All terms in Galstandard have been translated to those of your planet's 
Common Language, or its closest grammatical equivalent.
-Parser


  Actual first contact was about two thousand seven hundred and 
fifteen years ago. The Taenarians met their first wayward child-race, 
the Kitarans, who were poised to start a civil war that would bring 
their species close to self-annihilation. Again. 


  Recognized first contact was between elements of the Zallun 
Imperial Expedition and the Derivian FarStar Colonial Enterprise. 


  The region of space known as Nexus, about halfway into the Galactic 
Arm, was the birthplace of many stars. Since the beginning, the 
galaxy and its stars had spun its mass either inward into the hungry 
core or outward into the two spiral arms. Subspace remembers. Stars 
were linked to each other with subspace threads, and Nexus was 
located along the invisible belt that was once crucible of stars.

  Any species experimenting with subspace jump drives, would find
that heading towards Nexus requires less energy than the opposite 
direction. Should they be lucky enough to find a jump point, or even 
an open jump node, to and fro between stars even thousands of 
lightyears apart was possible. The Derivians were the first to 
discover (or rather, reverse-engineer) the SSJD, and were skimming 
the jump threads to seek their manifest destiny. The Zalluns, in 
their psionics research, had independently figured out how to create 
their own subspace jump drive. 

  At the time, these two were at the height of their own 
civilization's advancement.

  Soon after, a pitched war for pride and territory threatened to 
destroy both races. A botched first-contact situation turned Nexus 
into a graveyard of ships and abandoned colonies. Derivian industrial 
might churned out flexible fleets that would splash upon Zallun 
defenses like rain upon rock. But with every successful assault, the 
Zallun Imperial Armada was getting farther and farther from home and 
reinforcement. It was a war of attrition with no clear victor. 

  When it came down to a final engagement - ALL the ships, all the 
spirit, all the raw stubborn brackish Derivian spit that could be 
mustered -against FOUR Zallun battlemoons and their accompanying 
armadas, their hulls thrumming in battlehymn; triumph or extinction, 
either the industrial juggernaught that was Derivia Prime itself was 
destroyed or the Zallun homeworld left helpless against an enemy that 
can recuperate as fast as its flimsier ships could be destroyed. 

  That was when the Taenarians finally chose to intervene. 

  
  They were terrified. But they had no choice but to make themselves
known. The Taenarians had technology unheard of, but they were 
pacifists. The risk was a galaxy engulfed in war. It didn't matter 
who won. Or if there was a winner at all. 
 

  Peaceful and progressive as the Federation might be, it should never
be forgotten that it was formed to keep the three major Races from 
bringing about a dark age that might never be recovered from. Under
Taenarian guidance, the Derivians, Zalluns and Kitarans checked and
balanced each other's ambitions. Singly, their navies were no match
for the Federation Navy they built. But together they could defend
what they hold dear.

  
  The Outer Rim didn't have such an internal balancer. Cut off from 
history, owing loyalty to no one but themselves, they had no choice but 
to keep moving forward. No matter what the cost.


_______________________________________________________________________

Prologue:

              SAIRAAD Battletesting Site 
              Fourth moon of Alexis-II
              Prima Jorael star cluster
              Domminicate of Jorael

              GSD 20182-273
              0300 hours


  "Warning, enemy group approaching from north by northeast." her CI 
warned. Her IRIS showed six small boxes behind the nearest ridge. She 
jumped, nearly three hundred meters up into the air, and saw six 
modular hover-tanks, two as normal 'Scout Tanks' and four refitted for 
combat.

  The first two were similar to the annoying tank that caused her 
humiliation back on Tiresias. She pierced their weak top armoring with
her new JAR-6 Compression Laser. Ah, that felt good. The other three
tried to aim their particle Beam cannons, but ran into the second 
weakness of landhugging vehicles. Their flattened shapes did not allow 
them to aim their main weapons straight up or down. Their 15mm guns
made ineffectual plinking noises off her armor. 

  She made fatal punctures to two, and gleefully landed on the third, 
crushing it beneath her thirty-ton advantage. 

  There was no time to appreciate triumph. Small hovertanks were only 
marginally useful against anything larger than a crippled woodland 
creature anyway, she mused. The MNc-CV, or as some called it - 'minimal 
cavalry', was the triumph of commerce over the military. 

  Even landcruisers had their flaws. Strongly-built and mounting heavy 
guns, it had all the mobility of a stunned whale. Its turrets couldn't 
aim higher or lower than seventy degrees, for which it compensates with 
missile batteries. 

  But a large portion of her basic HS training consisted of having a 
radar emitter strapped onto her back, launching a dozen missiles, and 
then seeing if she could survive. Every day they added another twelve. 
At her final exam they used Kitaran-made missiles, the most persistent
ordnance in the Arm.
 
  Mobility! Mobility! Attack! Attack! Attack! This was the doctrine of
the Crimson Fury. Maximum firepower to be brought to bear at the 
enemy's weakest point. 


  A vertibird was approaching, a Cloudkiller, and as a former 
vertibird ace she knew how deadly its combination of long-range 
missiles and medium-caliber cannons could be. 

  Of course, as a former vertibird ace, she also knew its 
limitations. Her CI warned six JLS-AAM (Anywhere to Anywhere) Needle 
missiles were locked on. She jumped. A primary jump thruster on her 
back and vernier thrusters on her legs did not exactly allow her to 
fly... but it was close. Very, very close. Her specialty had always 
been midair combat. She smiled as the missiles corrected their paths. 
Even SAIRAAD missiles were no match to what she already knew. She 
activated her counter-measures, both targeting jammers and chaff, 
obscuring the air between her and the vertibird with a heated black 
fog. The missiles exploded, further mucking up sensors. 

  She rose above the smoke, her HS laser-carbine switched from 
Compression mode to Burst mode. It was common knowledge that rapid 
fire was better to bring down shields than spaced, powerful blasts.
She defeated the vertibird's shield recharge rate, and lobbed at it
her own shoulder-mounted missile.

  Fast, powerful, but painfully thin-skinned, the Cloudkiller was
then just so much burning scrap metal.


  Gail landed. At at almost the same moment, turrets popped out from
the hills all surrounding her. Laser turrets, plasma turrets, cannon 
turrets, missile turrets, gauss turrets. "This.. could be bad." she 
said to her CI.

                                ***

  
  "This new Heavy Suit is impressive, I admit."

  "Please, commander. Advanced Tactical Armored Combat Units. We are
all professionals here. Why can't we use the proper names given to
things?"

  "ATAC-Us?" Jabrun snorted.

  Dr. Amusti Sarnelle muttered something about ASI obessiveness upon 
acronyms. He gave a tired, pained engineer's grimace and turned back 
to the screen. "Fine, fine. Call it an HS, if you must." 

  SAIRAAD was the largest arms manufacturer in the Outer Rim, and
were designers of the infamous Crimson Assault Destroyers. Owned by
the line of Gavin (Severance Navy 12th Fleet admiral), staffed by 
those too brilliant and too amoral even for the Andromedan Science 
Institute. In the Rim, where they were left mostly undisturbed by 
their administrators, they could work wonders.

  Their headquarters was in the star system of Alexis, a mere three
lightyears away from Prima Jorael's capital. Unlike in ASI space in 
which the company IS the government, they were focused simply on
the creation of newer and better weapons. Production and economic 
concerns were the purview of someone else - they were free to do
whatever they wished, though of course they kept in mind real war
factors.

  SAIRAAD products inevitably classed into two - the perfected and 
the practical. The Crimson Assault was close to a perfect ship as 
they could design. Powerful and surprisingly agile for its size, 
these were the penultimate ships of aggression. On the practical 
side, they also made excellent assault transports, powered armor and 
the HS; relatively cheap fast-attack equipment.

  In the Rim, an evenly-distributed force would encounter an 
extremely capable core surrounded by lesser units, and be crushed 
utterly. For them, quality was its own quantity. They didn't have the 
raw production and commercial capacity of the Federation, after all.


  Gail ducked, leapt, rolled, did everything acrobatic to avoid fire.
Although taking some hits, her erratic movement was confusing the
autotargeting systems. With each turn she snapped a focused laser 
short, destroying a turret. Soon enough, there was only dust and 
silence. 

  "Twenty out of twenty. Most excellent! The Federation standard is 
only sixteen of twenty." 

  "Superior training and superior technology accomplish wonders in
mathematical scales-" Jabrun said flatly. "Adjust the gravity to 
80 percent. Send in four Martrelo HS." He looked aside, to a closed 
Remote-piloting Pod.
  
  The development leader of SAIRAAD's Machine-assistance Division 
complied. "You sound as if you want your own student to fail." 

                                ***

   The HS Martrelo were their mass-production HS, capable of holding 
its own against its Federation counterparts. In comparison to the HS 
Sevar, their humanoid frames were rather bulkier, their handling 
clumsier, but they were economical to produce.

  Gail growled. Economical, by Jorael standards. They were still 
twice as expensive as the Federation's HS Araca or HS Lammu. Until 
the HS Sevar, the most advanced tactical armored combat vehicle for 
sale.

  Like hers, emblazoned in black and red, and possibly just as capable.

  She bit back her panic. Two ahead, and one each moving unseen on 
either flank. 'Think! What should I do?!'

  Do not hesitate. 

  Her master's words. "Do not hesitate. We are all given a finite 
time upon this existence. There is no time for doubt, guilt, or 
worry. Make the best decision you see at the time, and do not regret. 
Never wish what cannot be had. Learn. Do not waste your life, when a 
moment is all that is needed to end it."
  
  'Primary, fifty percent. Verniers, full.' She dove straight at the
lead HS. As expected, it didn't confuse them long. They fired, but
the apparently suicidal move lent her a small attack profile. Faster
than she even knew, her metal fist was lodged in a Martrelo's head, 
and her thrusters were still roaring with power. 

  Both HS tumbled and skidded uncontrollably across the pitted 
ground, only coming to rest within an impact crater. "Warning." her 
CI said cheerfully. "Internal damage. Power output reduced by fifteen 
percent. Shouldermissile launcher lost."
   
  'Range! Range!' she scolded herself. The Sevar's thrust was more
powerful than she'd expected. 35mm AP rounds bit into the HS recently
downed. Using the larger mechanoid as a shield, Gail could neither 
attack or flit away. She preferred precision attacks and high 
mobility. Her own weapon was suited to her style, but the mulish 
persistence of those trying to destroy her had forced her to abandon 
her advantages. 'Damn it!' 

  The other HS closed fast, knowing that the weight of its fallen 
comrade was pinning her down. She panicked, and pushed away. By then 
it was already above her, the chamber of its gun looming impossibly 
large to her eyes. She changed the hold on her compression laser and 
swung into attack, using it as a club. She wasn't doing much damage, 
merely denting its armor a bit in exchange for ruining a heavy laser 
carbine. 

  Though at least it wasn't able to attack. The steady battering 
forced it back, and a shoulder-slam dislodged its grip on its own 
rifle. She grappled for it successfully, and emptied it point-blank 
into her enemy.

  Again her CI spoke in its all-too happy voice. "Warning. Enemy 
approaching at direction one six seven, distance sixty meters, 
altitude fifteen meters."
 
  She took out an ammo clip from under the defeated HS' kneecap 
storage. A heavy machinegun was something she normally despised. She 
took a deep breath as the third Martrelo crested the ridge, and 
waited for the proper moment to fire. 

  Only when its upper torso was nearly separated from its lower torso 
did she exhale. She grinned. Let others spray and pray. Her own faith 
was stronger.


 
  Gail reloaded, just as the CI announced the last Martrelo was 
nearby. "Warning. Sensor efficiency reduced. Jamming in progress." it 
added. The last was being cautious, using the HS as it was meant to 
be used - stealth and firepower in a multi-environment frame. 
 
  "Jammers on. Main power off." she told her CI. "Passive sensors 
only." Two could play at that game. Slowly, she made her way up the 
crater, alert for any tell-tale sound or flicker of movement. Her 
steps were careful and her stance half-crouched. Running on stored 
power rather than her own fusion reactor, the HS was silent and deadly.


                                ***


  "We are going to face Federation forces, are we not?" asked Dr. 
Sarnell, softly.

  "We are not suicidal."

  "Well, not NOW, obviously!" he added, tapping his console. "But
eventually? The HS Sevar, the VH-MWP Olgammu, the SH-MWP Sangrunnos,
the Rubia-class landcruiser, the Pirottes II-class corvette - we have
already started mass production. The Reunification Navy is demanding 
these in great quantities, and this tells me someone fears losing 
space superiority. Who in the Rim can challenge the Navy? Another 
navy - the Federation Navy, to be exact." 
  
  Jabrun merely shrugged. "You need not be worried, doctor. I doubt
anything could affect you here."

  "Worried? I'm ecstatic!" It was then that the Zallun noticed the 
manic glimmer in the research chief's eyes. "Don't take too long in
'uniting' this mess. Match my weapons to their weapons, commodore. 
Meet my rage to their prudence. Give them what they deserve."

  Jabrun merely shrugged. Creatures had different body signals to 
express emotion. Dogs wag their tails, cats twitch their ears, and
snakes shakes their rattles... of the different garbs of life, it is
too easy to misunderstand someone else and no less someone of another
species. A part of the Zallun reputation for aloof condescension may
arise from this. 

  The apparently indifferent gesture was of curiousity. The weapons 
engineer wasn't as battle-scarred, but Jabrun hadn't met someone 
quite so fundamentally sad before. The man's psionic imprint was one 
of bleakest silence. It was the baked corpse of decency.

  "I'm not project leader solely through personal merit alone, you 
know..." Amusti muttered darkly. "Bertrand Abraca Gavin... is my
father-in-law."

  
  He had a family, once. He was happy, once. He was once a brilliant
mind, a jewel in the ASI assemblage. Amusti Sarnell, winner of six 
Griddie prizes, and the only person who remembers they had ever 
existed. He had left for the Rim, disgusted at the lengths others 
would go to discredit him. The fact that his wife was from a long 
line of the Rim's 'criminal nobility'  had nothing to do with her 
present character, or his own ability. But in Andromedan space, 
knowledge was power, and he knew too much. He was a rising young 
military weapons designer, he should have known better than to 
consort with security risks.

  That they had been chased off Jorael, had lived together for seven 
years without incident and had a five year-old son was besides the 
point. The directors had made it clear, his career wouldn't progress 
until he had made himself... respectable again.

  His reply was long, nonrepeating, and unprintable. 

  He left everything that had to do with the ASI. Wonderful woman 
that she was, she never complained. In the end the choice was her, or 
the status quo. Who wouldn't feel honored? His integrity was 
priceless to her, and even without luxury it would shine on their 
lives. She made the best of the meager resources a spaceport engineer 
could bring home. 
  
  Then the Scourge came.  

  
  Entire star systems emptied before the alien onslaught.
Inexplicably, the Federation borders remained closed. For two years 
since first sighting of the Scourge, the Federation tried to pretend 
there was no real problem. 

  He'd found out that there was a warrant for his arrest in 
Federation space. In his absence, project planners had made lies to 
explain away project delays on someone so obviously ill-omened. They 
had timed diversions of funds to coincide with his resignation - it 
was something that had been building for so long. 

  While his family had done nothing wrong, they stayed in Manchari, 
as they were forbidden to proceed further into Federation space. The 
charges against him were legion, from economic sabotage to espionage 
and terrorism. While he was away, the HS project had turned into a 
major cash dump - billions were lost in time and credits, and the 
Federation contract was nearly dead. 

  Then, Manchari itself fell while he still languished in an ASI 
holding facility. Imagine the shock! The Federation's bastion, its 
very heart of military prowess - grand, impregnable Manchari... gone! 
Almost even to the last moment, they had understimated the Scourge 
threat. 

  Shortly, they would need compact tactical mechanoid technology, for
the Scourge had suchlike war machines aplenty. Massively powerful 
machined weapons were almost useless against the enemy's throwaway 
strategy. Suddenly, lives were cheap again.

  And suddenly, again he was useful. 


  He could blame the Scourge. But the real murderers were those in 
the Federation corrupting the system for their own gains. When the 
Crimson Fury acquired him, at great difficulty, they were astonished 
at how easy it was to convince him of the need for galaxywide reform.

                                ***
 
  The Sevar had superior stealth coating and jamming equipment. If 
only she could find the other HS. The broken surface of the artillery 
field ensured a great many hiding places. 

  "Warning! Enemy approaching at -" The air cracked. Her HS spun 
about, the shoulder grazed by an auto-cannon round. 

  From the ground, Gail swore at her foolishness in expecting all HS 
to carry the same weapons. The last slung a 120mm shouldercannon, a 
weapon similar to a machined weapon's autocannon, although carrying 
only eight shots. Even from that slight hit, the artificial 
musculature was nearly severed. Thankfully, the Sevar used third-gen 
AMCs, a far cry from hydraulics and much stronger than the myomers 
formerly used. Firing her verniers, she angrily got back to her feet. 

  Her own bullets merely clipped its legs as it jumped away. The AMC 
itself absorbed damage beyond the armor, in addition to moving a joint.
"Kill the pilot" she hissed. "It stops moving."

  She jumped after it, moving into the aggressor's role in the game. 
The two leapt and moved with uncanny ease for multi-ton beasts.

  "One." A depleted uranium round whistled past her head. To a 
machined weapon, a 120mm autocannon was nothing more than a backup 
weapon, to be mounted in pairs. To an HS, it meant being able to take 
down anything in its size with only one shot. Shoulderweapons were 
the almost the same as meka weapons, and eventually they thought HS 
would be able to challenge their much-larger technological siblings. 

  "Two." At the moment, they could only snipe with impunity. She 
answered with withering fire, but again failing to do any serious 
damage. 

  "Three." Two shot AC shots left. But the HS was remaining outside 
her effective range, taking excellent advantage of terrain. It was 
almost as if it had a real pilot. But that was unlikely... if they 
were equal, then they were the two best pilots the Crimson Fury 
training program ever produced. What was the point in risking harm to 
each other? 

  "Fou- SHIT!" Her left leg was hit and without its vernier, she went
into a spinning plummet. She hit the ground and hit it HARD.


  She grimaced in pain. Stupid. Goddamned. Neural. Feedback. Half her
body felt numb. She took some comfort in that her CI sounded 
hesitant, impaired. "Warrrnning. Ing. Internal damage. Power output 
reduced by fourty percent. Left leg vernier lost. Left leg 
nonresponsive. Autorepair systems nonresponsive. Sensors damaged, 
targeting radar nonfunctional. Seeking radar nonfunctional."

  "It is enough, Gail." Jabrun said through the comm. "You may rest."

  "Sir..Not... yet... sir." she growled. 'You said I had potential, 
you said I could be undefeatable. You took me away and remade me. 
Have you so little faith in your own creation, master mine?' She 
could more feel, rather than see, her opponent's approach. She was 
feeling her own death. It only had a single shot left. If it wasn't a 
combat AI modeled against her own fighting style, then it would want 
to make sure. 

  She opened her eyes. The outside cameras were caked with dust, but
she could make out its shape. The Sevar had crumpled into a kneeling
position, and it stood over where an executioner stands. She laughed
weakly. No machine had ever attained an appreciation for irony. 

  There were several crucial differences between the two HS. The 
Sevar was smaller, yet meant to be BETTER in every possible way. A 
draw was as painful as a clear loss. What it had, other than great 
improvements in every technical aspect of its predecessor... was 
integrated anti-infantry weapons. She opened her left palm, and 
shoved a jet of flame into her opponent's face. The moment's 
distraction was all she needed - as it flinched, she fired her 
thrusters full, and tackled the Martrelo.

  She remembered. "Fight! Let the Fury consume you. Hear your blood 
sing. Set your soul free. Fight not for your life, but for fighting 
IS your life. It is the air that you breath, in every motion that you 
take. The universe is inherently hostile. Every day is a battle to 
survive and we are the ultimate warriors in this field."

  Master. Giver of purpose. She screamed her determination to live.
He had given her life and reason. She would not fail his trust.

  Warmth filled her body, an inexplicable clarity was granted to her
vision. This, was living. She pounded at her enemy, every punch was
a delight. It was different from a simple berserker rage... there, at
that moment... everything was RIGHT. Although in combat by herself, 
she felt less alone than whatever she'd experienced before. She was 
in the moment and the moment was her. She laughed. Silently she gave 
thanks, to Jabrun Harek, to the Crimson Fury, even her opponent. It 
was strange, but she realized that for some reason... her heart was 
filled with love. For everything. Everything made so much sense. 
Everything begins. And ends. 

  "Isicorra." she whispered. A Rim term of endearment. "Now, die.."   
  
  Her fingers dug into the mounts and ripped the shouldercannon free, 
but in freak misfire it hit her left shoulder and blew that whole arm 
off. Her flesh-arm buzzed, a numbing but not entirely unpleasant 
sensation. Adrenalin allowed her to scoop her MG40 from the ground in 
one smooth motion even as her thrusters pushed her and her enemy 
forward once more.

  She hefted her gun, and discharged all bullets that remained. 
Showing some presence of mind, the other HS fired its own thrusters 
and tried to rise. A lucky kick, her stance shifted, and a hundred 
35mm rounds found their way into the Martrelo’s crotch. 

  Which was where an HS' balancers were... the Martrelo tumbled and 
dug its face into the dirt at the same time her own HS collapsed 
backwards.
  
  “Well done.” said Jabrun. “Perhaps excessive, but... excellent. As 
always, Gail.” 

  “Thank you, sir.“ The Sevar then became as one with the blasted 
ground, its pilot already unconscious.

                                ***

  And sixty kilometers away, in an underground command site, Jabrun
stood over the RPP-03. From the pod emerged a young Kitaran male,
caked in sweat and with an expression of wonder.
 
  "How was it?" 

  "...that was... that was... intense." was the shaky reply. "These
tactical units are truly amazing. If we had these back then... if
this was the caliber of pilots we had.. we would have attacked, even 
outnumbered six to one!"  

  "She was careless. Even you should not have been able to force a 
draw. This is your first experience of piloting an HS." 

  "The controls are too intuitive. Anyone can use these machines...
but using them WELL, seems to be a matter of bloodthirstiness." He 
looked down at his open palm, the sensation of neural feedback still
fresh. Heavy Suit was apropos. It was just like being infantry,
massively powerful infantry. "If we had these... we would have 
attacked and taken control over our destiny... those years should not 
have been wasted in fear." he added in a whisper. 

  Even after five hundred years, not much had changed. The stomping 
grounds were merely larger, the weapons more powerful. The feeling of 
death waiting over your shoulder, alert for any mistake... he was 
free, to live or to die, it was his choice alone. 


  From the monitoring stage high above, Dr. Sarnelle called. 
"Kommdor! Give my congratulations to your new protege... I have the 
results. Gail has an overall rating of 180%, given that the benchmark 
is the Martrelo. Lieutenant Saramis is at 120%. The machine-assisted 
assault program is a complete success. Chronos is yours!" 

  And for all that waited, vengeance at last. 

_______________________________________________________________________

         /\\  
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      /  ..  \\       Illuminati-Fiction.Net
     /   ..   \\      in association with the
    /    ..    \\     Aegis Taenar Writing Group
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        ####                presents
      ## ** ##            
     ## **** ##          a TDZK fanfic 
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                    AEGIS: A Broken Shield
                           PART ONE

                    
                       - STRANGE DAYS -                          
                                 
                  



ACT TWO: A Matter of Choice
_______________________________________________________________________

Chapter One

             
              Magellan Station
              In orbit around the planet Victoria
              Prima Taelon
              Federated Taelon

              GSD 20572-279
              1400 hours


  "She's awake!"

  The message jolted the team into action. For the past dozen days, 
their mood swun from despair, worry... suspicion at finding Kardi
missing as well... charged relief at Savine's return... more
concern as she refused to come out of her coma. And since Border 
Command placed the disastrous event under Alpha-Blue security, they
couldn't even THINK about it. 

  They didn't realize until she was gone, that Savine was the heart of
their little clique. Jenette was more irritable, Dominic more 
irritating, Gregory withdrawing to the company of machines, Soija far
far more nervous, and even Khela's bad luck was triggering even outside
combat. Only Kardi seemed the same, but then the moody Kitaran never
reacted to anything anyway.

  Even more odd, as when he walked into Magellan, Jenette thought that
she saw some feeling at last. He did care, in his own way. 

  It was also obvious no one could pump him of information. 

  He was already there when they to to the hospital, waiting by the 
door. "Don't go in." he said. "Savine and the Envoy have important 
things to discuss."



  "They don't want me to become a military genius. They already have 
those." she was telling Meila. The Taenarian had never really known 
firsthand of the Aegis Taenar, set up five hundred years before even 
she was born. The notion of hidden protectors was both romantic, and 
disturbing. "They're not asking for ships. Enemy navies tend not to 
function well without THEIR military geniuses."

  "So... what do they want?" 

  Savine shivered. "The same thing, I think, as anyone. Peace. And 
they're willing to go to war for it."
 
  "I don't understand." Meila sat on the bed's edge and twirled her
own pinkish hair. "Why... why can't the Federation handle it? We have
excellent people working to preserve the peace as well." 

  "Nadia... I still can't believe someone like her(like me) could 
already command her own ship...she said-"

  "Even I thought the datajill was a myth... and I knew about the nodes
network's 'Sentinel programs'!" the Taenarian said with a slight laugh. 
"But do go on."

  "The Federation wants peace TOO much. Even I can see this. The 
Federation parliamentary candidates won't go to war so easily. It might
cost them their seats. They don't fear Candize. The old man seems too 
reasonable...and first chance of a peace treaty, they'll take it. I..
I can't explain it.. but there's this feeling deep inside me, that
something, somewhere - has gone horribly, HORRIBLY wrong."

  "The politics of appeasement..." Meila sighed. "And what about you,
Savine? What do they want you to do?"

  "Nothing." she replied in a tiny voice. 

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing!" The girl kicked off her sheets. "I'm useless... what can I
do? I'm just a Border Patrol JO - it's enough of a shock to know that
I have a brother, but he's a Lieutenant Commander! The best thing is 
for me to just stay out of the way."

  Meila stood, and for a few silent minutes considered the Kitaran girl
curled up in her bed. Her psionic senses were tingling, reacting to 
Savine's presence. Unlike before, when the girl had but a transparent 
psionic signature. 'It's not like how a Polloid would feel' she 
thought. 'Yet still, she feels.. dangerous.' It was something she had 
to look past. 'People have died because of this girl, and the knowledge 
weighs heavily on her mind.'

  She leaned forward and touched Savine's forehead with splayed 
fingers. "Peace, Savine. Ann sallie min." All is as it should be. She
smiled. "Would you like to talk with your friends now?"

  "Um. Yes. Thank you. But please don't send Kardi in.. I.. don't want 
to see him quite yet."

  "As you wish." 



  The door opened. Jenette quickly enveloped her in a hug. "You really 
had us worried, girl" she whispered into Savine's hair. "I want to ask 
you where you've been... but...  Alpha-Blue-level secrecy." Will you 
tell me? Someday?

  "Yes.." was the bland reply. "The Crimson Fury are supposed to be
independent operators, professional criminals. Even blatant acts of 
provocation won't be enough to bring war into Jorael."

  The hug was broken awkwardly. What happened to the eternally cheerful 
Savine that they knew? She smiled thinly, and didn't dare look at them
in the eye. Dominic wanted a hug too, but was stopped quickly, 
forcefully, dispassionately, and by Khela's elbow. Gregory merely 
waved. He had never really figured out what he should say to her, 
despite days of agonizing over it.

  Savine giggled. 'I have friends.' she thought. 'I can live like this.'
  
  Soija had somehow managed to procure a fruit basket. "I hope you feel
better soon." he said with a respectful bob of the head.  

 "Actually, I'm fine now. May I leave now?" she beggeg Meila, trying 
hard not to add a pout.

  The Taenarian steepled her fingers, as if in doubt. "What is the 
apparent quantum number?" she asked.

  "Infinity minus one." There was no delay in answering.

  "What is the real quantum number?" 

  "Eleven."

  "What is the false quantum number?"

  "Twenty- wait, no. Twenty-one."

  "What is the essential quantum number?"

  "Whatever I want!" She laughed. She was joined by Meila, as everyone
else looked puzzled. Savine grinned at them. Let them assume it had 
arcane mathematical significance. (Quick Archive Notation) INF-111-201
(number) was the direct request code into the Federation Standard 
Datanet, to retrieve any bookfile without going through a complicated 
user identification process. It was the countersign between those who 
really, really liked to read. People to whom minds hundreds of years 
dead, were still vibrant and giving.

  The Taenarians belong to this category, for most of the people they
respected and loved, were or would shortly be nothing but memory. Ah,
the burden of an extended lifespan. They didn't yet wonder if Savine
was unconsciously mimicking it. 

  She had the potential for it, at least. But immortality was more a
state of mind than existence... there was greater peril than ennui in
living longer than your contemporaries.

  "I suppose there is no harm in letting you loose." Meila decided. 
"Your official duties won't start for some time yet."

  Duty. 

  Savine curled up her knees below her chin. In the name of duty, 
people do things they normally wouldn't do. She took a deep breath. She 
looked around, and smiled. She was Border Patrol. She could be 
satisfied with that.


                                ***

  
              RNS CHARRED REMAINS
              Reunification Navy Shar-class Battleship
              1st Tactical Fleet flagship
              unknown
              unknown  



  The stars floated by, the outside view projected into a wall, to 
create the illusion of open space below the ship's recreation deck. Off
to one side was a bar, to the left were bookcases filled with 
thin bookfile readpads. The room wasn't big, and most of it was filled
with cloth-covered tables and chairs, bolted to the floor. The great
ship's three hundred-odd crew didn't spend much time in leisure, when
they weren't off training, they did their duties without complaint.
  
  For the next three weeks though, they had no choice but to find
something consistent to do. Subspace blindness, utter isolation and
ignorance of whatever was happening as they travelled - it called for
too much trust in the mask. Too much trust in politicians, for which
ALL naval personnel never had a high level of confidence to begin 
with.

  Gail sipped her drink, a light fruity liquor, and allowed herself to
be comforted by the sight outside. The First Tactical Fleet was 
deployed, waiting the signal to commence operations. The Crimson Fury 
operated more or less in independence, with their philosophy of 
'quality is its own quantity'. The powerful assembly warmed her 
heart... it was likely she'd never get to see such again.

  They were the best, yes. Still, when they emerged from subspace they 
would be viciously outnumbered. And Chronos was BIG. Holding it was 
thrice the task of taking it. Normally the attempt would be ridiculous, 
but the new Reunification Navy was seriously lacking in prestige. 

  It was impossible, therefore they would accomplish it. 

  The Dommne always insisted on keeping his enemies off-balance. 


  Someone entered the lounge. Gail furrowed her brows at seeing who it 
was. His uniform was like hers, but in gold and green that marked him 
different from everyone else in the ship. It was very easy for her to 
decide she disliked 1st Lt. Irece Nia Saramis. For one thing, he was an 
Ordinator; a political officer with direct authority over combat 
personnel. An obvious spy in their midsts, seeking any signs of waning 
fervor. Second, that he had almost fought her to a draw - political 
officers normally loathed being put in danger. But mostly it was that 
arrogant, everpresent, self-satisfied smirk on his face.

  "You have no reason to hate me, you know." said the much-younger and 
now-Kitaran Candize. "My mere prescence here is not to replace you, but
to honor you... Colonel."

  She sniffed haughtily. What use was a promotion? Her rightful place 
was beside Jabrun Harek, there was more honor there than whatever they 
could give her. 

  "I did not give you permission to sit with me." she said as he 
occupied the seat in front of hers. 

  "Jump warning! Jump warning!" rumbled through shipwide comms. "All 
hands prepare for subspace entry."

  All seats in the battleship had straps... they belted themselves in 
and Gail secured her drink into the small niche at the table's side. 
Outside, five hundred ships move out of formation and separated into 
three groups.

  Five ships, modified Inhibitor-class Heavy Cruisers, moved to front 
of a four hundred-ship gathering and settled into a rough pentagonal 
pattern. Aura Emitter limbs were extended, and their hulls began to 
glow a soft blue as tendrils of energy sparked and caressed each 
other's shields. At the center of this, a milky pool of light appeared, 
and began to grow - and then in a sudden flash, became a swirling tear 
in spacetime.

  The cruisers wobbled apart, but firing their manueuvering thrusters 
frantically, managed to keep their equidistances.

  An artifically-created jump thread... something deemed impossible, 
for over the many millenia of subspace travel!

  "Scourge warning! Scourge warning!" the computer immidiately shouted. 
"Massive subspace disturbance detected off port bo-" It was cut off 
rather rudely. They really had to find a way to program that out of the 
detection screens. But then there was always a chance the REAL Scourge 
might show up.

  One by one, the Tactical Fleet entered the rift, happy in the 
knowledge that though boredom awaited, on exit they would right away be 
into heavy combat.

    

  Subspace whipped by. The CHARRED REMAINS, along with twenty-eight 
other ships, travelled on conventional jump drives towards the 
monitored jump nodes. Their journey would be longer, more conspicious.  

  "You have very little confidence in this mission, do you not?"

  "Play your verbal traps elsewhere." Gail replied blandly. 

  "Forgive me, I meant to say - the prospect of being bait does not 
appeal. I understand, I feel the same way."   
  
  She shrugged. "It's only prudent that soldiers should have no idea as 
to why they do what they do. They save the lives of other soldiers, if
they get captured. Or it might be a matter of morale."
 
  "Have you always proceeded even without this knowledge? You have so 
much faith, Colonel." 

  She glared at him. The casual mentions of her rank - as an Ordinator, 
he still outranked her. "Don't mock what you don't have."

  Candize leaned back. If, in a way, he had molded Jabrun to become his
tool; then he was understandably curious about Jabrun's own protege. He
had expected someone closer to the master's temperament - calm, 
judicious, and like a true gentleman was utterly ruthless when the 
occasion demanded it. It was surprising that this girl was chosen. He 
didn't have the Zallun's mental abilities, all he had was years of 
guaging people. The girl was fiery, in both heart and motion. 

  Someone, he grudgingly had to admit... very much like a young him. 

  The years had cooled his fire into a steady glimmer, constant and 
unwavering. Being around Gail was refreshing. Even her obvious contempt
was amusing.

 
  He beckoned her closer and explained.   

  
  In the face of superiour numbers, it was the height of foolishness to
split your forces; but they had done just that.. then split it again a
third time! 

  "Why must we destroy the fleet?" Gail dared to ask. "Take the base, 
THEN crush the fleet. It seems much easier."

  "Easier in the short run. But the motive is to prevent the appearance 
of enemy reinforcements. We would have a cursed time hunting them all 
down later if we did not settle it firsthand." Candize took out several 
plastic glasses and laid them on the table. "Here, Prima Chronos 
herself. Here, the exit point of the first assault formation. And here, 
here.. and here.. are Scourge warnings."

  "So we split our forces to three.. technically two and a half, but 
they break off into six."
  
  "Scourge warnings are highest priority. If you let the creatures take 
a foothold anywhere, they'll reinforce themselves faster than you can 
imagine." 
   
  Gail smiled nastily. "Elite alliances, mercenary fleets - here. 
Militia fleets... here. That leaves the capital system nearly 
undefended."

  "Untrue. It still has formidable defenses along its system radius. 
The jump nodes are heavily-fortified and defense points dot the system 
perimeter. Attacking them would be suicidal even for our entire fleet,
unthinkable for our meager strikeforce."

  A wince. Maybe she didn't need to know that.

  "These however, might as well not be there. When the assault comes, 
the defenses are useless."

  "How so?" While she'd been born in Chronos, she had never really 
known that part of the galaxy. The populace was kept mostly uneducated, 
workslaves and citizen alike. She knew of its borders well, as any good 
pirate should, but its greedy heart was something she didn't bother to 
investigate.

  "Because, colonel - we are INVITED IN. The defenses are heavy, but 
they are all directed outwards. Indeed so heavy are these defenses, 
that the capital world itself has no defenses other than planetary 
shielding. It was deemed superflous a long time ago. Of course we stand 
all the possibility of getting killed, but it would not be by long-
range fire. We shall dive into the belly of the beast, and withstand 
its digestive juices."
 
  Gail blinked.

  "They did not tell you Candize Ildagou (he couldn't resist a smirk) 
was aboard?"

  "THE DOMMNE IS HERE?!" 

  "Volume." Candize snarled out, cupping his ears. He was slowly 
finding there were drawbacks to being Kitaran.
  

                                ***


              Magellan Station
              In orbit around the planet Victoria

              16 days later


  It was unrealistic to assume that after being sworn in as true Border 
Patrol officers, that their training posse would remain together. Their
temporary postings were already dire. 

  Gregory had most to complain, as his work in Personnel kept him many 
bulkheads away from the nearest high-risk military equipment. Sundry 
patrolling wasn't too bad; which Soija and Dominic did well, showing 
their skills at relating to people. Khela was of course advised to 
remain with nonflammables. Even in Border Patrol, naval duties called 
for naval blood, and Jenette resented her days in Border Command along 
with those who were simply too... nice.. in hopes that her father would 
allow a few more vessels to be diverted their way. Savine ruled 
Information Services with a soft, rather squeege fist.

  They had no idea where that crazy Kit'i, Kardi, had gone off to. Even
when they met on their group get-togethers, his tasks were impossible
to ferret out.

  Either he was in Intelligence, or Janitorship.


  What happened before was to be forgotten. The Border Patrol was a
peacekeeping force, and if the Navy was unwilling to act then nothing
could be done. They no longer needed radical officers like Lysle
Rigger, Tabbana Brusolla... or Jabrun Harek. The jump in officer ranks
was for their bravery and composure in the face of hopeless odds. 

  
  Individually they were summoned, and were pleasantly surprised to 
meet each other at the door to the Domain Commander's office. 

  "First Lieutenant Khela, Second Lieutenants Andersii and Sargon, 
Patrol Officers Panama, Carat and Silvurbrij as ordered, sir!"

  "Enter." came a deep voice from the intercom.

  The door opened, and they entered. The Domain Commander was the
Border Patrol's direct command and operations chief along their three 
areas of responsibility. From Ith Kara, and Prodigy Station was the 
responsibility watching the borders of the Andromedan Institute, and 
the near Outer Rim. Officers of the Starleap Station were dedicated 
to monitoring the other, and more unstable half of the Rim. Taelon 
was where the BP was founded, and it practically supervised 
everything that all in its Service did. Those higher on the structure 
rarely countermanded anything ordered by the Domain Commanders; who 
in their positions of power were still more policemen than politicians.

  Six minor officers, fresh from training, being called upon by the
authority itself was beyond rare - it meant that finally the Border
Patrol just might actually be allowed to DO something, anything, 
about the many problems being foisted off on them.

  Surprisingly, the interior of the Border Patrol - Interior 
Federation Space Domain Command(BP-INTFSDC) office was as ungarnished 
as possible. Jenette had seen minor admirals with fancier workplaces. 
Aside from a large wooden desk, a bigger holoprojector displaying the 
patrol paths of nearly all BP ships, and several comfortable chairs - 
the room was like a monastic cell. 

  The DC sported both Warrior and Priestly tattoos on his face. Omozn
Ra'kuse Plehnar gave them as gentle a welcome as a weathered Zallun 
face could muster. 
  
  After the salutes, he motioned them so sit. And shut up. He loaded
a datafile and diplayed it on a floating screen. The room dimmed, and
the video began to play. 


  A Kitaran woman in a Border Patrol uniform, captain's bars on her
shoulders, was gagged and handcuffed to a water pipe. Her bright 
golden eyes held an alluring defiance. 

  She was surrounded by large, sweaty men in dirty spacer clothes. 

  "Is that thing on?" asked a voice thick with a Zane accent. Also
called, the pirate's drawl. "Good. Now this is a treat, a treat." 
From offscreen appeared a swarthy pirate, a red beret the only thing
that made him seem more 'respectable' than the others. He poked at 
her breasts. "Higher lung capacity, eh? Do they make it look bigger
or just.. they are. Ahhh." 

  What followed was about as what could be expected. They later even 
removed removed the gag to utilize all orifices.

  
  Jenette stood up, quivering in rage. "COMMANDER?! What's the meaning
of this? Did you call us all here just to have us watch this.. this..
filth?!" 

  She felt a tug on her jacket. Savine was hunched over, not even 
looking. "Please sit... " she said, and somehow that voice conveyed
more feminine rage than her own shouts. "You don't understand..."

  The men, surprisingly, weren't even looking. Soija had fainted,
having no resistance against that sort of thing. Dominic's face was 
stern and facing towards darkness. Gregory had gotten a new callsign 
- Gray. His face was that color, and he was chanting some mantra about 
not looking and impending doom. 

  Khela, being effectively genderless until mating season, only 
looked repulsed. Mating for other races was so... wet. 
  

  "Yes." Omozn Phlenar rumbled. "But these parts are perhaps 
unnecessary." He forwarded the video to the end. 


  "And THAT'S what Kits are good for." the Rim Pirate captain said
to the camera. "Listen up, you Federation pukes. Cameron will always
be Rim Pirate territory. Send more patrol ships, we can always use the
entertainment." He laughed. Pan to the patrolwoman's dead-tired face.
There was rivulet of blood on the edge of her lips. Not once did she
scream, not once did she beg, nothing that would give them any more 
satisfaction.

  
  Stunned silence. The lights went back on.

 
  "It's... real?"

  "Fantyrani Laris Imiaia Kire." Savine whispered. "She was my piloting
instructor at the academy. The frigate ESSAY was captained by her
husband, Fantyrani Laris Suulan Runya. It's inconceivable that he would
let this happen to his wife, as long as there was breath still left in 
his body..."

  "You can at least, take comfort in that nearly everyone you see in 
that video is dead." But even then, the victory of spirit was bitter. 
"The Rim Cruiser RPF NIGHTFLIER was crewed entirely by men, like old
sea raiders setting off to pillage by the seasons. Ilkomm Imiaia had
apparently ingested a very strong, very fatal retroviral substance.
The death toll was as could be expected."

  The Clanned were given a 'suicide pill' when they are fully accepted
into their Clan. This was not common knowledge, but those who take
duties of Clan pride outside Kitaran space also had the option of
carrying a virulent poison or some-other biological weapon of helpful
Tamaran manufacture. Kardi had a false molar, as well.

  "What comfort is that?" Savine hissed. "I understand why you didn't
call Kardi with us. He is also Fantyrani. He would have DEMANDED a
breathing Rim Pirate to tear apart with his bare hands."

  The Zallun smiled. "Intriguing, Miss Sargon. You haven't been raised
in Kitaran ways - why does this affect you so?"

  "It's horrible... why do people do these things?" She looked down at
her hands. "I'm Kitaran... why do I feel this... need... to kill?"

  "An emotion shared by every Kit'i that has seen this video. It was
sent to be shared across the Node Network,  but fortunately our 
inforats were able to prevent its being inserted into the news flow. It 
is a direct insult to the Kitarans, and as we speak the First, Second, 
Fourth and Sixth Fantyrani Battlegroups have been mobilized to move 
into Cameron."
 
  Jenette pushed aside the provocation for the moment and asked "But..
Cameron is Outer Rim! Even the Kitaran Royal Navy cannot move into the
neutral boundaries... that's a clear act of conquest."

  "Indeed." Omozn Phlenar agreed, placing all his palms on the table. 
"But the Kitarans have threatened to secede from the Federation were
they not allowed to seek vengeance."

  "Secede?" She couldn't have heard right, could she? None, not during
the entire history of the Federation of Races, had a Race threaten to
separate itself. The Severance War was a civil war, and was won because
the Racial hearts, and their production, were behind the Federation 
ideals.

  Why would the Kitarans risk losing face, trade, and maybe even a
military intervention, all for the sake of one violated Kitaran woman?

  "We take care of our own." Savine said flatly. "Never had the Rim
Pirates been stupid enough to spit upon our Kitaran love. The Kitaran 
virtue is loyalty to the race as a whole, and we women are symbols of 
the future. We are warriors, damn it. We have our pride, and out 
duties. " This complete loyalty to each other was the reason the 
Kitaran armed forces had a strength that wasn't to be determined 
through numerical calculations. "We cannot let this pass. It must 
never happen again. To anyone."

  The Domain Commader rapped his table. "Exactly. Even those on the
Security Council who did not feel the provocation was enough, could
do nothing as the Tamarans had REQUESTED Kitaran aid in their far 
colonies. The half of Cameron closer to the Pleoria Nebula is full of 
Tamaran mining interests, and being Rim, was long ignored by 
Federation patrols. Hired mercenary fleets are useful only up to a 
point. The Kitarans have to honor the call for help, they owe their 
old Racial allies that much. At the very least, this is the excuse 
they've been waiting for, to extend their influence upon the Rim. The 
Tamm'i and the Kit'i have long enjoyed a fruitful partnership; 
together their production and military is more than a match for any 
Race alone and might trouble even the Federation Navy. But the most 
important consideration of course, is that the Tamarans and Kitarans 
are a valuable economic backbone. Their combined merchant fleet 
outstrips all other groups."

  "The trigger is economics, not politics." Dominic said absently. 
The posturing was merely to make the large-scale force movements more 
palatable. The Federation had no choice but to approve in the first 
place. The pressure was for internal publicity's sake.

  Omozn Phlenar leaned back on his chair. "Yet we simply cannot let
the Kitarans do as they please, without a care for our Parliament's
voices in the matter. The Border Patrol shall accompany the new 
Kitaran Steward Fleet on their operations." 

  "Sso. Why us?" Khela asked. "What does thiss have to do with what
we went thrrough?"

  "Nothing whatsoever. But for purely political reasons the Border
Patrol cannot interfere in matter of external policy... the Outer
Rim is beyond our control." The DC swept a gesture at them. "So we
send those who we know cannot interfere with whatever they do."

  "Basically, we're going because we're expendable?" It might have 
to do with what they'd seen. The Federation was powerless for the
moment. If an accident happened while they escort the steward 
fleet... no one would feel it as much of a loss? No. Jenette shook 
her head. This was Border Patrol, not Navy. 

  "I mean that the Clans asked, specifically, for one Savine of 
Sargon to go with them. She should be given a ship, she should be 
given a crew, and if she was with them they promised they would keep 
damage to a minimum."


                                ***

Chapter Two




              RNS CHARRED REMAINS
              Reunification Navy Shar-class Battleship
              Landed on Government City, Tempus II
              Chronos de facto Capital Star System
              Commissions of Chronos Civil Rule


  Pain. 

  That was the sum of his existence. It was enough to drive someone
mad. That he still retained some of his sanity was because he no 
longer had a mind to twist. All sensations happened to... a part of 
himself that had endured it for so long, the pain was a friend. The 
process that transferred the Dommne Candize into a fresh, healthy 
body had placed him in the old man's living corpse. Esmund Gallivus 
Thanner had died as slowly, as uselessly, as he had lived.

  So what if the Dommne had moved his indentity... he wasn't sure if
he could yet call it a soul... to a new body? That one was very
receptive, and this information was written easily and completely into
its brain. His old ones retained the neuroconnections that formed his 
old mind. 

  Esmund Thanner was no more. The Dommne Candize Ildagou was living
well and unchanged - but in the broken remnants of his past life, a
mind that was neither Thanner nor Ildagou simmered and waited. He was
afraid, as Esmund always was. The knowledge was there, the personality
wasn't.

  He wished he could hide. That unrepentant smirk filled his dreams.
Being confronted with it in reality was terrifying.

  Being the Candize Ildagou, even if in just a part, had enlightened
him on how far and how much that man was willing to go just to get
what he wanted. He was... a force. Politicians, like what he once was, 
were really just bugs crawling underfoot.

  "He looks so tired..." Gail murmured as the Dommne was escorted 
down the landing ramp. 

  'That body is now so weak it can no longer even move its lips', 
Candize thought. No matter. The vocolaber was preprogrammed. He also 
recognized the sheer fright that was directed his way. That was all 
too common. Perhaps it was best if he let things proceed as planned. 
Micromanaging doesn't always do best. "Go then, Colonel." he told her. 
"Perform your duties. I will stay here in the ship, behind six lovely 
meters of primary armor plating."

  "Coward." she retorted, but without the heat of a eighteen days ago.



  Government City was aptly named. The original settlers were not
unimaginative, they just had a strong sense of irony. Chronos was the
first foray coreward into the galaxy, driven by ever-greater need for
raw resources. The people who lived and worked did so under cramped, 
hostile conditions. Terraforming was costly and slow, and so they 
endured lives spent underground or in orbital colonies - because even 
though it was a harsh place... it was THEIR place. The frontier was 
often ignored by the more cultural Federation, and out there people 
found new systems to regulate their lives. They were almost entirely
self-sustaining, and looked upon any measure to impose Federation
standards as infringing on the freedom they've worked so hard for. 

  Esmund remembered his younger days, when he had been more fit, more
ambitious. He had roamed these streets, hungry for power; but mostly
just hungry. 

  What had happened to that young man, who would speak to his gang of
a necessity for hope? That they would not have to die criminals? Where
was he now? Lost and forgotten, as his old gang were now entirely dead. 
Executed, by what passed for 'security' forces on Chronos. Where had
he gone? Far, far away... and on strangely good terms with the CCCR.

  The view was misted. It had to be because of his protective shield 
bubble. The old body was incapable of shedding tears... wasn't it?


  Dusty, metal-clad gigantic pumpkin shapes separated the people from 
the desert's constant attack. It was easy to keep secret the arrival of 
an ominous battleship. Most Chronites didn't even realize that half 
their supercluster had already fallen or declaring friendship towards 
the effort of Reunification. This was their only chance for a peaceful
resolution. 


  He heard a dry chuckle. What was left of his hairs pricked in fright.

  "Can you hear me?" a familiar voice was speaking directly into his
ear. The actual bones that allowed hearing had long been replaced. A
communications link was patched directly into these biomachinery. 
"Heh. A useless question, perhaps. But listen, citizen Thanner - how
does it feel to have absolute power over your fellow man? Is this not
what you desired? The greatest power you can have over anyone, is the
power to change their minds. Wealth, is fleeting. Rule by threat, is 
fragile. But become of their very flesh, their hearts - and such 
loyalties are stronger than steel and harden each time they put to 
the test."

  Esmund screamed silently.

  "Say the word, and my forces shall tear apart anyone you choose. Even 
me, if you feel so inclined. But I do not recommend it." For obvious
reasons.

  "-What more do you want from me?-" he 'spoke' into the link. The 
sense of being within the life-extended body was beyond strange. Many 
functions had been replaced by machines... and most of the vessels of 
interaction were controlled by brain waves. He could choose to speak 
with his 'own' throat, aided by a vocolabe, or directly into his 
chair's comm.

  Comfortably inside the battleship, Candize Ildagou laughed. "I want 
you to be free."

  "-It was you that imprisoned me in the first place!-"

  "But that, is just meat. A pity the Rim never developed a healthy 
interest in psionic research. Do you have any idea of how rare you are?
As easily as I placed you in that vessel, can I bring you out."

  The part of Esmund that had been Candize's memories worked quickly.
"-What are the conditions? I assume that I, as bait, will have to 
parrot what you say into this comm?-"
 
  That surprized the Dommne. The latent and active personalities were
merging faster than he could have imagined. "More than just an 
impostor. It is time you experienced something beyond politics - to 
battle history itself."

  Incredible. Esmund couldn't even shake his head, but the disbelief 
was there. Such will - and such ego! Just how long could this cult of 
personality last? This dillema... he, in the Candize Ildagou's body...
part of him wanted to feel that overpowering drive, while another had
great reluctance to inflict a great fascism upon the galaxy...

  Pain. 

  He made his choice. 


                                ***

              Magellan Station
              In orbit around the planet Victoria

              8 hours later

              
  Savine was meditating in her quarters, as Nadia had instructed her 
for unlocking her memories, when she heard the faroff whine of a fire 
alarm. She smiled. Kardi had finally been updated upon the situation. 

  She counted the seconds until he arrived. He stormed in six minutes 
later, just a minute short of her estimate. He was visibly exhausted. 

  "Breathe, kuia." she said, using the old kitaran word for sibling. 
Like many old Riikan words, it had a double meaning, it could also be
'fool'. It warmed his heart. She was comfortable enough to tease him.

  Maybe I really am a fool, he thought. He had never considered the 
possibility before. But when it comes to family, Kitarans tend to 
become hopelessly irrational.

  "Reduced... oxygen..requirement.." he replied. He was loathe to 
admit to any advantages incurred from having Polloid alphacells. He 
took a deep breath and felt broken veins reknit, glucose being 
spontaneously generated from what should be waste product. He hated 
it. Every cell in his body was crying out - wrong! Wrong! "Enough.. 
you're going?" 

  "I have my orders." Direct from the BP-DC, and the prime Clans 
themselves. They cannot be ignored. Even sudden as they were, it was 
no suprise. Though the Kitaran's system of government was a republic, 
the clans held true to the doctrine laid down so long ago... act, 
quickly, and overwhelmingly. 

  Kardi frowned, his ears flicked back in worry. His sister was 
entirely too calm. Nadia's mental techniques were meant merely as a 
disassociative exercise. "I.. don't know what this is really about. 
It will be dangerous."

  In privacy, and only to each other, they could drop the masks the 
wore everyday. Kardi let go of the professional control over his 
emotions, and fussed openly. Savine could show some of the sadness, 
and that single sliver of ruthlessness that she never could get rid 
of.

  She smiled thinly. "Wisdom requires risk." Knowledge itself couldn't
help her. Her face softened into a pout. "I WANT to go. I've never done
anything. Give me this time, let me help. Somehow."

  He sighed. He was nothing if not adaptable. "I cannot stop you. And I 
cannot go with you. I have been assigned to the Outer Rim." The 
backpack beside her was already packed with what she deemed essential - 
some clothes, a bookfile case with eleven thousand 'important' entries, 
a picture of her foster parents. Her Minimalist upbringing was wedged 
firmly into her new personality. "So be it. Take off your clothes."

  She blinked. Twice. 

  Kardi was already peeling off his jacket. "I don't have time to 
switch your standard requisitions kit. You will have to wear my 
equipment."

  "You've been wearing Aegis Taenar equipment all along?" Savine gasped. 

  "I am not invulnerable, you know." Contrary to most opinion, the 
Aegis Taenar were not normally suicidal. Whomsoever goes up against a
Polloid, was simply being realistic to consider the possibility of 
death. He started with the basics. "Shoes. We are about the same size, 
so no problems there. Standard Border Patrol issue is slightly magnetic 
for ease in microgravity movement. Aegis Taenar reconditioned shoes are 
of much tougher materials, and the left shoe heel conceals a sawblade. 
The right holds six meters of explosive wire." 

  The socks were of excellent quality, but not of Aegis Taenar 
manufacture and were discarded without a thought. "Uniform. 'Border 
Patrol Blue' with white stripe. Yours is made of silk. Mine is high-
strength armor-polymer. Almost impenetrable, but it does burn. Will not 
protect you from small-arms fire without padding, and has little 
resistance to energy weapons. But better than nothing..."

  The Border Patrol jacket was mostly utilitarian, with large pockets
and flak protection. "Threaded ceramic." Kardi slammed his against the
wall, and though the jacket looked and felt soft, it made a solid 
thunk. "High thermal and ballistic resistance." Gloves. "Improved 
rubberized grip." Hat. "Also threaded ceramic." The entire ensemble 
should also make it harder to see her through infared. Granted, he
didn't think it likely she would need to go in night ops, but every 
advantage his sister could get... 

  Kardi grinned. Now they were getting into the most valuable parts of
the outfit. "Border Patrol KK-Limas PP32 Plasma Pistol." The standard
sidearm of all officers. "Aegis Taenar Type 4 Plasma Pistol... almost 
indistiguishable in appearance, but with much greater armor-piercing 
potential, with a pull charge of twenty shots instead of thirteen. The 
energy clip is compatible with all sockets and pistols, it has a higher 
capacity. On your standard, it would give thirty shots."

  Snub rifle. "Aegis Taenar Type 4 Pulse Rifle. Both lighter and harder
hitting than anything its size on the market. Uses the same energy clip
as the plasma pistol." He handed her a bandolier with nine AT expanded 
energy clips. Unlike the Federation Marines or SpecOps, the Border 
Patrol had extensive use of energy weaponry; which though were 
heavier and had less refire; could be set to 'Stun'. 

  "Water canteen. Holds only two liters of water. Hidden compartments 
contain a strong poison and a strong acid." 
 
  Brass knuckle. "Insert this pin into this hole here, and you can 
throw it like a plasma grenade." He then handed her two regular plasma 
and two frag grenades.

  Necktie. "Cerafibre, double strength threaded ceramic. Also contains 
a garrotte."

  Cuff links. "Miniature transciever devices. Range of five air-norm
kilometers."
 
  Toothpaste tube. "Contains plastic explosive." Toothbrush. "The 
handle is a detonator."

  Dark lenses that fit over Savine's now-unrated glasses. "IRIS display 
system."

  Candy. "Mint. The blue ones are sedatives."


  She blinked. Thrice. Then blinked once more, just for the hell of it.
It was starting to sink in that yes, her brother really was a secret 
special forces operative. Savine hadn't really tried to compete with 
anyone before, but being faced with such an immense gap of 
experiences... when she matched herself against Nadia, the other girl
felt so utterly alien to her perceptions that she had no problem 
accepting the disparity. But her brother, born at almost the same 
moment - how as it that two siblings could be so different? She can't 
even try to compare. A dim part of her wondered if this was how some 
others felt, when she showed her (un)natural skill...

  She sighed and began to exchange clothes with her twin.


  The door opened. "Savine! Hurry up, we've got only an hour before we
report to the docks... I don't even know yet what ship we're.. 
assigned... to?" Jenette's mouth was shaped into a 'o' when she beheld 
the two within. They were down to their underwear, with clothes and 
gear strewn all over the room. 

  "This is not what it looks like!" the two said in unison.  

  The Derivian girl groaned. "Fine, fine. I suppose it's all right. You
won't be seeing each other for a long time.. but just hurry it up, 
would you?" She was well aware of Kardi or Savine sneaking into each 
other's rooms in the dead of night. Or of how tired Savine would 
sometimes be in the morning. 

  Kardi had been teaching her martial arts, tactics, advanced psionics. 
Meila couldn't in good conscience teach her combat uses for her talents 
and abilities.

  The door shut. 

  Kardi looked to his sister, with an uncommon look of consternation on
his face. "Perhaps we should tell her the truth."

  "No, you don't understand how... stubborn.. Jenette can be." Savine 
said with a grin. "Once she gets an idea into her head, it's almost 
impossible to get her to change it. She'll think we're siblings AND 
we're having sex."

  "Derivians." the Fantyrani scoffed. "Paranoid beyond belief." 

                             


  "A Heavy Frigate?" Jenette refused to believe the sight. "They gave 
us a HEAVY FRIGATE?! The only thing a heavy frigate is successful at is 
in contradicting itself!" 

  Frigates were the smallest Jump-capable ships in the galaxy. Not to
say they were small, per se. The standard shiptype list was based upon 
a mix of Derivian and Zallun classifications, and the largest Zallun 
ship in the old Armada was Rad'nu, or To Destroy. It simply logical to 
place the Destroyer high on the list. The Frigate, the most common, 
most flexible ship of the old Republican Navy, was relegated to the 
last place. It had always been a sore point, as it deserved more 
respect. The introduction of the Interceptor, a faster and more combat-
capable ship based upon the frigate chassis, was welcomed.

  Still, frigates were if not threatening, at least useful. Even the
civilian versions came with two primary weapon hardpoints, an MALS
launch tube, a hundred and fifty holds for cargo, some resourcing 
capability, and two standard drone squadrons.

  A frigate was about a 150 to 175 meters long. It could be crewed by
merely three people, a testament to the Arm's advances in automation
and machine reliability. They were enough for its full operation.

  But, was it enough for them? Jenette scowled at the manifest. A Heavy
Frigate was one refitted for combat, with heavier shields, armor and a 
larger power frame. All of this comes at penalty to its combat speed, 
which all things considered... was its most vital survival feature. And
they wanted to place that heap of junk beside cutting-edge Kitaran
strike vessels? The mortification! As a naval daughter, she wouldn't be
able to take it. 
 
  Main armament - two Medium Beam Cannons located near the nose, in  
a linked harpoint nub jutting off port and starboard. Who the hell puts 
'MBC' on a FRIGATE?! The Medium Beam was a much-loved weapon with 
its high damage output, decent refire rate, long range and tolerable 
energy drain. But though a frigate's Class Three Weapon Hardpoint was 
capable of mounting the guns, the power frame was insufficient. Add to 
this four Burst Plasma cannons mounted along the ship's spine; middling 
damage, very high refire rate, and the shortest range for a turret 
weapon... this weapons loadout would suck power like mad. Even three 
MALS tubes; two fore and one aft, could not make the ship any less of 
an energy-control nightmare.

  The only bright spot was the drones loadout; twenty-four gleaming new 
ARMDM Mark IX Combat Drones. 

  Dominic arrived on a skipcar; basically an aircar stripped of its 
outer shell, the back seats, bumpers, landing braces, basically all
unnecessary weight... with a metal cargo cage welded on. He seemed 
to enjoy being in the nimble, if vastly unsafe little vehicle. "We 
finished looking it over" said he. "Everything seems well maintained. 
It's a good ship."

  The glare was transferred from the ship data to him. "Hah. You would
think so. This thing was transferred directly from Rim patrol to our 
assignment. No one had a chance to overhaul it yet. Who knows what 
malfunctions it throws at us in mid-Jump. No decent captain would ship 
out in that condition."

  "Are you saying you should have been chosen as Captain?" Dominic's 
expression was unreadable. "You do have the seniority and additional
training."

  She threw the clipboard at him. "Are you saying I'm that shallow?!"

  He caught it easily. Docking ring gravity was half normal. "I'm 
saying you're worried about her. No doubt Savine is capable, but is she 
ready?"
  
  A hollow laugh was the answer. "I've long given up wondering about 
Savine. You don't know her as well as I do. She can accomplish things 
so easily, without even trying, more than I can ever do... it's so 
frustrating. But.. she's the most fundamentally DECENT person I know. 
There's no arrogance, no deceit, no hint of malice in that girl. 
Despite everything, she's still innocent..." She had never encountered
anyone quite like Savine. Always, always, she was surrounded by people
who used other people. Love, respect, loyalty, she learned from her own
family that these things were illusions made to get people to do what 
you want them to do. Savine was so easy to read, so honest. So willing 
to reduce the suffering of all around her. She would never really make 
a 'good' captain.
  
  "You can't protect her forever. Sooner or later, she's going to have 
to see the galaxy as it is."

  She laughed again, but now with mirth. "Look at you! You're saying 
all the right things."

  "I don't know where it's coming from." He grinned back. "But it's 
sure not going to last." 

  Jenette bit her lip and looked up at their ship, the BPC STARWING.
The collosal failure of her first attempt at captainship was still 
fixed in her mind. Savine will do well, she thought. Since she isn't 
hard, she wouldn't break. Then she remembered how she'd caught the girl
half-naked in her room with a male. Perhaps it was time for the girl to 
grow up... 

  She looked at Dominic, who had a rare look of seriousness. The 
impending journey bothered him, but for entirely different reasons. 
"Well, while your tounge is still under control, why don't you help me
look over the plans over some coffee?" 

  The sheer delight of his expression was almost comical. Yes, seemed
to be an incorrigible reprobate, but he was a persistent one. She 
didn't know if all her really viewed her was of yet another feminine 
conquest, but she had to admit... that lovesick puppy outlook was good 
for the ego. 

  Savine, shy and innocuous Savine, had found someone. She was Jenette,
officer extraordinaire, but she also needed... sometimes... to push 
away the loneliness of always being the dependable one. 



                                ***

              BPC STARWING
              Near the Nexus-Pleoria Nebula Jump Node
              Nexus Border Regions
              United Nexus Gateway Territories
              Federated Nexus     
              

              2 days later 


  Nexus!

  Heart of the explored galaxy! Furnace of stars! Center of the true
Federation! For it the Derivians and Zalluns nearly annihilated each 
other, and for it was forged the Federation itself. It is the border 
separating the major races, and so valuable are its resources that it 
is governed by its own impartial people; under the United Nexus Gateway
Territories.

  To here, all jump lanes meet. The Jump Nodes of Nexus are large, 
magnificent monster rings. Even the Nexus-Pleoria lane had eight 
separate open jump gates to process the veritable armada of Freighters
and Resourcers continously trading the raw material of the Great 
Nebula and the heavy deiuterium-6 deposits of Nexus. The crew of the 
BPC STARWING had all traversed Nexus before, but due to their age at 
the time didn't remember. The memory of awe at the sight of the 
military jump thread, with its twenty field enhancers bringing planar 
forces to heel, over six kilometers in diameter... it would remain all 
their lives.

  "The Fourth Battlegroup is in formation at the other side of that 
node." Savine had to say the obvious. "Let's go." 

  Jenette nodded and brought the ship in. She was assigned as the 
pilot, serving dual duty as Savine's first officer. Normally a first 
officer would be on the secondary bridge, commanding inship operations 
and away in case the bridge was destroyed... but there were only five 
people in the frigate after all. There was NO secondary bridge.

  They got permission for military access, and then those last few 
hours within the thread... uneventful perhaps, but it was the last time 
they would be just Border Patrol officers. With that jump, they left 
all that they held dear and familiar behind.

  
  Upon exit, three Raio-class Corvettes expertly matched their speed,
heading, and slid into escort formation. The Kitaran ships, daggerlike 
and sleek, moved with uncanny grace. 

  "Beautiful.." Savine whispered, as the lead ship performed a quick
roll. Kitaran gravitics control ensured that no matter how tight, how
sudden the maneuver, the innards were hardly disturbed.

  "Border Patrol Craft, frigate STARWING, this is the Kitaran Steward 
Ship, corvette IRANHA. You will establish a visual link." 
  
  Dominic didn't even need Savine's order. The main screen immidiately 
showed a tall Kitaran male marked with two ochre slices upon his 
cheeks. "You are captain of the vessel?" he asked.

  "Lieutenant Commander Savine of Sargon." she replied with a salute. 
"We are ready to perform observer duty, sir."

  The Kitaran commander snorted derisively. "I am Group-Captain Rasa of 
the 121st-Kimera Skirmisher Wing. We shall soon be facing opponents in 
ships weaker than yours, if that was even possible - I warn you now to 
stay behind us at all times. We might mistake your abysmal threat 
reading with that of the enemy's." 

  This was met with much grinding of teeth by Jenette. 

  "Follow." the commander continued. "We will proceed at sixty percent 
thrust. Try to keep up, at least."

  The gravitic controllers of the STARWING strained with the vehemence
that Jenette immidiately shifted velocities with. The corvettes made 
lazy circles around the frigate as they guided it towards the 
battlegroup. 


  Around the fourth moon of the planet Holli, an unremarkable rock 
in a valueless system, nine hundred ships were in waiting for one 
frigate. The people within those ships were understandably relieved, 
and more than a little annoyed that they were forced to stand around 
all for their sake. 
 
  The Border Patrol crew leaned forward in their seats, filling 
themselves with the spectacle. The battlegroup was gathered around one 
gleaming white ship, bigger than even the legends said... the entire 
Kitaran race's only attempt at building ships in the class of super-
capital, their true 'perfect' ship, capable of matching even the 
old Zallun Imperial Destroyers. Most Kitaran-designed vessels are 
quick, and more importantly quick to build. Lacking the other race's 
value on armor, their naval philosophy was of sudden and devastating, 
if short-lived, attacks. To invest too much of hope and effort into one 
ship, which stand all chances of being destroyed in a concentrated 
assault by the enemy, was simply foolishness. Their hearts were molded 
by the long Clan Wars, over steadily diminishing resources.

  The flagship was the complete opposite of their dominant design
philosophy. 

  "This is the Clawship QUEEN KIRE SUJANNI. Myaun rii, STARWING." Be 
gladful, the rote Kitaran greeting. The Kitaran word for 'joy' was also 
the same as 'land'. Freedom was 'riiya', or 'farlands'. 'Myaunn rii' 
therefore could also mean 'walk freely'. Soija mused on how despite 
being known as some of the best pilots in the cosmos, despite having
some of the deadliest ships in existence, they were still landbound at 
heart.

  "You will dock within shiphold B. Guidance lasers are now active." 

  The Clawship. Over two thousand years since they were first designed,
there were only twenty of these built. They embodied the Kitaran 
precept of attack first and overwhelmingly. The ship looked like an 
open claw; the index and little fingers tucked in, the middle and ring 
fingers out, the thumb perpedicular... ready to gouge out an eye or 
tear open a jugular. Its lengthy prow was a powerful linear accelerator 
that spans nearly the whole ship, capable of launching drones in 
rapid succession or obscenely powerful Terminal Mortar shells. Below 
its tip were a pair of gimbaled 150mm Gauss Cannons. This 'neck' 
proturuded from a rhomboid box-shape that was the ship's main chassis. 
Upon the sides were massive launch tubes, each with its own accelerator
and fitted with independently-guided Capital Ship Missiles... eighty 
total launch tubes of the best ordnance in the Arm! Right in front of 
the bridge superstructure were dual Heavy Beam Cannons. Below the 
ship's main hull, in a separate hooked turret, were the two massive 
barrels of the 300mm Myorra 'Worthy' Heavy Rail Cannons. There were 
eight tri-barelled Plasma Burst Cannons on pop-up turrets, and self-
targeting Heavy Flak cannons dotted the ship's frame.

  All of it wrapped around three of the largest charged-pulse ion 
engines ever built.

  The clawship. All hard angles and hostility. She deemed armor as
entirely superfluous. She was immune to all forms of fightercraft
and missile attack. Her ranged capability was unmatched. Her agility,
for such a massive ship, was nothing short of breathtaking. 


  "Big." said Savine, as the frigate came into dock. The main hold was
capable of holding two frigates (or interceptors), although apparently
was incapable of servicing them. Other than transferring cargo and
equipment between the flagship and her escorts, the entire docking 
sequence seemed to have no other use. 

  Almost two thousand years ago of course, those locks were used to
hold many assault transports for planetary invasion. 

  The STARWING docked cleanly, and the hold was repressurized. Upon 
the airlock, they were met by two Kitaran officers. They both had
Captain's bars and were already clad in sealed combat suits. 

  "Welcome to the Steward Fleet, Commander." greeted the taller, and
kinder-looking Royal Officer. He floated to the hatch and helped
Savine in. "I am Liyo Kire Ramuni, this ship's Kamile Commander.  
This is Fantyra Miranu Majar, the Surile Commander."

  "Honored to make your acquaintance, sirs." she replied with a bow,
and almost unbalanced herself in quarter-grav. Ahh. The Kitaran naval
structure placed two 'First Officers' under a single Captain. The 
Inward Part and the Outward Part. Appropriately, they had contrasting 
duties. 

  The Inward Part was the captain's hand guiding those within the ship, 
maintaining its functions, offering prudent advice. The Outward Part 
led forces into battle, managed the field, suggesting immidiate 
action. The ship in space was its own world, with its own rules and its
own troubles, and the Captain was all but god to all those that lived 
under his sight. And like a God, must remain remote from all his 
people. Only in him was there justice and purpose - the Inward Part, 
the Surile was his mercy. The Outward Part, the Kamile, was his wrath.


  Soija again sighed. Tamarans and Kitarans culturally got along well, 
even if they didn't understand each other. The Kit'i were so obsessed 
with symbolism. He winced, there was a shooting pain in his neck as 
he entered the ship's controlled gravity decks. A ship's battle G was
one-fourth normal, with gravitic controls being diverted towards 
suppressing inertia. A ship at rest or in cruise could afford the 
expenditure of maintaining full G. The clawship was just sweating 
power. He massaged the point where his neck bones met with his spine.
Kitaran standard G was uncomfortably matched with the homeworld. Kitara 
had a higher gravity than other racial worlds, and so its people were 
shorter and well-muscled. In space or lesser worlds, those muscles 
always fighting against that higher pull could perform feats.

  He was a Tamaran, raised in space. He was used to having gravity 
control. In this ship, always 1.22 G, always! Unnecessary burden.

  A squad of Fantyra troops were ready to meet them. They were already
in full battle gear. No need to worry, Kam-Ramuni told them. It was an
honor guard. They were to report immidiately to the captain. 

  They were all to head up, towards the bridge superstructure. Gregory
stared in awe at the open cavern that was the ship's interior. The ship
had no deck layers, per se. Powerful structural integrity fields were 
layered upon the inner hull, taking the place of bulky armor. He could 
see above the main hold the racks of combat drones, upon dropship locks 
were six Miirai assault transports. Platforms moved machined weapons 
and the immense capital ship missiles. It wasn't until then that he 
realized the scales death could be manufactured. A single Needle, or 
long-ranged multi-tracking armor-piercing, missile pack was almost half 
as long as their own frigate. The launchers for these were already 
larger. Ships' Thimble missiles were ready to chastise any that dared 
stray close. 

  Living quarters were in a second sealed section, an inner inner hull.
The 'outsides' were made to allow piercing beam or projectile attacks 
to pass through with minimal harm. Resisting blasts with armor could 
lead to shrapnel-rich explosions or large structural faults. Other 
races compensated with logically - stronger armor. Heavier armor. This 
concept of safety through the refusal of armor was very interesting. 
 
  But his attention was inevitably drawn back to the machined weapons.
As their turbolift sped upwards, he realized that he recognized none of
their models. But they were too big, too well-armed, their sloped armor
thick and black. Not Marines... regular Army colors. He realized, this 
was no mere supression force. This was a full-bore invasion force.

  Dominic had never before been so happy to be Border Patrol. He didn't
want to be any pirate in the days to come.


  They were there to comfort the rest of the galaxy that the Kitarans 
had no designs upon the Rim. How could they do that if they themselves 
were hardly comforted by what they saw?




  She was named for the elected queen of Clan Liyo during the final 
days of the Kitaran Suhmirao - the challenges of clanhood. 

  It was a hard choice, to lead her Clan into a battle that would 
either end with their doom or winning the galaxy. The Liyo starfleets 
were decimated almost to the last fighter... but so close did the 
battle hinge at times that even for hundreds of years it remains a 
mystery as to what exactly was the pivotal moment that decided Kitaran 
Democracy against Kitaran Supremacy. Had Clan Liyo emerged triumphant 
over Clan Solaris, the Kitarans would have finally been united 
idiologically and militarily... and they would have taken the fight
unto the other races. Likely, as the Zalluns and Derivians had almost
destroyed each other, there would have been an equalized meelee all 
over the galaxy. With the Tamarans behind them, the Kitarans were equal
to the two older military powerhouses. 

  And a dark age that the galaxy would take thousands of years to 
recover from. Of course, before that there would be a few periods of 
insanely rapid growth, and swinging glorious fortunes between races, 
but nothing lasting... no end to strife, no end to prejudice... 

  Still, Kitarans tended to admire such daring, such willingness to 
take the risk for the highest pay-offs. It was also said that Her 
Highness Suji was a kind woman, beautiful and intelligent. That she 
chose such a drastic path meant she seriously thought it was best for
all. Kitarans also loved apparent contradictions, the contrast between 
her gentle temperament and her decision to send millions of her people 
to war was too delicious to be forgotten.


  The battle bridge of the KSS QUEEN SUJANNI was an upright cylinder. 
Protruding above the main hull was a squashed dome, rounded and thick.
It was the only part of the ship concievably to be called armored. It
could withstand the impact of the ship's own main armament: four 250mm
slugs travelling at one-fourth of c within thirty seconds. Inside this
battle bridge were arrays of sensors and targeting equipment. The 
clawship was too big to hide, therefore her survival hinged upon being
able to seek and take out the enemy before they could get their own 
guns to range.

  The command room was intentionally kept dark. Three-dimensional 
tacmaps kept tabs of all ships in the fleet. It was unlike the TETHYS'
sheathed bridge though, in that it showed a full system map and plotted
movements only. It was a strategic room, not meant to give the illusion
that the captain was the ship.

  The captain sat on a command chair upon a raised dais high above the
bridge. From there he could look at the tacmap and everything that his
officers were doing. 

  He was not what they expected.


  Granted, perhaps they were all preconditioned by those overdramatic
superviolent Kitaran war films on primetime schedules. Captains were 
stoic fathers (or mothers), always torn between doing their duty and 
making sure each and every member of their crew makes it through. Ships 
in formations by the thousands, fighters in such numbers to blot out 
the sun... and such frantic action with admittedly little tactical 
sense but are tremedously fun to watch. Who really expects one 
corvette, with an hastily-trained but well-meaning crew to plow through 
a formation of cruisers?

  Everybody, if it's a Kitaran vid they're watching.

  In all of those, the captain was either: (a) brash but confident 
that the crew holds boundless potential or (b) calm and always ready 
with a backup plan. 
  
  But for starters, the current captain of the Kitaran Navy's most 
powerful class of ship was... entirely too unimpressive for the role. 
He could barely look over the console of his command pod. That hardly
mattered though, as he was close to blind. His ears drooped lazily.
His tail was wrapped around his body lest he trip on it. Every hair on 
his body had been bleached white, in the anuma tradition. Still, it was 
easy to see which Clan he'd been born of. His brass cane was dull and 
unpolished, crusted with dirt and machine oil.

  "What?" asked Saril Rami, grinning wildly, hobbling painfully down 
to their level. "Have you never seen a Tabbana in command of a ship 
before? There is precendent." Even if Tabbana Brusolla was a cultural
oddity, he did open the door for a shift in the Kitaran value system.

  Savine and Jenette both just gaped. The former because as a Kitaran 
naturally she knew who Clan Tabbana's clanfather was. The latter knew
since Clan Tabbana was a major producer of ships and ship parts used
by Federation Naval Strikegroups. The former was reeling with the fact
that the clanfather declared himself an outcast from all clans, 
bleaching his hairs to separate himself from all. The latter was
considering the implications - IF the oldest, most peacemaking voice of
the Kitarans wasn't there... who was keeping the hotheads in the 
clansmeet from doing something stupid like... 'aggressively expanding
their shipbuilding customer base'?! Selling Kitaran skirmiships... to
everybody! Federation, Rim, police, pirate, civilian, naval. Kitaran
interests were better tolerated in the Outer Rim.. hell, back in the
Severance days the Kitarans were in support of the Rim's independence.
War was good for those in the business of making warships. The Tamarans
were all too happy to piggyback on the opening business fronts. Their
influence within the Inner Rim was already unshakable, outside was the
only place to go.

  Were the Kitarans intentionally sabotaging the Federation?

 
                                ***

              Government City, Tempus II
              Prima Chronos 


  Kardi coughed. The wind was laced with powdery traces of iron, copper 
and sulfur. Even inside the habitation domes, the filtration systems 
couldn't disguise that the entire planet, literally, stank. No wonder
everyone wanted to get rich enough to get off the rock. He took a deep 
breath. But he'd been in worse. That mission on that jungle planet 
Kakakse, for example... he'd rather have this than 100% humidity. For
nearly half a year afterwards he smelled like rotting fish.

  His companions of course, had comfortably remained in the ATV2 Scout
Tank, monitoring his progress. The swamps would just swallow an HS 
whole, entombing it forever. Only he could be expected to survive 
wading through that muck.

  He glared at the two standing behind him. Both at least had the grace
to look sheepish. It had been their reponsibility to make sure he 
didn't get lost. Kardi very rarely got angry, so it was easy to guess 
the source. Most of the time it was bad memories.

  "We found you eventually..." Holt said, smiling. 

  "I had. To cut. My way. Out of a toadfish."


  The three walked down the airbus ramp in silence, scanning the crowd
for their contact. The landing deck was always awash with people, most
of them unwashed. Government City was made up of eight habitation 
spheres, and each one was the product of rugged, sensible Rim 
engineering. Tempus had no arable land whatsoever, and its hostile 
winds would wear down most free-standing structures. The shape was to 
take advantage of the world's vicious nature. For even as dust storms 
raged outside, upon the upper wind layers are borne natural algae and 
rich silt. The lower wind layers carried with it hot metallic 
particles. The middle layers, filled with grit and sand, nonetheless 
contained trapped moisture.

  Government City had no water table to speak of, but was completely
self-sufficient in the basic necessities of life. For the luxuries, 
that comes with the boreholes above which the domes themselves were 
built.

  Rim tenacity. The three felt they were home. Those in the Federation
would see only rusty, thousand-year old walls, too-bright lighting, a 
lack of greenery, and think that people's lives were spent in despair. 
The three were born in the Federation, in the Rim they were re-born. On 
impulse, Holt grabbed a passing man. "Hey, where's the nearest watering 
hole, friend?"
  
  "Want me to take you there?" the man replied with a sardonic grin. No
one hurried in the Rim. There was always time for a drink.
  
  Holt flipped a coin into the air, which he man caught gladly. It was
a hundred-cred piece. The Rim hadn't yet upgraded towards personal 
credstick accounts. "Have a drink there for me, then." The man grinned 
and tipped his hardhat politely before moving away. It wasn't unusual
for spacers long in transit to feel a sudden surge of generousity on
planetfall.

  "So... we wait here?" Sebastian plunked down their baggage. Being the
biggest, he was elected to carry the baggage. Holt would simply be 
crushed under the weight of his unsupported sniper rifle. The Kitaran 
could concievably carry the load for some time, but...

  "We wait." Kardi said simply. With that said, he sat in one of the 
stone benches littering the concourse, crossed his arms, and appeared 
to sleep. His Derivian companions sighed and set themselves down as 
well. After all, it wasn't as if they were in any particular hurry. 
Ohh, no. They were just trying to keep the Outer Rim from imploding, 
that's all.

  A few minutes later, an aircar dropped out of the sky, coming to rest
in front of them and kicking up a lot of dust as it did so. It was a 
new and obscenely expensive pmodel, still with the pristine black sheen 
of the showroom. The driver's window slid down. A bored, blond-haired
face peeked out. 

  "You're late." Kardi said flatly. 

  "No, you're early." Yaric Regar shot back, with a dismissive wave of 
his hand. "You people have no sense of proper timing, do you? Bah. The 
amateurs they send me.. " Three growls was the reply. 

  They boarded, and Holt all but sank into the cushions. "Niiice... you
arms dealers live well." he commented, utterly relaxed. "But I wasn't 
expecting you to pick us up - why does Yaric not send a flunky?"

  "Because Yaric is not an idiot." The Bellevae '82 rose, dodging 
easily the manic flight of other aircars. (Apparently, even the most 
mild-mannered man when behind the wheel of an anti-grav vehicle feels a 
great urge to break the sound barrier, even if they know their engine 
couldn't allow it. Sort of like whales beaching themselves, really.) 
Everyone in Chronos wants to get at everybody else. Every square inch 
is wired. Every employee gets paid twice. No place indoors is safe... 
"I bought this limo a few  minutes ago. I highly doubt they had time to 
even calibrate the radio."

  "You arms dealers live really REALLY well." 

  Yaric Regar was the front man for the Outbound Laboratories, one of 
the few successful independent arms-study groups in the Rim. In a rare 
moment of brilliance, the Chronos Civil Commission decided to sponsor
their own weapons division, and this time not to strangle it by 
demanding an exclusive transaction contract. 

  OutLabs started off with the aquisition of several mobile factories
from the politically imploding Tyranis dominions. Several master 
technicians came along with the deal. With the production base for 
weaponry set up, they gathered together the disillusioned, the greedy, 
the stubbornly neutral, and the simply bored. The technological 
explosion after the Scourge War filtered down into the Rim, and OutLab 
produces lesser versions of the things that SAIRAAD refuses to sell.

  "It has its moments." said Yaric.

  The aircar weaved in and out of flight lanes, ruthlessly taking 
advantage of its red diplomatic sticker. 

  "Do you people know what you must do here?" he asked after some time.

  "I hope it's not someting stupid, pointless, and futile like 
assassinating the Dommne?" Holt nudged his Kitaran companion. "Right?"

  Kardi merely grunted. He sat with his arms crossed, trying to ignore
the repeated jabs. Finally, he had enough and growled slightly, letting
a strange golden glimmer show on his eyes. It was enough to cause Holt 
to stop, grimace weakly, and hold his palms up in surrender. "What 
makes you think I was briefed on this?"
  
  "Because you're you." Yaric commented with a mocking laugh. "Your 
father must be rolling in his grave. A mindless automaton, obeying 
orders without question... what did Brusolla fight so hard to destroy?"
 
  The Kitaran clenched his fists so tight his knuckles went white, but 
otherwise his reaction was unsatisfying. "My father has no grave... his 
corpse is part of a twenty-click glassed crater." He glared at the 
deathdealer through the rearview mirror. "I will not play this game, 
Yaric -Rigger-. The generation before us were allies as well. Find your 
emotional nourishment elsewhere."

 "Tch." 
 
 Tabbana Brusolla was Fleet Subcommander of the IGF. It was Lysle 
Rigger, whom he followed as his Border Patrol captain, that founded the 
Alliance. The impulsive Kitaran, the cynical Derivian. Utter polar 
opposites, who despite seeming to loathe each other worked well 
together. It was common knowledge that Rigger up and disappeared one 
day, leaving Brusolla to handle the growing Alliance. It was 
suspicious. The two had recently been more at odds in their policy of 
handling how the Tyranis supercluster had suddenly all but given itself 
freely over to them. Common rumor is that Brusolla had his predecessor 
killed. Then he had free reign into turning the collapsed starsphere 
back into a military powerhouse, just in time to fight the Scourge.

  Yaric Regar was Lysle Rigger's only son. He had inherited his 
father's acid wit, and an intinctive irritation towards the forces of 
chaos.

  "Protect the Dommne." he said, all business now. "I might not agree 
with the long-term plans for the Rim, but his death would cause more 
harm than good right now. I have no doubt there are some in the Civil
Commission idiotic enough to try that. Your cover is that of my 
bodyguards."

  "Understood." Kardi replied, with a bow.

  "I like this place. I don't want it destroyed." Yaric's tone was 
menacing. "Don't let the nujer-aya-ka awaken."

  The two other Lumin winced, while the Kitaran bowed once more. "It
will be as you command."



  Government City was made of five domes, with the habitation sphere at
the center surrounded by three capped boreholes and a starport. The 
aircar plunged into the swirling mass of vehicles shuttling to and fro
the connecting shafts. Halfway there, it veered to the side and hovered
above a small marketplace jutting off the wall. Booths were open to the
transport artery, and any driver could just reach outside their windows 
to take what they wanted to buy. Yaric slid to one selling watermelons
and rested the aircar lightly upon the support struts. He loosened his 
tie and mussed his hair. 

  "Good morning." he greeted the merchant. 

  "Good morning to you too, Yaric!" she greeted back. "Where did you 
get that thing? If your boss finds out you've been playing around with 
his toys..." 

  There were snickers from the back seat. "Shut up, bastards!" he spat 
at them. "Just give me some damned melons, Alicia. I can pay." And 
in a lower tone "How is Jace? Is the retroviral medicine helping?" 

  She smiled, and that seemed to transform her from a young mother into 
a glowing countess. It really wouldn't take much to change her from a 
stallkeeper into a lady of society, her aquiline face was already 
accentuated by raven shoulder-length hair. Her figure was still slim
and shapely. Sheer gratitude overflowed from her, assailing his 
empathic senses. He reeled back under the assault. Why do I even bother 
to do things like this?, he asked himself. If she ever realized that it 
was guns that he'd sold that killed her husband in the first place... 
her emotions, bright as they were now, would be a blacknesss beyond his 
imagination. He shuddered inwardly.

  "He's doing better, thank you. I don't know how to repay you. You 
saved my son! I don't know how you got your hands on it... but thank 
you." So she liberally cursed each melon before flinging them through 
the open window. Damned watermelons indeed. 

  More snickerings from the back seat. 

  Yaric zoomed away, smoldering in fury. 


  "I believe our friend is interested in a different kind of melons." 
Holt commented, grinning nastily. Alicia Nuree was still a lovely 
specimen, and his quick eyesight noticed the lack of a wedding ring on 
her fingers. He held both palms up in the open, and made squeezing 
motions. 

  Yaric's death-glare did not surprise him. But a similar disapproval 
from Kardi did.

  "Just because he did not stare death in the face does not make his 
hands any less bloodstained than ours." the Kitaran said pitilessly.
"We all have our ways of dealing with it. You hide behind sarcasm and 
ridicule for all others. Sebastian hides behind the pleasures of life.
It is the small kindnesses that allow us to sleep at night."

  Holt was silent after that. 

  
  The central pillar supporting the weight of the massive geodesic also 
contained the Commission's Advisory Board. Around this nub was already 
gathered thousands of aircars of every possible make, and two blood-red 
'Dorel' Reunification gunships. Every gun pit on the pillar was aimed 
at these. Yaric shook his head sadly. It's not like destroying the 
Dommne's honor guards will delay the battleship parked outside. 
Distrust was so deeply ingrained in the Chronite psyche, that they 
could be nudged here and there by all those that understood the 
triggers.

  The entire structure was also resonating with psionic tension. Yaric 
grit his teeth as he felt the levels spike, briefly. 

  "Do you understand now?" he asked the Lumin, the anger was also his 
way of pleading. "There are different scenarios I can see. There are 
different ways this place can be destroyed. We must protect these 
people from the idiocy of their leaders."

                                ***

              KSS QUEEN KIRE SUJANNI              
              Kitaran Royal Navy Sujanni-class Clawship
              1st Steward Fleet, 4th battlegroup flagship
              subspace transit
              Cameron 
         
              8 days later 

  
  "It's impossible." Jenette said with a wave of her fork. "Even with 
a force this size, they can't hope to find the pirate groups 
responsible. Even if this is an invasion plan poorly disguised as  
punitive action, the targets can just filter into the populace. How 
many 'pirate islands' are there in asteroid belts? We can't find 
them. This is useless, pointless, and stupid."

  That being said, the Border Patrol observers fell back into an 
uncomfortable silence. The ship's mess hall was empty save for them,
giving them some latitude for conversation. Automated food dispensers
provided service. They ate under red lights; everyone else was on
combat duty.

  

<to be continued>
_______________________________________________________________________
bpen@illuminati-fiction.net