes of smoke. At three thousand feet, the flight the flight flared hard and slowed from mach 2 to a mere two hundred miles an hour. Now it got dangerous. Smoke was rising in plumes from the city. It was still burning from some combination of the preparatory strikes by the orbitals, and the gunships that had been picking up the pieces, but Pharris could still see the LZ clearly. His leader radioed:

"Yellow flight going in"

Pharris keyed his intercom.

"Pop the doors and line em up, chief. Here we go."

"Roger"

The ship grumbled as the gun doors opened and the massive automatic guns pushed out into the airstream. Up ahead, tracers screamed up from the ground towards him. There was the tell tale "plink-plink" as the 20 mm shells bored easily through the ship's composite hull or ricoched off of the armored engine housings. Yellow flight called out practically in unison:

"Taking hits!"

The radio lit up as the crew chiefs yelled call signs and directions, trying to cover all the sources of fire, but it never really worked. Up ahead, Pharris saw yellow one list to the left and drop altitude as she flew straight through a line of tracers. Pharris concentrated on the pipe as the flight leader, Master Warrant Wu came on the radio in a surreal calm. Pharris could hear the cockpit warning sirens in the background as he said:

"Yellow one damaged, breaking formation, will-"

The main engine fan broke, sending two hundred metal blades outwards at a thousand miles an hour, tearing the ship to pieces through the titanium cowlings. Pharris watched as one came into his windshield, significantly slowed, but still fast enough to leave a mark.
He pulled the trigger on his right stick, addressing what was now his flight:

"Yellow 2, taking command. Fall in, yellow flight."

He watched the troopers that had survived the hit bailing out the open doors, but the flight was moving too fast and they were still to high for the men to survive. He turned back to the pipe, and powered forward, flaring hard as they came up on the LZ. He slammed the pods to vertical, vectoring main thrust down and opening the foward fans as the skyscrapers cleared around the railyard. The three ships dropped like rocks into the tiny holes, not even touching the pavement as the armoured troopers leaped out. Yellow three called "taking hits", but noone could move during the painfully long seconds it tookd for all twenty armoured troopers to bail out. Pharris looked back and to the right in time to see something slam into yellow three. He saw fan blades shred the door gunner and the four last infantrymen fly out of the back, the last man in pieces. WO O'Grady hadn't even had time to report. Yellow four called in "All Clear". Pharris responed by maxing thust, before he'd even keyed the mic.

"Let's go!"

He vectored everything to the rear and climbed vertically out, standing on its tail as the ship streaming out its small load of flares as it rocketed upward to the safety of the stratosphere. Pharris looked around to see which other landing ships were making it up. He keyed his mic again.

"Report in, yellow 2"

"Downey, ok," said the copilot

"This is Lee..." Pharris held his breath. The pause was like a knife in his gut as he waited for the gunner to answer.

"the chief took small arms fire back there... I just turned around from securing my gun... I... I..."

Pharris keyed his mic, interrupting the poor enlisted man.

"Private, secure his weapon and seal the door, then check the cabin pressure before you even think of taking off his helmet. He'll be ok, I'll be right back there."

Pharris lit the afterburners again. The sooner he was clear of ground fire, the sooner one of the pilots could let go of the controls. The last thing he wanted was a stray bullet to hit Downey while he was in the rear cabin.

"Sir... I don't think so."

Pharris keyed the mic.

"You got it"

He leaned over and punched the cockpit door open, craning his neck from his seat to see. He could see a few bright, sunlit holes in the side of the cabin, and blood running down the smooth composite floor towards the back of the plane. A lot of blood. He strained further, and saw the door gunner cradling the caved in helmet of the crew chief, Sergeant Curtis.

Then he opened his eyes, panting. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and peered around the dark hotel room. He reached with his left hand to touch Marissa, who was already awake next to him. She took his hand as he caught his breath.

"Which one was it?" she asked.

"Curtis... The first drop of operation Rising Sun."

He put his face in his hands.

Marissa pulled him close to her and turned the bedside lamp on, reaching into her bag for the dreamlog that the doctor had told them to keep.

"Tell me about it again."

He did, and somehow, despite how much he hated the shrinks being right, deep down it did make a difference. Eventually, he might be able to get a full night's sleep. Outside the window, the earth cast a gentle blue glow on the lunar surface.

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

(This message has been edited by Captain Pharris (edited 08-20-2003).)

Darkk looked up at the blazing light of Proxima Centauri. As long as the gateship was travel-ready, it didn't really matter where it was. Because it was the gateship, of course. In any case, Darkk liked these humans. As omnivores, their psychology was more easily damaged by war than a carnivore's.

An Irthantan or Cantharan's. Darkk scanned millitary records. He needed to convince seasoned veterans to join the crew of the ship that would follow his message. The Apollo , they called it.

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

Pharris trudged forward. He was out for a short moonwalk, to be alone with his thoughts for a bit. Suddenly, the comm on his suit rang. Since it was the same comm as his home's system, he wondered if it was a solicitor as he answered.

"Pharris."

"Ah, Mr. Pharris. Just the man I wanted to talk to."

Pharris heard a small click. Then all sensations, all colors, all sounds assaulted his senses at once.

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

Pharris awoke to an odd floating sensation. The fact that he could see the Earth and Moon and Sun, but no stars made him instantly recognise this as a waking dream.

Then the voice spoke.

"That was a very bad war, was it Pharris?"

Pharris was rather shocked by his subconsciousness's bluntness. "Yeah."

"It was nothing. Compared to the next one."

"Next one?"

"Yes. A glorious war against tyranny, but a horribly painful one."

"For my subconcious, you're somewhat bold."

"I'm prophecy, not any subconcious."

"Prophecy. Man, the shrink is gonna go nuts."

"Perhaps. In any case, you should accept any promotions that come your way, any opportunities for a truly unique assignment. Something never done before. Know it by the god of knowledge."

"Apollo?"

A giant green hand wrapped itself around the Earth. A giant black hand around the moon. They squeezed, crushing both to bits.

"You must stop them, Pharris."

And everything went out.

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

"Mr Pharris, can you hear me?"

Pharris groggily woke up and blinked his eyes. He didn't recognize the speaker, but his wife was beside the man and behind her was his psychiatrist.

"What, what happened?"

"We're not sure. You seem to have fallen while moonwalk. Your helmet is pretty damaged. When we took you out you were muttering "another" and "Ap"-something."

"Apollo."

"Huh?"

"I had a strange dream I'd never had before. Some voice... Was there anything in my comm?"

"It's totally smashed. Lucky you didn't break the helmet open."

"I'd better write that dream down. Hand over the journal."

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

(I don't think that's an appropriate way to contact Pharris. He is a pilot. He (i)cannot(/i) have waking dreams. The shrink would ground him in a second if he started losing conciousness and halucinating spontaniously. It's probably bad enough that he has nightmares about the war.)

Pharris walked into the conference room. He wondered what everyone was doing out here. Technically, space station Peace was the seat of the space command, but it wasn't done yet. Osirus should have been the next logical choice, as the conference centers on the civilian side had been completed. The moon was remote, there was noone out here but engineers and contractors-- oh, so that's how it is...

The names on the agenda matched up, anyway. Pharris was the only major here, he assumed that he was here only because his airlift wing had the heavy lifting Caravel-class space planes. He kept reading downwards. he paused, reading the line twice to make sure that it really said Brigadeer General Reid Magnuson... that's not right at all...

General Manguson walked into the room and sat near the end with two aides. He was still two stars short of the ranking officer in the room, but as usual, he just seemed to be the most in charge. He looked at Pharris' shocked face and nodded understandingly as he sat down.

Manguson cleared his throat, then began.

"Good morning gentlemen. I'd like to thank you all for coming out here for this, I understand that it was a lengthy trip for some of you. It is perhaps possible that some of you do not know the significance of the Apollo Program."

Some people around the room looked at eachother.

"I see that some of you have heard the name, if not the substance of this project. You all have been selected to play key roles in the next phase of this program. Understand gentlemen, that all of the materials provided in this meeting are for eyes only, and are strictly classified. Now. Allow me to explain to you gentlemen what the Apollo program is, and what caused it."

And he did, while Pharris and the others listened.

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

"And so once again we, Saril, find ourselves gifted with more races to bring to submission. Zom and Doz have spoken, we shall leave no place in this galaxy untouched by our control. Now, let us not delay, for the network has told us the way. For Doz! For Zom!"

The canthrians were ready, Slima had made sure that the great canthrian fleets were in perfect position for a strike that would be of perfect precision. But, as always, the canthrian commander was unsure of his motives. Slima was certain that once the canthrians had served their use, that he would get rid of this commander.

"Why have you not placed your 28th and 45th fleets in the Zyrana system as I told you?

Mek Het replied with a calm but terse voice. "The fleets haven't had much time to assemble, besides, wouldn't those fleets be better off if placed in Elimos with the main strike force there?"

Your destiny sits before you and yet you do not claim it? The fleets need to be in the Zyrana system, or the crusade will not begin. Why, I will not tell. Simply understand that you are only here to serve the Prophets. We are to say what you do, and you do not question why. Now go."

The Salrilian carrier pulled away from the canthrian command carrier. Mek Het grimaced, and went to perform the task assigned. The canthrian fleets arrived in the Zyrana system.
The Salrilian carrier opened a warp rift, and took off for the Audemedon system.
--------------------------
Audemedon, Homeworld of the Axis. The race of intelligent robots. The homeworld of Audemedon is located in the center of one of the largest asteroid fields in the galaxy. On thousands of those asteroids, are mining and building stations. Creating more droids, and expanding the power of the Axis. Each robot a porthole of the great "Central", the overmind if you will of the Axis. The homeworld itself is nothing more then a massive network of power grids and metal wiring, and made up of millions of billions of computers and machines.

The black form of a Salrilian carrier approached. As the black form neared, a dozen Audemedon ships surrounded it. Slima called out for the carrier to stop. He sat there, waiting for a call from the Audemedon ships. A few seconds passed before a synthesized voice came up.

"Slima, good to see you again. Has the time come?"

Slima breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, we are ready to move, to begin the crusade.

Very well. Lets go, and take the will of the Gods to the lesser races.

------------------
"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the the universe."-Albert Einstein

(Medical thinks he blacked out after cracking his skull, we'll say.
Oh, and me and Sarg had planned to keep this mostly Cantharan focused, little less Sals please.)

Darkk checked the formation for a final. Operation Hand-Quick was going down.

Darkk was counting on his reputation, as well as the impressive fleet he had. They couldn't fire a shot, but he had to avoid that impression.

He mulled over his reputation. Darkk was a child when the last Cantharan invasion was repelled. Although his father was an invalid and couldn't fight, a Cantharan in power armor had casually killed him right in front of Darkk. Because the Cantharan hadn't sealed his helmet, Darkk remembered his scent. So when, years later, Darkk encountered a transport carrying that Cantharan, Darkk caught his scent and the events that followed were inevitable.

Darkk loomed in close, sniffed the Cantharan and pronounced that he had killed Darkk's father. As Darkk loomed in closer, trying to resist the urge to bite the Cantharan's throat in ceremonial revenge killing style, the Cantharan went for his sidearm. Darkk bit the Cantharan's throat out before he even got the gun halfway up.

The inquiry that followed was controversial to this day. Darkk maintained the Cantharan had drawn first, but the Cantharan ambassador maintained that Darkk had provoked the incident. Darkk's comment that he felt joy that the Cantharan gave him the opportunity didn't help matters. Especially because it was true.

In the end Darkk was demoted two ranks. He was not, however, given the traditional blacklisting. Thus he was the only being with a two rank demotion on record to command a gateship.

To this day, the Cantharans maintain that if they get the chance, Darkk would have his own throat removed. Darkk smiled, knowing that if they were right, he would earn a glorious battle death.

Darkk snapped back to the present. Cantharan ships were entering the system. He opened the commo.

"This is Commodore Darkk of the Ishiman Steller Navy! You have strayed into one of our training excercies. If you do not leave quickly, there might be severe consequences."

Darkk kept his face neutral. Were these Cantharans more scared of dangers they understood, or ones they didn't? They knew him quite well, but they had never defied the Salrilians enough to learn the consequences.

"We wish to call your bluf, Animal."

The Cantharans always refered to him that way. And the rest of the Irthantans, for that matter. Darkk's face lit up like a little kid's on Xmas. His mouth opened slightly in a grin, showing off his teeth. Darkk could tell the Commander was scared.

"Really?" Darkk snapped back into perfect military form. "The Ishiman governent is bluffing. I'm not. The commanders are mostly client races, and I've got the killswitches here." Darkk tapped the cyber-implant jack on the back of his neck.

"You would risk a clash of titans not seen since the Boodan wars."

"Yeah. All HVDs, prepare for primary run. Cruisers and gunships, prepare to back them up..."

Outside, Darkk's fleet powered up its weapons. Darkk wasn't lying. He was ready to snap. He believed Ishima would be victorious in any war that would ensue. He also cared nothing for himself.

The Cantharan commander made a nervious cough. "Very well. We withdraw. Cancel your attack." Outside, jumpstreams formed.

Darkk closed the channel and collapsed in his chair. Humanity had better makeuse of the time he bought it with his soul. Irthantans know a warrior's soul is diminished by such bloodless and dishonest tactics.

When red crew took over the gatessip again, he'd have to spend at least two months on Irthanta hunting. Irthantans hunt with the weapons they are born with. It would feel good to taste fresh blood again.

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

Two aides (both of which were Majors) were moving quickly along each side of the table handing a briefing pallet to every member.

"Six weeks ago radio recievers and radio telescopes around the world recieved and confirmed a a massive and powerful signal from off this world. The signal was broadcast on a frequencey of very little natural activity, and went through patterns and sequences that are also extremely rare in nature. The fact that this signal provided coordinates and distances for those coordinates, has lead to one conclusion: we have been contacted by an extra-solar intelligence, and it wants us to come and meet it." Reid Magnuson, now a one star General, said bluntly. His comment was followed by bewildered and excited murmurs among the lower ranking officers and candidates present. "It has also lead to the formation of this group, the Apollo Comission. Not all members are present, and those absent are being notified as we speak. You have each been handed pallet with a briefing on your specific assignment on this mission. I will ask that you review them after this briefing. Lt. Commander Iijima will now take the floor for a technical briefing on the Apollo itself."

A slim and slightly greying asian man stood and made a slight bow before picking up a small remote. "We were fortunate enough to already have some of the infrastructure necessary for this mission built before we recieved the extra-solar signal." As he spoke, two panels in the wall slid back to reveal a large plasma screen, on which a picture of a large laser apperatus was shown. "This is the OLSD, or Orbital Solar Laser Device. It was originally designed and built during the war, but due to budget cuts was abandoned after being nearly completed. After recieving the signal, construction was restarted and modifications were made. The device, wich can now emit a beam ten miles in diameter, will be used to push the solar sail on this,” the image on the screen changed to a diaroma of a large cylindrical object that shifted through cross sections, “The UNS Apollo.”

(will finish later-too much writer's block, too tired)

------------------
sdrawkcab dootsrednu tub sdrawrof devil si efil

The Aeneas cruised silently past silicon city undetected. Her icy smooth hull almost brushed the seafloor as she wove her way among underwater hills and buttes. Her escorts were far out of visual and short-range sonar, similarly sneaking through the underbrush.

"Charlie, we've got a couple of sonar blips not far ahead."

"Our targets?"

"There aren't any other large objects for miles."

"All right, then. Engines, prepare for combat maneuvers. Flood all torp tubes and stand by to fire. Any more info you've gathered on these objects?"

"Nope. Visual scans aren't revealing much, even under highest mag level. They're very, very well-camoulflaged. Definitely artificial, though."

"All right then, we'll take no chances. Tell escorts to hold position and be prepared to move where I say at a moment's notice. Give me fire control." He looked down as the weapons panel on his chair lit up. He selected armor-piercing warheads and the appropriate torpedos were automatically loaded and locked. Flooding tubes, he set the guidance system to lock three torps on each target. At last, uttering a brief prayer to every deity that happened to cross his mind, he pressed the simultaneous fire control.

------------------
-Traek Cicion, barkeep extraordinaire
"PS: If nothing's working around here, it's because I'm laughing so hard."
-Durandal

“The galaxy and the immediate space around it is represented by a cube, divided into eight also cubic octants, labelled A to H from left to right and up to down. Each encloses a volume of exactly 1.25x10e59 cubic kilometres. The cube resulting from these eight octants is referred to as The Galactic Co-ordinate Grid, and has a total volume of exactly 1.0x10e60 cubic kilometres. The horizontal plane of the galaxy is tilted at an angle of forty five degrees, by thirty degrees from the vertical plane within the cube. The plane of the galaxy therefore goes through two of the eight apexes of the major cube. This, and its applications in navigation to grade one, will be the subject of our discussions over the next four weeks. Listen carefully and with enthusiasm, and be thankful that you will never have to sit a written exam in it.”

That had been Anic’s introduction to Human deep space navigation. The lecturer wore quaint round rimmed spectacles on his nose, for effect no doubt, above a sharp strict grey moustache and was seriously intelligent. He’d never been boring, just a little over enthusiastic at times. Anic had quite enjoyed the four weeks spent attending the lectures on Stellar Navigational Theory at Earth’s Cornell University. It was relatively primitive stuff they thought there, but it did give an insight into the mindset of humanity. Most expanding species thought locally. The humans already had a galactic view, even though they had barely begun to establish off-system colonies. They had a broader scope. That made them potentially very useful.

Anyway, their Galactic Co-ordinate Grid was done on volume, and was quite simple. It formed the core of every inter-Solar System navigational procedure. Each octant was sub divided into a thousand Sectors (arranged ten by ten by ten), listed as a letter, followed by a number between 0001 and 1000 inclusive. This formed the first line of coordinate data. Each Sector encompassed a volume of 1.5x10e56 cubic kilometres precisely, and was sub-divided into 1.25x10e26 Units, each with a volume of l.0x10e30 cubic kilometres of space. This was solar system sized (though ninety nine percent of it was empty void, a solar system occupying only a speck of it’s volume). The number of Units was written as 125 x10e24 (not in correct scientific notation), and a particular Unit was listed as 000 to 125 inclusive, plus twenty four decimal places. And you needed them all! It was no use filling in the last six at random, as one might do when writing up a physics experiment in College for example. A Unit, (1x10e30 km)3, was very approximately, a little less than equal to a cubic light year, (9.4672x10e12km)3, little being used here in one of it’s broader senses! Anic smiled on recalling the lecturer’s jokes over the numerals. So, if you change the last decimal place (the twenty fourth) by one, you’ll end up in one of the twenty six adjacent Units (it’s all three dimensional, remember), a light year or so away from wherever it is you’re going to. And if you’re hapless enough not to have sufficient fuel for another jump, then you can look forward to one very boring year of travel in normal space to get to where you’re going. Plenty of time to study your navigation!

Unit data started at 000 plus a decimal point, followed by twenty four zeros, which represented galactic centre (even though it was only the centre of the grid, and not the absolute centre of the actual galaxy). It ended at 125 plus a decimal, followed by twenty four zeros, representing the farthest out corner from the centre of the grid of each Sector, the only ones bordering not on another corner, but on void space, as extra galactic space was called by the humans. Unit data formed the second line of information required by the Nav Computer.

Thirdly, each Unit is divided into 1x10e15 Boxes. Each Box contains a volume of 1x10e15 cubic kilometres, (100,000 km)3. This is defined as a standard planet sized volume. One’s position within a Box is in indicated by a three dimensional x,y,z coordinate system. The main ship Nav Com prompts with each one of the three letters in turn, and you fill in a number, 000000 to 100000 inclusive, plus (and here’s the sticky bit!) ten decimal places. This forms the third line of required information. The ten decimal places would make the arrival back into normal three dimensional space time accurate to within one centimetre in any direction. But very seldom, would one have to be so precise (and human engines weren’t that accurate anyway).

The fourth required piece of information is the time (necessary so your ship’s computer system knows where it is relative to everything else). Firstly hours and minutes, plus seconds up to a maximum of six decimal places, then the date; day, month, both based on the new Nav Com standard of twelve months, each of twenty eight days, plus a thirteenth month of thirty days. The length of a standard year was an influence of Earth, applied to all of its colonies. The two extra days were designated as World Day One and Two respectively, Two being the end of a given year, and One being the beginning of the next year.
Finally, the year was entered.

Two sets of coordinates were used, where you were, and where you wanted to go. The ship’s Nav Com should reply with four pieces of in formation; the time of arrival, the length of time in Hyperspace, the degree of time dilation, and a percentage figure representing the degree of error likely to be involved in the journey. Normally if the projected degree of success was ninety percent or less, the machine would tell you politely where to go off to and get more accurate information!

The navigation computer then calculates all the variables, such as the orbital and drift shifts of the start and finishing locations. Thus, while the Galactic Coordinate Grid was fixed to rotate with the galaxy, every thing within the grid moved at different rates relative to everything else. So the values of the coordinates of a particular place had to be constantly altered, and the ship’s Nav Com had to know what the changes were. Navigation computers were programmed to remember where every charted object would be at a given time in the past, present future, and to supply it’s current coordinates when required as a starting point. The computer then proceeded to calculate where the co-ordinates of the destination would be at the time of the ship’s arrival.
Finally, when the navigation computer was finished, the ship’s main computer system would decide if the journey would be viable, and would advise accordingly. The computer was really like an extra highly qualified crew member. Finally, a three-d map of the galaxy would be projected, showing their course. Human maps of the galaxy showed over 99 per cent as unexplored, outlined in white. Anic had always regarded the galaxy, rotating about it’s central black hole as something akin to a living organism. That of course made those living in it parasites!

An interesting post script to the Galactic Co-ordinate Grid was that it was not in use on Terran ships. The humans in fact mostly used OTC (Origin Terra Co-ordinates) which was a co-ordinate system using Sol as its centre (an interesting basis as the Earth’s sun was never in the same place more than once! Quaint). The fact of the use of OTC over a more straightforward available alternative also said a lot for the mindset of humanity, a species well worth saving.

Anic dropped out of T-Space into Warp Space and switched navigation over to OTC. The ship would enter the Sol System soon. A quick look at all space traffic in the system revealed nothing abnormal. Just the usual bustling trade ploddings of a relatively mundane low to mid-tech space fairing species.
Op, there’s an Ishman stealth spy ship doing a little snooping!
No one else about today though.

------------------
Oh, so it is another bug hunt then...

Darkk sighed as the jumpgate opened, eclispsing his view of Proxima Centauri.

He wanted to continue, but he'd be back.

Gaitor needed him.

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

Darkk looked at the nice, peaceful sun of the Gaitor system. Completely opposite of those that orbited it. The gigantic starship docks housed dozens of carriers, and each stardock was the size of the Gateship.

Gaitor was a formidable force. Darkk didn't like the flack cannons following his ship with their barrels. Those things might be able to blast the ship to bits before he could do even the quickest of jumps, the blind jump.

Darkk finally reached his assigned orbit, and the guns ceased pointing at him. An "honor guard" of Carriers manaeuvored around the Gateship, physically preventing it from spying on anything or moving normally. Or so they thought. Darkk knew that the gateship was fully capable of seeing through stars and planets, leta alone this minor obstacle. Not that he needed to spy.

On the surface, Darkk knew that many Gaitori had been bought by IIA. He could see with his own eyes the buildup they reported was not a lie. The ambassador was there to see what would be done with it.

Ambassador Grithia was an Irthantan as well, as the Ishimans wished an ambassador who could intimidate and could not be intimidated.

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

"We are soild on this, Grithia. The Obish have claimed space that we had prior claim on."

"You intend to embark on the destruction of two species over being first to claim a bunch of rock?"

"TWO species?"

"The war will devestate both species. Species that held back will then swoop in and snap you up."

"Which species? Do you wish us to bow to you now, without expendature of effort on your part?"

"I was thinking of the Cantharans. You should be less combative."

"An Irthantan telling use to be less combative. We have been insulted."

"Yes, I am aware of the irony. But we risk our own lives, not those of faceless soldiers we have never met."

"You are really insulting us now."

"Very well. I will send to Ishima the news that you will not yield. I will see if the Obish will."

"They are too stubborn. We will burn them."

"You might be right, unfortunately."

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

Pharris sat down in the rear crew compartment, thinking. Marissa watched him. As soon as the crew chief got up and floated his way to the upper level, she spoke:

"So what was the meeting about?"

"Nothing."

She paused, then tried again;

"Anybody we know there?"

"Nope"

"Was it something important?"

"Nope"

"That big, huh?"

Pharris looked up from his papers to look around at all the seats, making sure they were empty

"Probably the biggest thing to happen since people first started speaking to eachother, that's really much more than I can say here."

He looked at her and smiled, then went back to his paperwork. She sat back and opened her book back up. This sort of thing was new to her, but she understood Pharris' job, sometimes.

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

Knowles slid into the cockpit of the LCU-60 Caravel. At first glance the dark, windowless chamber was almost similar to the Mason Trainers he had been flying, but this was not training anymore, this was checkout, and this time everything he did counted. He sighed, trying to remember every instant and every comment from his Instructor Pilots during the last week flying. He tried to concentrate on the fact that his IP was the one who reccomended he take the re-entry test now, after only a week in the Caravels.

The seat molded around him as he attatched his vest to the restraints and cranked them down. He began the checklist which he had spent hours studying, flipping the few switches and controls that were not attatched to his two sticks, so he would never have to let go of them while flying. He ran the cockpit checklist and diagnostics, then began his viewer checklist, calibrating the viewer to his vision and head movements. Then he ran the diagnostics and prepared to fire up the engines. He was glad that he couldn't see the stern face of the checkout IP while he had his goggles on.

The reactors and fuel pumps started up, and he fired test charges of oxidizer and propellant out the back once, to check flow before he called the tower and asked for clearance. He disengaged the ship's docking claws, retracting them and waiting for the station to release him. The voice of his old IP came over the line:

" Mumbai , you are cleared. Standby to disengage."

There was a pause, then a gentle bump and:

"Clamps disengaged. Good luck, candidate."

"roger tower. Thank you."

He switched to the intercom

"Departing"

Knowles hands shifted the controllers ever so slightly, and with a gentle bump, the Mumbai slid away from the twin rings. Knowles took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he oriented the ship and charged the main engines.

" Mumbai clear of clamps, moving for reentry burn. Mumbai out."

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