X-Universe Factional RP

[Admiral Jeran Korak]

Please Read all the following text if you wish to participate in this RP

This thread has been created from the ideas set forth from discussion between myself and another X-Universe player, it is not intended to be historically accurate or cannon in any way.

Links

The Original Thread

X3 Map (Thanks to em3e3 for this link)

The OOC Thread

X3-2.5 Patch Ship-Stats (Thanks to Carlo the Curious for providing this link)



Basic Summery

This RP is set just after the events in X3-The Reunion, as stated above it is not meant to be historically accurate, the events in X3-The Reunion are not be considered in this RP, nor is any of the plot in X3-The Reunion to be taken into account during the course of this RP. If translated into game terms, this RP takes place in a custom plot-free game of X3-The Reunion and does not contain any of the characters or events present in the main plot-line of X3-The Reunion. It should therefore be treated as a non-cannon story.

The Rules

I am attempting to keep this RP as rule-free as possible, naturally however there are some guidelines I insist that players follow in order to maintain a good spirit and not cause long OOC flame-fests about who killed who or other annoying subjects. There is one tire of rules and one tire of guidelines that I will set down for this RP.


Rules

1: No powergaming, if you are unclear what the meaning of powergaming is, please post so on the OOC thread and we shall do our best to explain it to you.

2: No metagaming. Once again, if you do not understand what the term "metagaming" is, then please post so in the OOC thread.

3: No, I repeat NO OOC comments in this thread, please use PM's or the OOC thread for any out-of-context comments you may have.

4: The RP is set in a vanilla universe, that means no ships, systems, wares or characters from other sci-fi games or other mods for X3. That said, any ships from any of the official patches for X3 are allowed.

5: No alien races or alien factions unless cleared by myself

6: No Overwhelming powers, galactic spanning corporations or huge battle fleets.

There is no set punishment for violating any of these rules, depending on the severity of an offence however, action can be taken from a simple warning to a full-out ban from the thread.


RP Guidlines

1: Good grammar, puntuation and spelling are not essential, but make it much, much easier to understand a post or plot-line. It is therefore recommended that you put posts through MS Word or any spell-checking program before submitting them to the thread.

2: You don't need to be overlord of the universe, or jump right into things, take some time to design your faction and characters before leaping into the galactic madness.

3: PM'ing other RP players or using the OOC thread to tell people about plot developments that directly affect their faction is greatly appriciated by all (Note: You don't need to tell people your entire plot-line as this can give rise to meta-gaming)

Suggestions for Factions

-Race Splinter Groups
-Terrorist Groups
-Offical Companies
-Pirate factions.
-Noble Families, Dynasties and Clans (any races)
-Mercenary Groups
-Goners (Militant or otherwise)
-Single Traders, Mercs, Pirates, etc.
-Alliances (Any type, military, civilian etc)
-Other


Final words: You should develop a general ideology for your faction or a reason for its existence, but it can evolve as time goes on.
Players are encouraged to develop alliances, treaties, etc. It is useful to talk to other players through PMs, email, and AIM. Also, please make use of the OOC Thread for all out-of-character conversations, because it helps keep this thread uncluttered.

Faction leaders can die or be killed, but it should not happen often. Factions should only be dissolved if their player has been severely outmaneuvered, in which case they can take up another faction as per GM permission.

Go.

[Elwood J Blues]

In the beginning there were fairy-tales. One of which he had just worked out the true meaning, the true story behind. Sleeping beauty, the prince never kissed her to wake her up, no one who had slept for a hundred years was likely to wake up. He kissed to her to wake himself up from the nightmare he was living.

Elwood had just woken up himself, both physically and metaphorically. His head pounding from the 'assed about' night before. The night that might have included the whole of the day, he couldn't remember. It was good being on a Terracorp station, the real hydro-showers just had that something about them that the sonic ones on most other stations and capitol ships lacked. He remembered this from the long days he had spent in some military force he cared not to remember.

As he stepped into the shower the perfectly controlled stream of water came out at a reviving twenty degrees. Under the tiny jets of water the night was washed away and replaced with the usual alertness, however still slowed by the night’s copious alcohol consumption. A very rare event in the life of Elwood; of which he could only remember one other time it had happened. The thought hurt.

He got dressed first with his long solid black cargo pants, followed by a pair of standard length socks, then his capped combat boots with the thought, ‘they might be heavy, but you never know when you might a) be on a building site or b) be shot in the foot. The latter had never happened before, but there was always the chance in his line of work.

He threw on his wide, solid metal double buckle belt with his multi-tool and small switch blade. He loaded his pockets with his usual stuff, PDA on his right thigh, custom combat blade strapped to his left in its magnetic sheath. Next was his shirt, a plain, short sleeved t-shirt, so incredibly dark green that you’d almost think it was black. It could’ve been black in a previous life. On top of this a specially designed combat jacket, made of a thick, almost leather like material to protect against light blade attacks that might cut through a normal jacket. The specially designed part was the fact that although its thickness it was still very breathable.

In this jacket he was able to conceal his two customised handguns on the inside. On the outside he hung his shades on his top left pocket. These shades were of almost the same design of the legendry pirate, Max Force. The design of the shades had leaked out onto the elite black market three years after he was last seen, but was never perfected. The only thing that really worked properly was the comm. Link between the shades and his PDA, Elwood didn’t care; they looked cool.

He left a notable tip and left the room bound for the hanger with his flight case in one hand and bag in the other.

[fiksal]

(a bit random start, but)

"They say it's a cowards' way out... no, actually, they use harder words than that, but then why claim to be something we are not? We are all here for the fame and money... but mostly money. We are all backstabbing sons of... On the other hand! It's their own damn fault - did they think they can make me the scapegoat? Well now, gentlemen and gentle-ladies, looks like the cards are on the other table!..." - thought Marcus and smiled.
"Considering that I’ll get to walk away from this mess AND that I get to keep my ship, - I am pretty damn lucky. Very nicely done, Marcus!... Plus I think I'll enjoy sticking it up to their ..."
- Prosecutors call for Marcus Lanik, - interrupted a voice behind wooden doors.
- Marcus Lanik, proceed to the court room, - quickly repeated the emotionless guard.
- Alright-y then, - said Marcus and walked to the doors, wiping his oily hands against his sleeves.

[Tenlar Scarflame]

Piercing, swirling white finally faded and gave way to black as Cossack One exited jump-space, gradually decelerating as it cleared the ancient space gate and discreetly peeled away from the trade lane. There were no other ships within at least 30 clicks of the gate- the prox probe sent in 30 sezura ahead had confirmed that- and the Cossack was well enough protected by software signature scrambling and a well-programmed false ship ID. But lingering too close to a trade lane was always an invitation for customs, police, border control, Navy, bounty hunters, mateys, and other snooping types.
Following the Cossack through the gate came four Argon heavy fighters, all unmarked and similarly protected by electronics.
"Walkure flight has crossed the gate," a woman's voice sounded across the bridge of the Cossack. Adrian smiled.
"Confirmed Walkure flight leader, this is Cossack One," he responded. "Status?"
"Clean, mister Carter. Three Teladi freighters are about ten mizura behind us, but at current speed we should have cleared duplex scanning distance in half that time."
"Excellent, miss Augustar. Form up line abreast on the Cossack, assign autopilot and prepare for your wing to be transported aboard."
"We copy. See you in twenty sezura."
The comm line clicked shut.
"Mister Carter," called a powerful, curt voice. Adrian turned and peered through the darkness of the bridge- though incredibly well built, Teladi made combat ships were not the most comfortable experiences- to see a muscular, relatively tall Split stride through the blast doors.
"Mister St'st, have you anything to report?"
Thrk smiled, his warrior's eyes warm. "Naught but an itchy trigger finger and restless sword arm, Adrian. ETA to planetfall?"
"Four hours... and I'm aiming for a situation where you won't need your trigger finger or your sword arm." said Adrian pointedly, though with a grin.
Thrk gave a raspy, alien chuckle. "What, you take me for some Njy bastard? You must not know me, Captain Carter."
"Four years of bootyswagging with the most fearsome warrior in all the Near Colonies have taught me that you've got an unreasonably overactive trigger finger and the breath of a well-fed Ghok, commander." Adrian grinned.
"Nibelung flight will be meeting up with us on the dark side of Hatikvah 1, correct?"
"That's the plan, Thrk."
Thrk grunted. "T'ach had better keep his ugly face out of trouble."
The comm link clicked loudly and then reopened. "Walkure leader. We're in formation and ready to be transported."
"Cleared, miss Augustar. Transporting you aboard now. See you inside. Manck!" He called across the bridge.
The thick, brutish, altogether alien form of a well-exercised Paranid rose from its chair. "Transporter sequence initiated is, Captain. Miss Augustar and flight Walkure will with rapidity here be. By stand."
"Ready to be the bad guy, Manck?" Adrian called to him.
Manckastro's mouth lifted in a Paranid smile. "Ready to bad guy be always, Carter Captain."

[Elwood J Blues]

As he passed a café he heard an alert come from his PDA. It was a nice looking café and despite the length of time he spent in the shower he could feel the effects waring off and coffee would be the next best replacement. He sat at the first open table as he walked in, about three metres in and off to one side of the walk way. An over-enthusiastic waiter came to take his order.

“Care for a coffee? We only have the best from the core Argon sectors.”
“I’ll take a, white choc mocha”, it was the first hot drink he’d ever had. He started drinking the stuff when the pain started.
“Be up in a minute”. The waiter turned and walked away for to quickly for Elwood to be comfortable with, particularly in his current state.
He called after him as best he could, “whipped cream is good”.

He soon recalled the other reason he was sitting in the café as he pulled out his PDA. It was a news announcement about a trail that had just begun in a major trading station that he had just ‘passed’ through. The outcome of this trail would affect the way things would pan out in the very near future, most of all Elwood’s next movements.

He closed his pad as the waiter hurriedly made his way back with Elwood’s drink. Again he tipped the waiter respectfully with a look of don’t come back. Needless to say, the waiter never returned to Elwood. He finished his drink and now confident the heaviness had been lifted from his head continued on his way to the hanger.

[Admiral Jeran Korak]

Chapter One: Destiny anyone?

The technician’s voice floated up through the galleries of the Gencore Research Facility, a faint melody among the infinite whisperings of the machines that were housed within. Unlike many of its kind, this facility resided deep within the crust of Omicron Lyre rather then in stable orbit above one of the moons, as all other constructions for this purpose were. Primarily this was for security, the heightened risk of blowing the entire planet to bits if a particle accelerator dramatically malfunctioned, causing a black hole to form had only been considered minor concerns to the builders upon construction.

The Tech was a reasonably pretty young Argon woman, about 20, black hair, blue eyes. All in all a completely unremarkable example of the several hundred other Gencore Staff inhabiting the complex buried beneath the sand of the Ajradi Desert.

“And so you see sir” She continued in a business-like tone mature beyond her years. “Introducing the new coolant matrix into the main gun arc increased energy conversion efficiency by almost three percent without any drop off in firing rate”

“I see” Said her companion, only half listening. He definitely did stand out. It could have been the air of confident command he exuded, or the fire-red hair and beard that caught your attention, but the techno-eye was the most obvious giveaway. Admiral Jeran Korak of the Gencore Tech Alliance maintained an easy pace through the labyrinth corridors while the tech-aide continued her speech on the various delights of what happened to a GPPC when you added the new A-25 coolant line to replace the old (and much inferior) A-24. He wondered how such a mature tone could be forced to slavery in such a way, but he bore through with the occasional “I see” or “Yes” or when he was feeling truly suicidal: “And this does what?” interjected into the roaring tide of polysyllables that washed around his bastion of sanity while his techno-eye desperately sought for something to amuse him.

Statistically, this was the largest GTA research centre in existence and this was by no means a lie; however during its five-year construction program, Jeran had taken the opportunity to throw in as many inventive and even illogical delights in the design as he could. Now it housed enough small-arms to equip a reasonably sized army, enough food rations to last a quarter-century, its own fusion power-plant, radar jammer, surface-to-space laser towers and most secret of all, a retractable hanger with thirty fighter-bays and support systems to match. In short, the centre was a fortress, and a well-equipped fortress at that. Those five years had been the hardest, the construction had practically bankrupted the fledgling Tech Alliance, and had been slow to recoup on those losses. In the end however, Achilles Sector had been a total success, and from then on the GTA stocks had sky-rocketed as more and more advanced hardware was turned out every month.

The tech hand continued to ramble through the database as they walked through the corridors, occasionally a researcher would hurry by clutching a handful of papers or a sneaked hot chocolate, but for the most part Achilles was a quiet place, its walls triple-soundproofed and extremely strict work-codes enforced with mandatory DNA scans at all doors. Finally, the walls opened up and the duo stepped through the last DNA-Scan door. Jeran had been through the Eye of Achilles many times, yet no matter how many times it happened, he could never, ever fail to be impressed. The door opened onto a massive egg-shaped laboratory that was the undisputed heart of the Gencore Alliance. The side-walk was a full 360’ around the gargantuan power-generator that supplied the energy for the massive sentient computer arrays that controlled the entire complex. A cylindrical energy plant pulsed with the multi-gigawatt output of the ten mini-fusion reactors implanted in conical chambers around the base of the tower. Around it and about it and in some cases inside it, hundreds of technicians, droids, mechanics and scientists scurried, monitoring everything from power-output to shower use.

A few minutes later, feeling more then a little hot under the collar, not least because he had just had to climb down a full nine flights of stairs without an environment suit in air thick enough to butter bread with, Jeran arrived in the main office, he gave a genuine sigh of relief as the air-conditioning kicked in and his escort-come-jailer departed.

“Took your bloody time” Came a voice.

“Some things can’t be rushed” Answered Jeran, approaching the desk “lights”

Full illumination snapped on, normally the techno-eye compensated against all levels off ambient lightning and could even go x-ray or infrared visioning, but Kardrin liked his privacy and was prepared to go to some quite inventive ways to protect it. The person seated in the chair was about as non-descript as it was possible to be, he was average height, black hair, average weight for a man in his thirties and apart from the set of cybernetic shielding systems that were hot-wired into every orifice he possesed would be a person so easily missed in a crowd that people would have to squint to see whom they had tripped over. Even to the most advanced scanning system, this man would be perfectly invisible; Jeran had to shut down the techno-eye just to stop his brain from hurting as it was sent two contradictory signals.

“Well this can’t be either” Kardrin said, he had no discernable accent “You got the briefing I sent you?”

“It had colour illustrations” Said Jeran with a hint of a smile. Kardrin Manffuto was his chief of security (ground and space) and stealth ops. He also had connections to just about every black market in existence. Jeran had saved his life on Paranid Prime just before he founded the Tech Alliance, and due to their relationship, Kardrin had generously offered to take on the position after his first security officer was shot down in pirate ally. Jeran still held minor suspicions about the circumstances of the shooting and Kardrin’s willingness to take on the job; these however had been repeatedly proven baseless over their long relationship. For that, Jeran was very thankful; Kardrin as he was now was most certainly not a man to be proven wrong about.

“Well its worse then we thought” Said Kardrin, swivelling his chair around to the massive computer screen opposite the door. The screen showed a diagram of the known galaxy, traditional colour tags assigned each race, with Gencore holdings marked out in amber halos.

“This here” he said, indicating with a laser pointer “is a detailed load-out of all pirate activity in and around Gencore-held space, the numbers you see around each sector in green are the normal amount of pirate traffic we have been seeing for the past few months, anything else is grey. Now see the red number sets, these are the ratings of pirate activities my spy network and your satellite system has detected in excess of the previous readings”

Jeran looked closer at the chart, his techno-eye useless around Kardrins hot-wiring.

“What’s a fifty percent increase doing around my patrol screens?” He inquired neutrally.

“What’s a fifty percent increase doing around my black-ops is the question you should be asking, your patrols are non-sequiter in the realm we’re dealing with here” Replied Kardrin.

“I’m waiting” Said Jeran, still scanning the figures.

“Basically, it looks like there’s a new player on the scene. Some big pirate lord is ganging up on our transports like nothing else for some reason”

“Your telling me, I’m the one whose had to deal with the lose of revenue these attacks had caused” Growled Jeran.

“Judging by the coordinated nature of these attacks, and the level of activity increase we’ve been seeing, the pirates are re-asserting themselves all over this region, even the Kha’ak have been taking a beating from these new boys” Said Kardrin, flicking the pointer along the boarder sectors, displaying more figures.

“My contacts in the Argon military aren’t saying much” Jeran lamented “The fleet’s down to only 30% of normal effectiveness, the Kha’ak are tying up a huge amount of resources, but the pirates, especially their deep-fringe arrays have been hit just as bad since they’re so isolated, and no-one is likely to come to their aid”

“Well, we were wrong” Said Kardrin, his tone suddenly very serious.

“What exactly are we looking at?” Questioned the Admiral, dreading the answer.

“Unless something is done about this pirate lord within three months, the Gencore are extinct, and a new empire appears on scene, the Pirate Empire. A league of pirates so strong that nothing short of a war will stop them” Said Kardrin, face set in the finality of the data. Jeran didn’t need a second explanation.

“Prepare the Renegade Commander, we’re going for a ride”

[Tenlar Scarflame]

The sector Hatikvah's Faith was by far and away Captain Adrian Carter's most beloved sector. It was a crossroads of Federation, Family, Company, and Independent Space, meaning it was perhaps the most cosmopolitan sector in which one could still be reasonably certain they'd get spaced if they were absent at least two or three armed escorts. In the pre-colonial era, the place had served as one of the deepest Terraformer-controlled sectors, and even now the damn nightmares would still pop in for a surprise visit or fail to completely escape detection as they made their way to some other operation in the near sectors. Any sort of deal could be struck here, both in the name of justice, security, and do-goodery, and in the name of profit, anarchy, piracy, or just plain nastiness. Some degree of religion was necessary to cross the Faith with due speed and safety- if God saw fit to grant you a boon or bring swift justice upon you, it would more than likely happen in here, in the Faith.

Adrian didn't fancy himself a pirate, really, at least not the sort that usually made the headlines of Argon Today. The hull-cutting killers, terrorists, weapons dealers, and those cruel-hearted family slavers that generally meant that the title of "Independent Sector" would automatically translate to "Pirate Sector" in the minds of most. Even the damned nav-maps said it. No, that wasn't Adrian- he was no Knight in Shining Armor, no doubt there. But pirate? Nah.

This passed through the mind of Captain Carter as he gazed upon the ever-growing mass of Hatikvah Prime, spinning through the purple, alien mist that lightly painted the edges of this place. He felt quite pleased with himself, that he was no mean pirate. Satisfied with this, he began to feel even more pleased with himself when his plan to nip the entirety of a Terracorp experimental weapons cache, along with their bank codes and thus a quite bountiful sum of credits assigned to the surface station, came to mind. Nope, not at all a pirate, Adrian quickly reassured himself. He smiled. He loved it here in the Faith.

The only thing that troubled Adrian was, in fact, that he was not really the pirate in charge. He thought back to the station in Danna's Chance, two long jumps to the galactic west, where he'd taken up his current contract. He was quite unusually well-kept for a pirate- Adrian was a sharper dresser than your average matey, but this fellow seemed to fancy himself the Baron of Danna's Chance, and dressed the part. Pirates made all sorts of proclamations while under the influence of spaceweed, especially ones concerning rulership or the superior size of one's spaceship, but the Baron carried such an air of confidence in himself, as well as such a huge retinue of armed guards, concubines, a jester, three emissaries, and a handful of pathetic looking slaves of varying races (Adrian spat with disgust), that the Captain had to wonder what kind of power this man truly had. And that wasn't the half of it, either- this Baron was just that, a Baron. And he kept implying the existence of some sort of King. Troubling indeed.

The name Marcus Lanik had cropped up at some point, too... and he'd heard that name before. He couldn't remember what it was about either time, though...

But the tune of a 15% cut in all bootyswag sang louder than any troubles Adrian could think of- it was expected that the heist would yield weaponry, ammunition, and funds enough to soundly outfit a medium-sized carrier group, and Adrian would walk away a happy man with a freighter-load of goods and cash.

Or just swag the entire bounty and make for Family or Company Space... now that would be an adventure. Adrian was never one to pass up a duel with the devil...

Speaking of which, he thought, as Jane rounded the corner into the conference room. "Captain."
Adrian grinned. "Jane."
She returned it. "Dirty sonofabitch."
"I'm not at all dirty, I showered this morning. And don't talk about my mum that way."
"Planetfall?"
"Two stazuras, though if you'll wait for the meeting I'll explain it all then."
"Right, right."

It was between Thrk and Jane, the position of Adrian's favorite wingman. Thrk was a proud, honorable, and infinitely wise veteran of more battles than Adrian could remember. He was a stellar diplomat, tactician, a master of the sciences, and had never lost a duel in his life, even one in play. Jane, on the other hand, was a crackerjack fighter pilot with more style, spunk, spine and spirit than he'd ever seen. And on top of that, she was a tall, slender, fire-headed hourglass girl, and her skills in space were nothing compared to her skills elsewhere.

"So, then, why might you be here a good forty five mizuras before the meeting?"
Her blue eyes glinted. "Do I have to tell you?"
"Already did, Jane."

Nah, he wasn't a pirate.

[Admiral Jeran Korak]

Chapter 2: Return of the Star Warrior, well parts of him at least.

The Renegade Commander was not built with creature comforts in mind. It was a warship, plain and simple, but unfortunately with the Gencore, nothing stayed brand-labelled for long. Sporting an extra shield mount, three extra gun mounts, state-of-the-art quantum cargo compression and an engine tuned to the point of insanity, the Commander could hold sway over ships twice her size without aid. The engineers had even tried to paint the hull in the Gencore colours (Blue and Yellow) but Jeran had put a stop to that when he realised the cost of manufacturing such a gargantuan amount of vacuum-resistant paint was significantly in excess of the original cost of the entire ship. Now he paced the bridge, Kardrin having retired to his quarters after the transportation sequence.

“Coming up on Eighteen Billion now Admiral” Came a voice from the lower operations area.

“Report” Ordered Jeran, finally setting himself down in the high-backed command chair. It was an old friend to him, having served on as many starships as he had, when you were an admiral you didn’t have to have reasons.

“Gencore Nova wings three and six in standard shroud escort formation under each bow, M6 class Resonant on standard patrol throughout this sector” Reported the helmsman after checking his readings.

“Hail the Resonant”

There was brief pause as the order was processed, then captain Francesca Moor appeared on the screen. At forty-three she remained an elegant and refined woman, her face unmarked by the ravages of age and brown hair reaching down to her shoulders, in clear defiance of regulations.

“Hello J, nice to see your still alive” She said conversationally Her voice had a high, aristocratic lilt to it that translated brilliantly through the slightly tacky transmission grade.

“Not for lack of trying” Jeran replied with a smile, relaxing just a little. He and Fran were old friends, like Kardrin she had owed him more then one favour over the years and had been slightly to strong for the militaries thinking, so at the first opportunity Jeran had handed her a Tech-Alliance gunship, and from then on there had been no stopping her.

“Kardrin sent me the data-packet” She said, her voice returning to the command-air “I can see what’s got him so worried; I take it you’ll be wanting my sensor information?”

“That would be most helpful” Grinned Jeran, not missing the slight jib to her last sentence.

“Understood, initiating the download, how’s Achilles Sector this time of year? I hear you get three sunsets out in that desert”

“You need to be above ground to get it love” Replied Jeran.

“I’ll keep that in mind” Smirked Francesca “Download completed, have a nice flight”

“Likewise, keep a bunk warmed for me at the trade-station, I might drop by sometime”

“Two bunks knowing you, Resonant out” With a grin, Moor reached out of the screen and triggered a button, the monitor faded out to be replaced by the cold glare of space. Jeran sighed, smiled faintly to himself and ordered the data analyzed. While he waited, Jeran reviewed the sensor logs of his own craft. The display showed several pirate ships moving at an almost leisurely pace towards the trade-station, pirates openly dealt with the teladi, in defiance of more then one official space-law. Jeran would have liked nothing more then to turn the Commander’s weapons on the pirates and record their death-screams for posterity, however they would worm their way out of it, teladi pirates always did. Stocks were stocks after all. A minute or two later, the science officer signalled him that the data had been processed.

“Server detects three possible matches to the fighters that attacked our traders in Nyana’s Hideout and Scale Plate Green sir” Reported the science officer.

“Course?”

“All three are headed straight and true towards the core sectors”

“Transmit heading and nav-trajectory to the helm, then prepare to jump the fleet, we’re headed to Hatikvah's Faith!”

[SOTS]

Dan Gardna watched the city go about its business twenty storeys below his window. The harsh sunlight illuminated the people climbing the steps into the Senate building, to be swallowed by its sweeping lines and cool colours, casting stark bobbing shadows across the stairs.

Gardna was an average man. Average height, average build, average looks, average accent, average clothes, average length hair. Average, in fact, to the point of being nondescript. He'd found it a boon during his Intelligence days. It allowed him to blend in, get in, get out and fade from memory as if he was never there.

He watched as a man stepped out of a limousine car, straightened his immaculately tailored jacket, and stalked purposefully out of sight, into the lobby of the tower in which Gardna's agency, Semper Vigilans, owned its headquarters. It occupied the twentieth floor. He snorted, and shook his head. That man wanted this meeting kept quiet, and he arrives like that? Amateur.

Gardna dimmed the lights in his office, polarised the window, and settled into his seat behind his plain, but functional, desk.

After a mizura or so, a small speaker crackled into life on his desk. "Your appointment is here, Mr Gardna."

"Thank you, Phia. Send him through."

"Yes, Mr Gardna."

His office door slid back, and the tall man from the limousine stepped through, and sat in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the desk without being invited. He was middle aged, with a strong jaw and receeding hairline. He blinked while his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

"Mr Suzano, it's a pleasure," said Gardna over steepled fingers.

"I never left my name with your agency."

"Please. This is a detective agency."

"Pleasantries dealt with, then, we want you to-"

"Infiltrate the headquarters of the Gencore Tech Alliance, steal some rather sensitive information, and relay it back to you," interrupted Gardna, not having moved a centimetre from his original position. He'd barely even blinked.

"I... how did you..."

"We are a detective agency, Mr Suzano. It is our business to know."

Suzano looked uncomfortable. Having already read a thick profile on the man, Gardna knew this man was fairly high ranking within his own corporate enterprise, and was used to being in control of negotiations. For a small manipulative game, Gardna sought to disabuse him of that habit.

"Well, then, in that case, we at the Computation Corporation Conglomerate-"

"You at C3 are offering the princely sum of one million credits for Semper Vigilans to field a team and extract the information."

"Um... no, no not exact-"

"It has been a pleasure, Mr Suzano. The door is over there."

"Fine!" gasped Suzano. "Fine. One million. Not a credit more."

Gardna finally smiled, if coldly. He unsteepled his fingers, stood and offered his hand. "A telling transaction, Mr Suzano. Bret will show you out."

Shaking the proffered hand, Suzano turned to leave. He looked the hulking security man standing just inside the door. He hadn't even heard Bret come in. He looked back at Gardna. "What do you mean by 'telling'?"

"Good day to you," Gardna said with finality. The door closed with a hiss.

Standing back at the window, watching the limousine leave, he mentally reviewed what he knew of the Gencore headquarters. Palmprint and retinal scanners with an integral DNA scan, the usual security cameras and motion detectors and so on. That was inside. To defend against penetration from outside, there was at least a gigajoule of shielding, probably more, transporter scrambler pillars, and surface-to-air and surface-to-orbit missile and anti-fighter flak batteries. Hundreds of armed security guards, thousands of staff on the shift rotations, and, to boot, built a good kilometre or so into the bedrock.

Well. Getting in shouldn't be too hard. Getting back out with the info, that was going to be the tricky bit.

He stepped back to his desk, and pressed a button on the surface. "Phia, get a message to Polik, please. Tell him I'm collecting that favour, now. With interest."

"Yes, Mr Gardna."

"And send word to the hangar. I'm taking one of the scoutships."

"Yes, Mr Gardna."

He clicked the intercom off and left the room, then the floor, then the building. He took a taxi to the spaceport, then made a beeline for the private hangar used by SV.

After strapping in and being loaded into a TD, he waited to lift into space. He remained in his cockpit, not wishing to mingle with the other passengers today. A bumpy ride up, then a smooth ride out of the bay in a queue of nearly fifty other vessels. Commuting was so long-winded these days. Following that, an entirely uneventful - and long - journey to the Trading Dock in Omicron Lyrae.

"This is Sierra Victor three Mike five, requesting permission to dock."

"Granted, Sierra Victor three. Welcome aboard."

Having made his way to the bar, he chose a table in the far corner, away from the service rail. He sat in a seat that faced the wall. He didn't need to see the patrons, he knew who was in the room the mizura he walked in.

Footsteps behind him. "Hello, Polik."

"How do you always bloody know?"

"It is my business to know. Sit."

Polik sat. "What do you want? You know I could lose my job for this, right? I've been there for four jazuras."

"Well, I could tell your family exactly how you got them out of that Split slave pit, if you want. You owe me. It is, in fact, because of your position at Gencore that I contacted you."

Polik looked equal parts furious, guilty, and apprehensive for a moment. "What is it you want me to do this time?"

"Help me infiltrate the HQ. The self-styled 'Admiral' Korak is away chasing pirates. This is the best time, and I do not trust my subordinates to do the job well enough. So, I am here in person, and require your help."

"Well, tough, because... because..." Polik sighed. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No. Asking was a courtesy."

"In which case, there's a transport docked. There's a fair few Gencore staff on leave on the station, the transport's here to pick them up. I'll be on it. There won't be room for stowaways, though. Unless you want to hitch a ride on the hull?"

"Stowaway? Polik, m'boy, I am a new Gencore employee! I even have the uniform! Look." Sure enough, a new Gencore technician's jumpsuit was neatly folded in a canvas bad beside Gardna on the table. The nametag on the lapel read 'DANNA'.

"That's... oh. Um, the transport's leaving in a few mizuras. We should go."

"This way." Polik found himself swept up in Gardna's wake.

Outside the passenger boarding tube a group of Gencore employees were chatting. "Won't you introduce me, Polik?"

"Uh, yeah, okay... Guys? Hey, this is, um..."

"Dan Danna," Gardna said with an enthusiastic smile and a little wave, every bit the new guy wanting to make a good first impression. "I'm so excited to be working for Gencore!"

"Yeah, whatever. Nice to meet you," replied one of the other workers. He rattled off a series of names that Gardna already knew, gesturing to each employee in turn. They turned back to their discussion about this section supervisor, that new piece of machinery that was playing havoc with the old software, the other extension to the tunnel network.

Having boarded, Gardna chose a seat on the aisle, and strapped himself in, chatting animatedly to a weary looking woman in the seat next to him. He asked if it was true the facility really spread across the whole planet, underground, and that they were trying to harness black holes as a weapon. All the stupid rumours floating around about the GTA headquarters, basically.

After the ride down, Gardna and Polik hung back, waiting for the others to leave the underground hangar and board the monorail. Gardna resumed his previous manner. "Take me to a network terminal."

"Why?"

"Where is the nearest one?"

Polik looked around. "Probably in there," he said, pointing at a featureless door set into the wall. Gardna tried the keypad; unlocked. The door hissed aside, revealing a a small network junction. A terminal was nearly hidden under a jumble of cables and trunking. Sweeping it aside, Gardna started tapping away at the input keyboard.

The anti-intrusion software here was good, but nothing compared to the practise programs they used at Semper Vigilans. Barely a mizura, and he was in. But he didn't have long. He loaded a password generator from his neural net into the terminal, ready. He accessed the camera feeds, and was confronted with a password query. His generator spawned half a million possible codes in a sezura, and unlocked it. A second box appeared, and was cracked by his generator. Gardna raised his hand to start typing again, when a third box popped up. A fractal algorithm cypher. Gardna raised an eyebrow, the one outward sign of his surprise. His password generator would be useless for this. He deleted it from the terminal.

He dredged out another program that he'd sourced from a contact in the black market. Any code, any cypher, any enigma, or so the manufacturer stated. He was about to test it. He loaded it up, and executed the file. It latched onto the third box, and started reaching down through the near-infinite lines of code, searching for the key to unlock it. Gardna estimated another twenty sezuras before he had to disconnect and start again for fear of detection by the system's human overseers.

"Polik, any company?"

"No, not yet... I don't know how far away the nearest guard station is, though."

The terminal bleeped. The decypher was halfway done. Fifteen sezuras. Eleven sezuras, and the box disappeared, the code cracked open. Working quickly, he found what he wanted, and set all the memory banks for the security feeds to reformat to their factory settings. In a facility this size, it would not only erase them but put them out of commission for at least the next few stazuras. He disconnected from the terminal with three sezuras to go.

"So, if you can crack the system that easily, what do you need me for?" Polik asked. "I just want to go to work, earn my pay, go home, and lead my life. I don't want to be caught up in your games."

"Your security clearance. You've worked hard here for four jazuras. While not exactly a supervisor or section overseer, you still have a higher clearance than I do as a new employee. You can open doors I can't without attracting attention. So. You're coming with me, and you don't leave until I say you can."

Polik looked mutinous, but the blackmail threat Gardna had hanging over him kept him quiet.

They walked through the labyrinthine corridors, passing other Gencore employees that didn't spare them a second glance. Polik was looking increasingly nervous, and his brow was beaded with sweat.

"Control yourself," Gardna hissed. "If you give us away, you will not escape with your job. Probably not your life, either. Calm down. Everything is going well."

"Well, I'm sorry, but this is hardly my bloody day-job, is it?"

They came to yet another door. Polik placed his palm in the gel reader, and looked into a small hole above the panel. The panel tested his DNA and finger and palmprints while the low-powered laser in the hole compared his retina to the image on file. Finding him clean and in an area he was meant to be in, the door opened and admitted them both.

"That's the last door I can access alone," Polik said. "The rest have guards, and they need to know me by name to let me through."

"I know."

"I can't help you anymore. Can I go?"

"No."

"But you said-"

"That you leave when I say you can."

Polik settled into an uncomfortable silence again. They walked for half a kilometre, turned left at a junction, and after another kilometre came across the first guarded door. There was only one guard. There should be two, but they didn't have time to wait for the second one to get back.

"Do you remember the signals we used in that Split station?" Gardna asked Polik.

"Yes... why?"

"I want you to make sure the corridor's empty when I talk to that guard. Come with me."

They walked towards the door at the end of the corridor, Polik half a step behind Gardna's left shoulder.

"Who are you?" the guard asked, rifle shouldered.

"Er, hi, the supervisor sent us down here to get-"

"No, I don't think so. They always send word first, and-"

Polik tapped Gardna twice in the small of the back, the all-clear signal. Gardna drove the extended fingers of his right hand into the guard's throat, choking off his sentence and making him gag and gasp for air, doubled over, hand clasped to his neck. Gardna found the softspot in the cartilage at the base of the skull and pressed hard with his thumb. The guard slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Gardna manhandled the man into position, then slapped the guard's ungloved hand onto the palm reader, and held his eye open over the retina scanner. The door hissed open. Gardna motioned Polik through, then dragged the guard in behind him. The door sealed.

"We don't have long at all before the guard is missed. Quickly."

They hurried through the section they were in - Research and Development.

"Gard- Danna, why are we here? What do you want?"

"Money. This commission will win me rather a lot of it."

"I meant-"

"Shut up. Shutting off the cameras wasn't the only thing I did in the system. I found where they keep their most sensitive things when I first got in, before the cameras. I looked at the plans for the R&D department, and one section was locked behind a stupidly high clearance code. That is where we are going."

"You're insane."

"So I hear. I told you to shut up."

They walked past labs, computer arrays, test ranges. Two lefts, a right, another left, two rights and three lefts led them to a dead end, with one solitary door at the end. There was no guard, but there were palm and retina scanners to the left of the portal. Gardna hurried over to them. He fished a small manual tool out of his pocket and removed the cover of the keypad to the side of the palmreader. He plugged a PDA into a data trunk inside, and ran some more of his ineffable programs.

"Come on, come on, come on..." Gardna muttered under his breath. The PDA was nothing compared to the processing power of the terminal, all his programs were taking an age longer to run. A muscle in his jaw was starting to tick before the door hissed open. He gave a sigh of relief, quickly disconnected his PDA, replaced the keypad cover and ushered Polik through the door.

The room inside was dark, currently unoccupied. Gardna sat at the nearest terminal, reasoning that the computers were probably all linked to the same network here, given the amount of data cable trunking snaking behind the desks and over the floor. He used his password generator to log on, then started casting about inside the memory cache for the files he needed. After a few mizuras, he frowned. There was nothing here. There were no files, no programs, no monitors even-

Ah. There, a reference to another room in this section of the facility. He shut the terminal down and gestured for Polik to follow. He led the way to the room marked on the network, and opened the door. It was a drawing room. Architect's tablets covered the desks. A single desk lamp was on, illuminating a shelf rack filled with slim drawers. Looking closer, Gardna saw that there was a draw with the same reference number he'd seen on the terminal along with the room code.

Pulling open the drawer, Gardna cast a quick eye over the blueprints inside. He reached for the paper (paper, of all things. Hard copies were nigh unnecessary now. Unless you were a paranoid CEO of the largest privately-owned technology corporation in Argon space, of course), then performed a double-take and made a more thorough examination of the details.

"No... they can't be..." breathed Gardna. He was interrupted by the sound of voices in the main room. Folding the plans carefully, he tucked them inside his jumpsuit.

"Come on," he whispered to Polik, who dumbly followed. There was nothing to say. Polik just wanted to go home at this point.

There were armed guards in the main room, conducting a search of the section.

"Second squad, sweep round from the right. First sqad, with me, check the side rooms."

"How do we get out of this one, then?" Polik whispered urgently. He was heard, and Gardna rolled silently out of sight beneath a desk as the chemical projectile rifle of a nearby guard thundered, holing Polik's chest and neck, killing him instantly. Gardna thought detachedly that he'd have to send a letter to his family, to let them know and give them his condolences. And the five percent he would have got out of the commission fee. Anonymously, of course.

As the line of guards moved past his desk, Gardna slid out into the shadows, sneaking towards the exit. They hadn't left a rearguard. Amateurs. Gardna was out of the door and heading back towards the stairway heading upwards before they even realised someone had slipped past them.

"Hold the door!" he shouted at a researcher who had already opened the door. She held an arm out, stopping the automatic door closing. Gardna hurried through, and muttered a thank you. She nodded and turned to climb the stairs. She stopped. "Wait, I don't know any 'Danna'..."

Gardna's hand clamped around her forehead.

"What-"

He rammed his thumb into the base of her skull, probably harder than he should've. She dropped like a stone. He didn't check to make sure she was still alive. He sprinted up the stairs, taking the steps two and three at a time. At the top, the guard from earlier was just stirring. Gardna kicked his heel into the man's forehead, slamming his skull against the wall. He slumped again. Gardna repeated the process with the guard to open the door, then hurried back through all the earlier levels.

He was this close to freedom when someone called him.

"Hey, Danna! You were with Polik, do you know where he is? He didn't show up for his shift."

It was one of the Gencore workers from the Trading Dock, jogging over to him. Gardna turned back towards the hangar bay doors.

"Hey! Danna!"

Gardna waited until the man was close enough, then slammed an elbow into his throat. He dropped, gasping, to his knees. Gardna left him to it, and ran across the open bay. The transport from earlier was gone, but he couldn't have used it in this situation anyway. He hauled open a massive shutter to one side, revealing one of the base's interceptors. He jumped into the cockpit, and started up the machine.

Guards poured through the door Gardna had just entered, and he slapped at the shield controls. Their shots pinged harmlessly off the energy barrier. He taxied onto a launch rail, made sure everything was operational, and rammed the afterburner throttle to the stops. The mag-rail helped boost the fighter, slamming Gardna back into his seat. Yellow alert lights flashed up and down the launch tunnel he was using. If the shields ignited before he was out of the tunnel, his escape would be cut abruptly short.

Gardna strained forwards in his harness, against the seven-G acceleration, willing his craft to be faster. The opening was approaching, five hundred metres, two fifty, fifty.

The shield flashed silver as it started. A scant three thousandths of a sezura before, however, Gardna's stolen interceptor shot out of the passage, and roared skyward.

He didn't get a respite. A shrill warning blared in the little cockpit. The Gencore base had launched three surface-to-orbit missiles at him. Even if he got into the stratosphere, they would be able to follow him. He checked the ship's inventory, then dropped five Mosquito missiles out of their launch cradles. They fell planetward, until the SOMs streaked past them, then their rocket motors ignited and they chased after the hostile missiles. Three explosions tore the air behind Gardna's M5, even as airbursts from anti-air flak batteries filled the air around him with shrapnel.

In orbit, two full squadrons of Gencore interceptors were waiting for him. He burned immediately for orbit egress, avoiding enemy ships and missiles. His shields took a few laser hits.

His engines registered an imminent overheat, and shut down the afterburners. Gardna bellowed forth a two-mizura long string of expleteives, without repetition, as he barrel-rolled, looped, corkscrewed and feinted, firing missiles and his laser cannons as he waited for his engines to cool to a reasonably safe level. He dodged fighters and missiles, and nearly scraped the paint off the wing of one adversary.

The moment his engines cooled sufficiently, he slammed the throttles to the stops again, rocketing away from the dogfight, shields nearly gone. He aimed for the Trading Dock.

He didn't have to worry about the interceptors yet. It seemed they'd exhausted their missile magazines, and he was out of range of their cannon. He made a beeline for the Trading Dock, and requested permission to land as soon as he was within range. He was granted.

He didn't so much land as impact the docking clamps. The moment his neural net registered a connection to the station intranet, he uploaded a metavirus that would scramble the docking computers processor arrays for the next half a quazura. Ships could leave, but not dock. The interceptors outside would have to stay outside.

Checking, he saw several ships on the station manifest that were scheduled to leave in the next half a quazura. He would wait til they were gone, and the metavirus had purged itself, before leaving himself. The interceptors would assume he wanted to escape as soon as possible, and chase after the ships that left soonest. There would no doubt be a few fighter pilots that docked with the station to run a quick check to see if Gardna, or Danna, was still there.

In the meantime, Gardna got changed in a public convenience, and placed the Gencore jumpsuit in the station's waste incinerator. That done, he went for a drink in the bar. He accessed the external station cameras, and watched interceptors peel off two and three at a time to pursue departing vessels. Soon there were only three left, and they angled in to dock.

Gardna stood, and made his way back to his M5.

"This is Sierra Victor three Mike five, requesting permission to launch, control."

"Control, Sierra Victor three. Granted. Good flying."

He was not followed or stopped the whole way back to Argon Prime. He landed, and made his way to the Semper Vigilans offices.

"Successful, Mr Gardna?"

"Of course."

"Mr Suzano is waiting for you."

"Thank you."

He entered his office and sat back in his chair, kicking his feet onto the desk. "Payment."

"Completed, and transferred to your company accounts. Where is the information?"

Gardna flicked the folded plans onto the desk. Suzano reached for them, and went to unfold them. "Not here. Take it back to C3, and mess with it there. I want nothing to do with it."

Suzano squirrelled the paper away into an inside pocket, then stood and left. Gardna stood at his window and watched Suzano disappear back into his limousine.

"Job done," murmured Gardna. He sat at his desk and started writing a letter to Polik's family.

[Tenlar Scarflame]

Problem.

"Carter Captain!" the deep voice of Manckastro called out over the Cossack's intercom. Adrian jolted awake. Dammit, Manck...
"Manck?" He groaned.
"Your presence required on bridge is, Carter Captain. Urgent is."
"I'm sure 'urgent' means I could finish my nap first?"
"Walse Flight it is, Carter Captain. Just arrived through North Gate they are, say message of urgency delivered must be."
"Manck, I've been told that Paranids taste like chicken, is it true?"
Manck guffawed. "Argon like rancid Chelt taste, Adrian. Now, your pink ass get to bridge."
Adrian smirked. "On my way."
As Adrian rose, Jane rolled over to face him. "Do Paranids taste like chicken?"
"Not sure. I don't think a lot of people know, either."

Five mizura later, Adrian arrived on the bridge to be greeted by the hazy image of a sweet-faced, black-haired woman in her mid thirties, wearing a civilian white flight suit. She drifted before the shield-glass, which gave her the entirety of Hatikvah 1 as her backdrop.
"Walse Flight on the comm is, captain." said Manckastro as he approached. "Is Priority One."
"Is it now?" said Adrian as he rubbed his eyes.
"Captain Carter," said the woman on the comm screen. "Walse flight leader Seldon."
"Thuruk's Moon get boring, Rachel?" smiled Adrian.
"You know me, I'm a fan of inhospitable, airless, godly abysmal space rocks." She grinned. "Especially when there's booty to be got."
"What's the trouble?"
"A prox probe, Adrian. We snatched a prox probe as we left the North Gate around two stazura ago. Found it by chance, it exited jump space just two sezura after we did. Fully ECM equipped, so it didn't appear on nav map or LT scans. No ID code either."
"Well then. We've just swagged a rich man's prox probe." said Adrian.
"Not done yet. We had Faustos do a spacewalk and tear the thing apart, and he's got some interesting things to say. Shall I transfer him to you?"
"Tell you what, Rachel. tell Walse Flight to form up line-abreast with the Cossack and prepare to be beamed aboard. You've still got the probe, I assume?"
"We do."
"Then it's coming aboard too. Knowing Faustos this will be a long-winded explanation, and you're probably wanting a bit of fresh air."
"No fresh air while Thrk's around, Adrian." Rachel grinned.
"Keep your lasgun in arm's reach when you go to sleep tonight, miss Seldon," said Thrk as he passed through the bridge.
"See you in one mizura, Rachel." The comm clicked shut.
It's always something...

"Probes of this sort are generally distinguishable by an ID code, or at least by a scannable, recorded build," explained Faustos in a slow, hissing, alien lilt. His tail twitched as his scaly hands swept gingerly over the partially gutted prox probe, which took up the majority of the 5-meter-long table in the conference room.
"But this device was ECM protected and is of a build unknown to me. This means it's not any Navy, Police, civilian or matey build that I've seen. As you know, an ECM protected prox probe is illegal to deploy in several Argon, Boron, and a few Split sectors due to surveillance and privacy laws."
"The reason this concerns us..." Faustos dug into the belly of the probe and extracted a long, slender, complex device. "Is this. It's an advanced scanner type that can roughly place a target practically anywhere in a sector based on its ship ID. It bases this find on local station travel reports, the scanners of nearby ships, and by its own long range tachyon scans. It combines this data to place where a ship ought to be, based on its most recent and accurate vectors. All you need to know is the ship's ID."
"Are you saying it's looking for us?" said Adrian, his arms crossed. The crew of the Cossack was mostly present, along with all sixteen members of Walkure and Walse flights.
"No," said Faustos gravely. "Nibelung flight."
"What?"
"I cracked the device to see what ID's it was searching for. Among over twenty others, the device was trained to find ID's AM4TX-75, AM4AA-01, and AM4RG-58. That's half of Nibelung flight."
"T'ach, what the devil..." growled Thrk.
"So..." said Adrian. "Who's looking for us?"
"The Baron's lackeys? Or his boss's lackeys?" suggested Jane.
"Like I said, this is no pirate build I've seen. And... well, look at it. It's shiny. Beautifully engineered. Works like a charm. And it was too easy to hack. This is no pirate device."
"So whose is it?"
"Whoever's it is..." said Adrian as he racked his brain for ideas, "we need to doubletime a message to Hatikvah's Moon. If Nibelung is there, as planned, they'll want to steer clear of the meeting point if they're being traced. If they're somehow incap, we need to start a search for them. Faustos, any chance you can reverse engineer that probe to do its work for us?"
"Fingers ready to type, Captain." Faustos grinned widely.

In the guts of the prox probe, a small, green light clicked on, and a long distance connection was requested with the nearest station. It did not operate on any civilian or military channel, and was thus undetectable...
Probe INCAP... Probe INCAP... await Gencore recovery... Probe INCAP... Probe INCAP...
The Cossack's electronic countermeasures and Faustos's handiwork did prevent the probe from transmitting its coordinates, but the message was spirited away perfectly...

Meanwhile, on the dark side of Hatikvah 1, six Argon interceptors of varying designation made their way stealthily within the gravitational shadow of Hatikvah's Moon, framing them with gray, dusty, pockmarked craters. At the center of their formation was the long, angular, patchwork form of a Vulture freighter loaded with several containers.
T'ach R'tte, commander of Nibelung Flight, reached for the full-screen gravidar switch as his boardcomputer notified him of an incoming communique.
"Nibelung Leader," he said in a voice very similar to his brother Thrk, though perhaps with a bit more Argon-ish softness. "Communication probe inbound. I'm patching you all in."
T'ach pulled up the communique probe on his target box- the device, little more than a foot-long cylinder launched from a modified mass driver tube, could broadcast a message under any sort of encryption, and had begun to enjoy widespread use in all circles, from civilian interests to law enforcement to piracy.
The message began to decode.
"It's the Cossack... Faustos's encryption."
Nibelung 3, a young Argon, chimed in. "What's Walse flight doing with the Cossack?"
"They were on Thuruk's Moon last time we..."
Suddenly, T'ach's voice cut them off. "Nibelung flight, set course 60-22 and prepare for lunar descent. We've been traced."
"What? How?"
"Cossack is heading for the far side of Hatikvah's Moon and we're going to meet them there... I assume they'll explain then..." Damn it, I tug on the leash just once...
The seven ships took a sharp turn and headed for the dark side of Hatikvah's Moon.
Thrk switched to a private channel and established a connection with the Vulture.
"Caravan flight control," responded a black-skinned, glowing-eyed Teladi on the other end of the comm screen.
"Nibelung leader. Dump the swag on a geosynchronous trajectory with Hatikvah's Moon. Dump an ECM jammer with them so they won't show... and a few mines. We'll be back for them when the time comes."
"Don't want Cossssssack doing any ssssnooping, T'ach?" Hissed the Teladi.
"Or anyone else, Dantus," said T'ach sharply. "We're not losing our swag to anyone. Not today."
Especially Adrian...
"Roger," replied Dantus, and the comm clicked shut.
Four of the five crates being carried by the vulture were boosted away, bound for a geosynchronous position relative to Hatikvah's Moon. Just before they passed into the shadow of Hatikvah 1, the side of each crate glinted in the naked sun, and their labels could be read perfectly...
One was unmarked, three were painted with the blue and yellow emblem of the Gencore Tech Alliance.

[Admiral Jeran Korak]

Chapter Three: Search and Destroy.

Some things just can’t be left to chance.

The Renegade Commander exploded into quantum-stability almost directly over the poles of Hatikvah’s Moon, it was a precision jump that owed nothing to luck. Jeran spent precisely two seconds contemplating the looks on the faces of the pirate sensor operators when they saw the danger equivalent of a Kha’ak destroyer bearing down on them, then spun his chair to full command position. From here he could see the entire bridge, every console and every person manning them. It was a good feeling; the ship was a beast ready to unleash its rage upon anything foolish enough to challenge it. At the same instant three full squadrons of Gencore Nova seemingly appeared from under the craft, hulls glowing a cherry-red as they screamed towards the moon.

“Report” Came the order as the last Nova detached itself from the stealth-shield and blazed towards the atmosphere.

“All fighters are safely away from the cloaking sheath without mishap, now headed directly for the ID matches detected by the stealth probe before it vanished off our scopes” Reported Kardrin. He had taken over Weapons and scanners from the slightly nervy science officer, who now operated the backup unit a few meters away.

“Any signs of a response yet?”

“You could say so, I’ve detected literally thousands of sensor alerts blaring all across this sector, anyone who hasn’t noticed us yet deserves what he gets”

“Speaking of which, how did you lose that probe?” Inquired the Admiral, a tiny note of humor in his voice. Kardrin went red, the spy-probe had been his invention and now he would have to raise blue murder with some idiot bureaucrat back at HQ just to be told that the thing actually existed, to actually get a working model on his desk would be harder then marrying a split to a boron with a paranid as best man.

“Erm…” He said, trying desperately to maintain a neutral expression “They ran over it?”

He was spared the axe by a report that all fighters were now in position over the dark side of the moon. Nothing was going down or up without their permission.

[fiksal]

- Tell us captain Lanik… you are a captain right? Well, captain Lanik, on what conditions are you here as a witness?
Marcus thought for a second and tried to read an answer in the prosecutors face, but he remained emotionless.
- Well, I guess your court thinks I have a good information…
- Yes, you, in fact, do. All these interesting stories that you told us today - about the existence of the organized crime with a rich Argon family at the top, who built an empire on illegal alcohol and drugs. Yet, why were you arrested last week? Do you recall?
Again Marcus looked at the prosecutor hoping he’d step in and stop Marcus from saying anything that he wasn’t supposed to.
- I do not remember, - slowly replied Marcus
- That is not a problem, captain Lanik. Your honor, I’d like to present Marcus Lanik’s record.
The defense lawyer walked to his desk and picked up a carefully stapled set of white sheets.
- You were arrested, captain Lanik, for: possession with intent to sale… shipment of spacefuel,… spaceweed…charged with attacking and boarding transporter ships…. five counts… and tax evasion. Is this correct, captain?
- I a…. I suppose so, – answered Marcus.
- Yet you are a free man – the state had dropped all the charges against you for testifying against my client. Interestingly enough too, you, captain Lanik, are the only eyewitness to the above mentioned crimes.
Marcus opened his mouth to answer, yet the lawyer had no intention of giving him a chance to defend himself. ‘No matter’ – thought Lanik: ‘the deal still stands, even if the case itself goes under the table’. He looked over the defense corner and for the first time since he was on the stand, made an eye contact with the defendant - the mob boss. He was a large man, in a nice brown suit and a tie, - ‘almost like a normal person’, - Marcus thought. Next to him was sitting his second in command – a ruthless captain, an older man with sharp, dagger-like silver eyes. The boss smiled at Marcus, reminding him that all those who ever crossed the mob, have never lived to be old men…
or so they say.

[Tenlar Scarflame]

Holy Terra's left buttock...
"What the...? What the hell!" shouted Nibelung 3 as his gravidar, along with practically every other light in his cockpit, suddenly turned a deep, warning crimson, and the hostile contact signal sounded unceremoniously across the entire squadron.
"Fifteen, sixteen... twenty... lost count of contacts," counted Nibelung 6 woefully. "Two full Argon heavy fighter squadrons, that means at least twenty fighters, counting three escort gunships and a flagship of unknown designation. More vessels are emerging into Real Space..."
"They've sealed off the meeting point... how the hell!"
T'ach raised his eyebrow. Gencore certainly wasn't playing nice. He established an open comm with his flight.
"Nibelung flight, the fleet we're seeing is a Gencore hunting pack. I'm guessing they were able to trace our ship ID's somehow last wozura, and traced us here..."
"With just our ship ID's?"
"Gencore has lots of fun toys to play with. For instance, the frigate class vessel you see before us."
"Plan?"
"Full one-eighty, full afterburn for as long as you can. The Renegade Commander is fast, but we're faster. We drop south and pass behind the East Gate, drop below the ecliptic and head for the West Gate. From there, we move to Danna's Chance."
"Cossack?"
"..." T'ach smiled. "Cossack will serve its purpose."
He opened a private channel with Caravan.
"T'ach?" hissed Dantus.
"Dantus, think about the fastest programming job you've ever done."
"Sixsssssteen sezuras to crack a Terracorp fractal algorithm," replied Dantus proudly.
"Cut that time in half and that gives you the time you've got to reprogram our ship ID's, return the communique probe, and load it with an untraceable program that will switch the ID's of six Walse and Walkure fighters to our old ID's."
Dantus hissed happily. "Four ssssssezuras' work, T'ach."
T'ach's expression did not change. "Those extra four sezuras can be spent making sure Gencore has no idea we are making this little switch."
"T'ach?" radioed in Nibelung 4. T'ach switched back to an open channel.
"Yes?"
"Why Danna's Chance?"
"We have new friends to play with, Nibelung 4."
The face of the betrayer...

[Admiral Jeran Korak]

Chapter 4: Hunter, Prey.

There is nothing more annoying then a running battle, period

Streamers of plasma bolts burst past the bridge windows, to be followed seconds later by two pirate falcons, big heavy-duty shielding protecting them against the Renegade’s flak-barrier.

“Lock missiles on target, restrict dorsal turrets to salvo fire only” Jeran snapped, wincing slightly as the tactical displays hard-wired to his command-console registered another string of hits on the starboard quarter. The Renegade Commander blazed through space, flak cannons belching out rounds as fast as the belt-feeds could be stacked as the motley array of sortied pirate craft buzzed around them like a cloud of enraged gnats. For the most part, they were typical pirate louts, un-coordinated and un-prepared for the skill and ferocity of the enemy they faced and met death in a variety of horrible, agonizing and unpronounceable ways, what they lacked in equipment and training however was more then made up for in numbers.

“Lock established” Said Kardrin, voice emotionless. Then he fired without waiting for an order, four swarmer pods rocketed from their struts, the falcon were a sitting duck, their shield space counteracted by snail-like speed. The high-tech weapons all met their mark; two extra sunrises blossomed into existence above the airless rock.

“Re-activate dorsal flak-batteries” Jeran ordered, biting off a remark about Kardrin’s trigger-happy attitude, he knew however that an argument at this time would probably lose them their desperately sought-after quarry.

“Starboard shields have been weakened by previous missile impacts; they won’t withstand another directed nuclear charge”

“We can’t stay here much longer without losing assets, we must withdraw!” Shouted Kardrin as the bridge was rocked by a salvo of particle accelerator blasts.

“Starboard shields down ten percent, levelling off at twenty-three”

The situation was grim, the targets were escaping fast and their shields would soon fail. So far their escort had preformed brilliantly, sustaining practically no casualties and dealing out horrific devastation to the attackers, however the sheer weight of numbers was pressing down upon the Gencore fleet, and as more pirates began launching from the base to inevitably get caught in the melee the odds were becoming reality.

“Incoming attack wing, two pirate Nova and a falcon missile-carrier. They’re aiming for out starboard shield, we can’t stop them!” Shouted a Nova pilot across the open communications line. Jeran looked up in time to see the attackers wheel inwards towards the damaged shield, the attack could never be stopped in time.

“Reinforce…” he began, then a huge shadow fell across the starboard camera screen. A stream of enhanced plasma bolts shot out of the ether, the falcon didn’t stand a chance, it’s hull breached, payload ignited and a gargantuan green fireball erupted on the screen, taking the two Nova with it. Triple suns blazed into existence, then were blotted out as their rescuer screamed past, barely 200 metres from their hull.

“Frankie!” Yelled Jeran without thinking, the Resonant sailed on, guns burning massive holes in the pirate attack-line, which disintegrated into a chaotic mass of panicking craft who fled in all directions, only to meet the Renegade’s escort, trailing just behind.

“Resonant to Renegade” Came Francessca’s smug voice over the comm.-line “Looks like we got here right in time”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes Resonant” Jeran grinned “There are three targets directly ahead of you we need taken down, can you…”

“Way ahead of you J, rolling in”

In the race of buster vs. battlecruiser, there can be no prizes for coming second. A dragonfly missile nailed a straggler right in the engine compartment, which exploded in a spectacular fireball. The other five ships however engaged their afterburners and rocketed away. Jeran sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do. He slumped back into his chair and ordered a damage report.

“No structural damage” Reported Kardrin, scanning the board “Dorsal flak turret suffered a miss-fire and will need a new barrel; shield generators will need minor re-tuning. Apart from that, we came out alright”

“Escort losses?”

“Minor damage on all gunships, four Nova destroyed, several more reporting minor structural stressing. All pilots have been accounted for, considering the odds, we did well today.

“Maybe not so well” Noted the Resonant’s captain over the com “The reason I jumped here is because we detected a wide-band super-encrypted code with Gencore tell-tales, we’re piping it to your screens now”

Jeran felt a hollow feeling in his gut, he watched as a crimson line of a data filed over the screen. Kardrin confirmed his thoughts. His voice was shallow, disbelieving.

“It’s a Gencore Ultraviolet distress signal…from HQ. It says simply ‘Omega is free’”

“Then may god help us all” Whispered Jeran, and for the first time since the battle had began, there was fear in his voice.

[Tenlar Scarflame]

"Jesus!" Shouted Nibelung 3 with a victorious laugh. The expanse of Hatikvah's Faith was alight with bursts of laser and cannon fire, flack bursts and the fireballs of exploding reactors. T'ach watched in his 360 display as the skies over Hatikvah's Moon were further saturated with the crudely-constructed, dangerously over-tuned fighting force of the HFIG- the Hatikvah's Faith Independent Guard. The biggest, lousiest assortment of uneducated hullcutting, weed-smoking, bootlegging, cutthroat mateys you'd find in the Independents. Their general stupidity and the sheer weight and numbers it came in made them quite a fighting force- never underestimate a million idiots with plasma cannons. T'ach guessed they were looking to swag a new flagship- and also figured that now would be a good chance to dive into the mess, confuse Gencore, and execute an escape while confusion still reigned.
"Jesus!!" shouted Nibelung 3 again. "Look at all that! Look how those Novas are flopping around..."
"Mark how fast our good friends at HFig are dying," remarked T'ach dryly. "We need to act now. Nibelung Flight, prepare for combat. We need to blow through this line before we lose covering fire from HFig. Joining combat in T-minus fifteen sezura, let's see some theatrics from you amateurs. Oh," he added, "watch for HFig's cannons. They'll nail you if you steal their target." Idiots...
Nibelung Flight exploded into the fray a short fifteen mizuras later, guns blazing... within two mizuras, they were indistinguishable from the rest of the giant mass of Independent bootyswaggers taking Gencore for a night on the town...

Twenty five clicks to the southwest, Adrian and the rest of the Cossack's crew stared in awe as the furball exploded on the 3D Gravidar display at the center of the bridge. Adrian counted at least fifty pirate fighters of varying designation- and though this number would dwindle to forty or thirty within around ten mizuras, a squadron of rag-tag reinforcements would always relaunch into orbit from some renegade spaceport squirreled away between the craters of Hatikvah's Moon.
Most troubling, however- Nibelung Flight was nowhere to be found, and neither was Caravan. No ID matches.
It didn't look good for the HFig, though the Gencore hunting pack was not in very good condition. Its fighter pilots, some of the better trained in Federation space, were cast into disarray by the multitude of reckless Independent vessels harrying them from every direction, and though each was able to hold its own, their ability to stave off a new assault of Independent craft became severely reduced to the point where it appeared the Commander's shields would fail...
Then there was a second ship. Adrian smirked. Gencore certainly has expensive toys...
It decloaked a dangerously short distance from the Commander, and immediately blew a wide path of destruction through the Independent ships with a volley of plasma and missile fire. The mateys decided they'd had enough, and split in several directions...

T'ach spouted the most vulgar of Split curses he could muster. "Nibelung Flight, break away now! Repeat, NOW! Second Gencore cruiser entering Real Space!"
Suddenly materializing out of the mass of fireballing Independent ships, Nibelung Flight coalesced into a V formation on the opposite side of the battle zone- this was their chance to make a break for the rear of the South Gate. The six Busters' afterburners burst forth with jets of white-blue plasma- but only five screamed away to the South.
"Nibelung 2, malfunction! Mal..." Nibelung 2's communique was cut short by a missile explosion, which resounded across Nibelung Flight's comms before the device was vaporized and the Buster was shattered into a million flaming pieces.
"Two, we've lost two!" screamed Nibelung 6.
"Let's get out of here," muttered T'ach with all the calm he could muster.
The five busters blazed into the night.
Twenty clicks to the north, concealed by the shroud of an ECM jamming field, a lone Vulture reclaimed four of its five jettisoned containers. They were advanced Gencore containers and each carried a tracking device that could transmit their given position at any time within the last jazura, even through an ECM field- the devices cost at least a million credits each, but the nature of the cargo meant that such a cost was quite insignificant. Dantus knew this- and so he left the final container and headed straight for the West Gate under the guise of a Company nostrop transporter. He grinned widely; nobody would catch him, or Nibelung flight, he'd made that quite certain.
The container he left behind exploded in a controlled burst, sending sixteen fragments jetting away before they stopped, each at a distance of 200 meters from the next, in a perfect sphere. Sixteen ECM-concealed SQUASH Mines would ensure that anyone attempting to trace the Gencore containers would be slowed down significantly, if not vaporized...
"Let'sssssss see you sssssslither out of thissssssss, Captain Carter."

Silence fell onboard the Cossack as the crew watched the endgame of the battle. It was a massacre- only a handful of Gencore fighters had fallen, but the Independents were largely reduced to a large field of debris and fading plasma clouds. With little warning, the Gencore fleet accelerated alarmingly and entered Jump Space. The remaining Independents, a handful of Busters and a smattering of other ships, limped away, their tails between their legs.
Thrk spat. "Ought to kill off our competition for the next ten years. Good riddance to HFig."
Adrian was not in as good a mood. "We need to stay as low-radar as possible, Manckastro. Run the engines on as passive a thrust as you can muster. Faustos, how much time do you need to re-engineer the ID tracker?"
"It should be operational within the stazura, Captain," said the Teladi.
"Good. Once it's up we need to run sweeps for all the contacts Gencore was tracking, plus the ID's of all Gencore vessels we just saw- those vessels are on record now, correct?"
"Yes sir," said Faustos, "But why are we running sweeps for the other pirate vessels?"
"Because I have a bad feeling about this, Faustos. Nibelung, Gencore, the other seventeen fighter vessels- if the battle we just watched doesn't tell you there's a connection we don't know about, then you're hopeless. Manck, engine progress?"
"On ion footprint minimal main drive running is," replied Manckastro. "Only within kilometers five pinpoint detectable is."
"Well done. Faustos, mark the battle debris field as BZ Alpha. Helm, set a course for the centerpoint of BZ Alpha once it's marked. Full drive- we're operating on a limited engine output, which means two things. One, nobody can see us unless they're really paying attention. Two, our maximum velocity is severely reduced, so if we're tracked by someone nasty we'll be in a real painlocker. I want Walse and Walkure squadrons on standby at the transporter stations in case trouble comes knocking."
As the crew dispersed to its stations and the Cossack made its slow, stealthy way to the now-empty BZ Alpha, Adrian was still quite troubled. Gencore was far out of his league to deal with. But Nibelung Flight comprised all of his best pilots...
What in Holy Terra's name is going on?...

[Admiral Jeran Korak]

Chapter 5: Revelation

To fly: throw yourself at the ground and miss…

The Renegade Commander had returned to Gencore territory. Clamped into the giant shipyard of Omicron Lyre, remote repair drones buzzing around her. It reminded the viewer of some giant rendition of a queen-bee being ministered to by a swarm of workers. Inside the ship itself Jeran had called both Kardrin and Captain Moor to the conference room, along with all the other GTA captains in local space who commanded an M6 or greater. Now, he sat at the head of the long rectangular table, eyes scanning the slightly cramped room and its other occupants. Kardrin wore his GTA Uniform and an expression of a man whose entire world has just crashed around him. Jeran didn’t blame him, Achilles Sector had been his baby, and they had both taken great pains to ensure its safety. Now, all the security arrangements, all the training, and all the good will had failed them.

Yes, we have a right to be afraid J thought.

“Ladies and Gentlemen” he started. There was a snort from Francesca.

“I’ve called both of you here now to inform you that our greatest fear has come true” he continued “For those of you who don’t know, the GTA HQ was attacked a few hours ago by forces unknown using hugely advanced technology, technology capable of by-passing the security locks on our highest levels and stealing top-secret information”

Captain Chang of the GTA Thundercrash spoke up. He was the youngest in the room, and his attitude had cost him, like Francesca, a service in the Argon military.

“How did this happen? What kind of military or secret agency has the ability to break our lock-outs?” His voice was heavily Asian in accent.

“We don’t know” muttered Kardrin, barely loud enough for everyone to hear “But they went through our library like a fish through water”

“More importantly is the data they stole” Overrode the admiral, before the universally eccentric attitudes of the room’s occupants rusted over the chain of command. “You are all aware of the nature of some of the GTA research projects, but what I am about to say never leaves these doors. If even a single word of any of this gets into the wrong hands then we are, to a man, doomed”

“I don’t quite understand the need for all this secrecy” Piped up Liana No. She was the only Boron captain in the company, and her reputation for toughness was legendary throughout the galaxy. “We have the contacts to infiltrate and recover any stolen data, and even so, what is this we should be so afraid of? There is nothing in our research banks that is so volatile”

Jeran surveyed the room, took in all the old familier faces. There was not a single person here whom he had not known for at least eight jazura, not a single one he would not trust with his life. They were the rejects from society, men and woman that had been brilliant at their jobs, but had always had some personality flaw that never made it into command circles. None of them however, was dishonest. He dropped the coin.

“A few years back, before Achilles was built, me and Kardrin were on an old dig-site out in Blue Lagoon”

“I’ve never heard of that sector” mused Chang.

“I have” said Liana “It was a Boron colony, until it was destroyed by the Xenon during the second war. Afterwards the gate re-aligned and no-one ever visited that sector again”

“That is true” Broke in Kardrin “However there has never been a reason revealed as to why that sector was mysteriously cut off”

“Shortly before the Xenon attacked the two of us and a small scientist core were on Blue Lagoon itself, studying the ruins of what we believed to be a Precursor outpost that had been buried several thousand years ago”

“We didn’t find anything in the way of technology” took up Kardrin “However we did find a mysterious crystal in the centre of the outpost, composed of a material we’d never seen before. We analyzed it and found it was a remnant of a precursor computer core”

“That was when the Xenon attacked” Cut in the admiral “Most of the sector was devastated, but our dig-site was under a cavern structure on the dark side of the planet. While the Xenon nuked every living thing on the light side we downloaded as much data as we could from the ancient computer then ran for our lives. We barely made it out of there. Two hours later the gate re-aligned and nothing has been heard from that area since”

“I take it you discovered something important from that computer or we wouldn’t be sitting here” Muttered Chang, Jeran ignored him and went on.

“It took us three years of the highest available Paranid sentiant decrypting and decoding services to turn the data into something understandable to our limited perceptions. Precursors are literally a billion years higher in the evolutional ladder then us mere mortals. We got eight lines of readable text; these were part of an advanced coordinate system, a coordinate system used by the spatial distortion generators commonly known as jump-gates”

“So you got the first three numbers of the presidents’ address, so what?” Said Francesca.

“More then that” said Kardrin “This data gave us the basis of what we needed for an entirely new technological base, Achilles. We built it for one true purpose only, to find a way to interpret the data we found on that crystal. It worked”

“The information that was stolen was the key, the information needed to control gate-travel. It was the way the Precursor’s controlled the gate-ways”

There was a stunned silence for a few moments then Francesca said, in a far away sort of voice: “Is it viable?”

“That was the problem. We all here know why its impossible for our current computers to calculate a solo jump with one of our jump-engines without a gate fix, to many variables, there is just simply no processing system available that could handle that kind of input. So even though we now had a basic idea of what wires to push, we couldn’t do anything with them”

“It had truly terrifying potential as a weapon though. While we couldn’t actually control a gate, we could certainly change the direction of the quantum distortion generators” Said Kardrin

“Imagine forcing a gateway to open a wormhole inside an object, letting the unfocused energies do their work on ship hulls, planetary atmosphere, and stations, anything you could imagine that was large enough to target with a good margin of error. Entire worlds could be ripped apart by hundreds of virtual black-holes spewing radiation and quantum distortions through the crust, with enough of these gates under their control, someone could hold the entire galaxy to ransom, and we couldn’t do a thing to stop them”

“What were you planning to do with this information?” Liana spoke up.

“We decided that such a doomsday weapon would ultimately lead to the destruction of the known galaxy, if ever the split or Paranid got their hands on it we would be facing a new god-emperor or holy crusade”

“What about the profit margin? Such a technology would be beyond priceless, even as an unfinished prototype”

“You forget” Said Kardrin, voice hollow. “We didn’t design the gates, the Precursors are still out there, and if they ever find out that mankind has started messing with their toys, and they’ll come after us. Don’t forget, they were the ones that sealed the X-races inside this gigantic star loop in the beginning, they had a reason, and they won’t take kindly to us meddling in their technology”

“Then what can we do?” was the collective question.

“Spread the word, not one lead goes un-explored. From this day forth every ship, every asset, every blade of grass that we own will be put forward to finding these plans, and destroying them, no-one must ever learn these secrets, the secret, of the Omega Glory”

[SOTS]

Gardna sat in his office, fuming.

He had paperwork to do, administration, making sure information went out to clients on time. He was quite content to let his staff deal with it at the moment.

He shouldn't have taken that last job.

Well, there was the million credits.

But it had resulted in the death of a useful sleeper, and the release of, potentially, a Universe-destroying weapon.

Mostly, he couldn't believe Gencore would be so stupid to research such a thing in the first place.

Back when he was still with Argon Intelligence, he had heard about the Blue Lagoon research post. The Intel corps had kept an eye on the place as soon as it heard they had found a Precursor relic. When the Xenon attacked the sector, it was assumed lost, along with the entire science staff. Regrettable, but nothing to go public with.

Gencore had, apparently, escaped with either the relic intact or the data gleaned from it.

And come up with this.

The fact that Gencore had this sitting in a top-secret research facility, not even past the paper stage and apparently no attempt made to build one, attested to either the foresight or the fear of the project leaders. Preferably both.

However, now C3 had the plans.

The Gencore/C3 rivalry was legendary throughout the Argon sectors, and a few others besides. Given Gencore's slight economic and military advantage, C3 were willing to try anything to claw back the lead. It was a race bitterly fought for at least the last dekazura.

While Gardna was reasonably sure of Gencore's maturity, or at least security in the knowledge that they were currently ahead of C3, his opinion on C3 was considerably more dire.

That they would try and build such a device was beyond doubt.

That they would try and use such a device... there was nothing like even reasonable doubt in Gardna's mind.

They had to be stopped.

But to tell Korak that he knew of the situation would tip his hand... When it came down to it, it was worth the risk. C3 would probably go for Omicron Lyrae first, but who could tell where they'd target next?

Korak would probably try and have him killed, depending how much he knew or could guess.

Gardna thumped his desk in frustration. He was going round in circles. He came to a decision, and stuck to it.

"Phia," he ordered into the desk intercom. "Send a message to the Gencore Tech Alliance."

"Saying, Mr Gardna?"

"That I wish to speak with Jeran Korak, in person, about the recent theft at Achilles. That I know where the item that was stolen can be found. And that I can get it back."

"Yes, Mr Gardna."

[Tenlar Scarflame]

Independent combat fleets were not always exactly "pirates," persay, much like Captain Carter was not a dyed in the wool "pirate." The HFIG, for example, was not a force assembled for the purpose of piracy, though its soldiers very often would swag a juicy-looking bounty or well-painted ship to keep up their stockpile of resources, their supply of spaceworthy combat ships, and their fearsome reputation. Originally, however, the HFIG was simply Hatikvah 1's planetary defense force, in the time just after the colonization of the Near Colonies when there was still a little stability in the region. The defense force was technically (and, most importantly,) a private mercenary firm. Certainly they were poorly trained, poorly equipped idiots- but if they were better off, then Hatikvah's Faith would be a much safer, more stable place than it was. And they would be in the employ of nobody but themselves. A badly equipped Independent, unless he's got nothing to lose, would never do his work alone, or for free- he'd get spaced.
Which made Adrian wonder- who was the HFIG working for?

Adrian had clearly seen the battle the HFIG had undertaken right before his eyes- a battle in which they were clearly outmatched. Even given Gencore's relatively pristine reputation with the Federation navy, the Renegade Commander was always under watch, somehow or other. Nearly every move it made, every repair made to it, every extension, every upgrade, every bulkhead, computer system, armorglass panel, chair, urinal, and pencil was clearly documented and reported to the Navy every quazura. This wasn't special to Gencore- every other big Argon conglomerate with a reasonably-sized fighting force was subject to this, in order that the Navy could terminate, with extreme prejudice, any organization that attempted to initiate a coup.
This also meant that Independents would know who, besides the obvious Naval ships, they should be unusually nice to. Terracorp, Gencore, and C3 were numbers one, two, and three on the list, respectively.

There seemed to be a general consensus in Commonwealth space that pirates had very low regard for their own lives, and that they'd fight to the death against overwhelming odds just for the joy of it- something that always made Carter chuckle. He'd met a few mateys like that in his day, the ones so blazed by Spaceweed that they thought their name was Margaret and that the Federation Titan Destroyer prowling the sector was actually constructed of chopsticks, which were obviously no match for his beat-up Harrier's Impulse Ray Emitters. Yes, there were those pirates, and they generally made the headlines more than your honest matey. They were probably one in fifty, though- even the HFIG, while poorly trained, wouldn't jump on a Gencore cruiser, knowing they were horribly outgunned, without any indication of a weakness or some sort of booty to snatch.

But they just did! Carter fumed. He just couldn't get his head around it. So someone was paying them... how much? He laughed. He thought up a sum in his head that could possibly persuade him to fly the Cossack toe-to-toe against the Renegade Commander, and came up with 10,000,000 creds and a miniature army of combat borgs, so he could just send them to crew the Cossack, grab a sack of popcorn and watch the show from twenty or so clicks back, then head for Hatikvah City, change his name, and retire happily.
He cut out the borgs, and cut the sum in half, then multiplied it by the number of vessels he'd seen, counting twice those that would have a crew of two or three. He landed on something around 700,000,000 credits.
Who the hell would have 700,000,000 credits to just blow like that?

...The Baron?

And if he had that to just toss away, what else did he have up his gold-encrusted sleeve?

"Entering BZ Alpha in five mizuras, Captain," called the helm. Carter shook the thoughts away, for now.
"Thank you, helm. Faustos, report?"
Faustos' tail was twitching with excitement. "Gencore, Gencore, Gencore, you clever, clever, clever bastards..."
"Very interesting report, Faustos." The Captain managed a grin.
Faustos bared his teeth frighteningly, returning the grin. "I'm serious, captain. There's an ion trail leading through BZ Alpha... okay, there's hundreds of ion trails here from the furball, but come, come, look at this one..."
"I wouldn't be able to tell heads nor tails of it, Faustos," sighed the Captain, "could you explain what's different about it?"
"No, Captain, but I want you to... oh, fine. It's generated, captain. Generated artificially."
"...meaning?"
"Don't you want to know how I can tell?"
"Not really, I assume I can trust you on this."
Faustos sighed. "Very well, very well. It's artificial, and quite uniform... it's a trail, captain. A real, honest-to-goodness, cookie crumb, Hansel and Gretel trail. I ran about a dozen decrypters on the waveform the ion trail is generating, and the ninth one I ran... well... it came out as readable text."
Carter raised his eyebrows. "Now that's interesting."
"Yes, yes, yes! Well, readable as in I haven't decrypted the text itself, it's about the toughest cypher I've ever seen. But I have a program eating that up now. And the trail's fresh, too... it passed through BZ alpha only one stazura after Gencore's ships entered Jump Space."
"Anything else recognizable?"
"One word unencrypted, captain... Gencore. This trail was left by some property of Gencore. I suppose it's so that if they lost whatever's leaving the trail, they, and theoretically only they, could find it again. Except I'm the best cypher-slayer in the galaxy, of course." He grinned.
"Interesting..." mused Adrian. "Do you have video of the events one hour following the battle?"
"Oh yes, Captain, camera's always running."
"I'd like to see it."
"Certainly..." Faustos trailed off in mid-sentence, as his eyes grew wide with alarm. "HELM! HELM! FULL STOP! IMMEDIATE FULL STOP!"
"Faustos, what the bloody hell do you think you're..."
"You do it then! You must, you must order a full stop! Now!"
The helmsman glanced between Adrian and Faustos in confusion. Adrian gestured to the helmsman and he throttled down quickly. Other crewmen glanced around, confusion on their faces. An unusual quiet pervaded the bridge.
"And why, my good Faustos, have you ordered a full stop?" asked Adrian pointedly.
"Captain, captain, captain... we've sailed right into the middle of a mine sphere."
Carter was quiet for a long moment. "You're sure?"
"Positive, captain."
"...that's quite a good reason to stop."
The bridge was nearly silent, but for the drone of the filtration systems and various control consoles. Faustos glanced at his gravidar. "...You'll want to know, Captain... the ion trail passes directly through the center of the mine sphere."
Carter grunted. "Damned Gencore's covering its tracks with razor blades..."
"Or whoever STOLE from Gencore's doing so, Captain," said Faustos gravely.

[fiksal]

Marcus pulled up a chair and sat down, shoving the back of his trench coat to a side.
- So, the history in the making, huh? – he said: in the few months most of the families at the top of the food chain going to be arrested by Argon military
- And you give all credit to yourself? – said a man with a gold watch.
Marcus smiled with his not particularly attractive smile, which tended to emphasize his grey teeth with deformed and overgrown fang.
- So you know, you could step up… - suggested Marcus
- I don’t nearly have the number of required soldiers for that, nor the will. My place has always been in the shadows, not at the helm. – replied the man with the gold watch and took sip of his drink: Since you are back, a friend of mine would be interested in a timely delivery of an item.
- So I am back to be a delivery boy, eh?
- Not necessarily, but you are right here with your ship, – said the man with the gold watch, passing a metal case under the table.
- Have you followed the current events? – he continued.
- Not at all, I’ve been locked up, remember?
- No matter. It would be very helpful if you were to deliver this item, in shortest amount of time possible, – said the man passing a thin envelope to Marcus: It is important for my friend for this item to get to the destination intact. However letting it fall into wrong hands is undesirable, thus you are free to destroy it. Obviously, try not to.
- Sounds exciting, – smiled Marcus.
- I hope it is, - laughed the man with the gold watch.

[Tenlar Scarflame]

"How does one escape from a mine sphere, Faustos?" asked Adrian.
Faustos gave him a look.
"You don't, captain. Unless you can establish a connection with the mines and shut them back down... but even a space suit at 100 meters would trip one of these. These... these are good mines..." he muttered something under his breath.
"So how did we get in here, then?"
Faustos shook his head. "This mine sphere only became detectable once we were inside it... like it was waiting until we were inside to throw up a cage. That's what this is, captain, someone's got us in a cage."
"So what happens now?"
"Shhhh! Shhhhh!" hissed Faustos. Adrian rolled his eyes.
"You won't set it off by speaking, you know..."
"Missile, captain! Missile inbound!" Faustos' eyes were wide with excitement and terror. "No alarm, the missile's not headed for us, but... CEO's bones, it could set off a mine!"
"Whose missile? Who the hell..."
Let'sssssss see you sssssslither out of thissssssss, Captain Carter.
"Launchpoint is thirty-five clicks east-southeast low, captain. Between us and the East Gate. My guess is, someone knows we've been trapped and they're trying to land a finishing blow. Clever, clever, clever... you could do this whole thing with a transport ship..."
"So how do we stop it?!" shouted Adrian angrily. "cannons viable?"
"Particle cannons maybe, impulse and plasma are too hot, too hot... launching a counter missile would set one off immediately..."
"What's our window?"
"Forty sezuras til critical distance, captain."
Adrian found himself gripping the armrests of his commanders' chair uncontrollably. Any of these mines going off would cause significant damage to the Cossack, and to Walse and Walkure flights... the whole sphere going off would vaporize them all...
"Dorsal gunnery, arm particle accelerators and get track of this missile. If you see a good window, take the shot. If your shot will set off more than one mine, don't take it..."
Adrian's heart stopped. He saw the missile- its blue, jagged trail, its speed, the way it was gently spiraling... it was a silkworm. The missile would have to be destroyed or the blast could cripple one of his ships... or set off every mine in the sphere...
"Ten sezuras til critical distance, we need this shot now!"
A loud burst, like a tank gun, reverberated through the bridge, followed by the loud, electric drone of the fuel rod charger- a particle accelerator shot. Adrian prayed to every god he could think of...
The blue-streaked shot lanced out from the Cossack's dorsal cannon and raced in between two mines. Neither of them changed.
The missile's guidance unit failed to register the shot in time, before the stream of hyper-accelerated neutrons slammed into its warhead and shattered it in a cloud of electric fire. Debris flew...
Too close.
Debris rained down towards the mine sphere...
"Brace! BRACE!"
The bridge shook and Adrian watched in horror as a mine, struck by missile debris, burst into tiny, razor-like microfragments. The shields flashed a turbulent, violent blue before failing- the shearing, screeching sound of microfragments slicing the hull of his ship pervaded all.
Then all was perfectly quiet.
"Jesus," he breathed. He listened carefully... no hissing, nothing out of the ordinary. No life support leak. Thank Terra.
"Damage report, including Walse and Walkure flights," he said defeatedly, slumping back in his commander's chair.
Whoever messed up his ship would be paying dearly...