A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

[sonofccn]

Okay at Admiral Breetai prodding here is a small update. And yes that is a little jab at a certain popular verse at the end but please don't flame me to the bowels of hell, its a jab of love!

“A Super-heavy? Don’t worry they cruise around fifty thousand feet you won’t hear one and by God you won’t see it. Your first clue its even there will be the Atomic flash and…it’s a little late by then so quite worrying about it. Besides there are plenty of mutants for us to have some fun before we move to mop up, so let’s quite dawdling and go!” Agent Jonas rousing a detachment of troops preparing to disembark for the Cuba incident.

Wraith, sickbay:

Moving away from his latest collaboration android J05-PH tittered on his steely legs back to an examination table where the curved head of an astromech droid sat along with much of its internal wiring strung about it. The air, as the machine’s receptors clinically tested, alive with a burning ozone like smell from the still powered wiring, the ends of which in many cases poorly and simply severed with none of the fines or care the medical droid exhibited in surgery.

“I’m a doctor not a mechanical engineer.” He huffed in his defense jerking a metallic hand away from one as energy arced from it.” My programming is primarily of organic structures, the pitiable things needing the more care.”

Recovering and with greater care he lifted the dome head module up off of the table rustling the circularly spooled cables and peered into the hollowed contents of his fellow robotoid. Checking and ensuring the connections to his addition to its innards was, unlike the personality and memory stacks he’d removed, competently secured. Its display lights blinking in the proper pattern, far too quickly for a human eye to discern, to indicate nothing was amiss with it or its vampyric immersion into the droid’s systems. Satisfied he lowered the head back down and moved on to the holographic projector, producing a cloth a human would have found repellently reeking of cleaning solution and wiping it over the smudged crystalline lens wanting as clear as results for his test as he could manage. Finishing once it gleamed like the day it rolled off of the assembly line he disposed of the soiled cleaning fabric and retreated away from his impromptu creation, a lesser work needed only as a proof of concept, activating the recorder and after briefly but professionally identifying his designation and what he hoped to accomplish returned to the robot’s head lifting it up once more and reaching inside to his device activating it. Its soft whirrs and clicks cooing to him as he set it back down and headed towards the black clouded healing tube typing in a few quick commands with a steel finger at its controls activating the corner stone of his new research.

Joints popping and creaking, the Colonials most lax on providing basic oil baths for their mechanical artifices, he hobbled back to the astromech’s head whose column of light it expelled slowly coalesced and merged together. Like a cheesy horror-holo a head took shape with the contours of the beam, pale and ghostly with an off blue flicker threatening to dispel it, one of a weathered human male. Tinges of gray streaked through his ruffled hair, less than normal the android noted having used an older Imperial photo to make the hologram, and beneath his eyes wrung the etchings of age each a mute testament to the weight he wore caring and keeping alive a ship filled with Imperial soldiers as well as far too many late nights playing cards and drinking Saurian brandy in the officer’s club. Dr. Antilles in the simulacrum of flesh made up of twisted photons of light hung before the robot disembodied and strangely serene, and then he opened his eyes. Face darkening along with his flaring eyes and crinkling nose as he simultaneously tried to get his bearings as well as turn towards J05-PH and instead ending up spinning in a circle. Struggling and failing to find hands by which he could steady himself, some of his anger giving way to agitated shock. Some but not all by any means, born and bred on moon-world Thejas Secondus he was in not short supply of gumption no matter the current situation.

“ I turn my back on you for one momentary moment you ice hearted hobgoblin and this is what you do? I’m supposed to be a doctor not some levitating phantom you bungler!” Antilles wailed inadverntly flipping his head backwards and spinning consecutively around and around until the faux energy dissipated.

“I apologize for your initial…accouterments…I am afraid I have not been granted as much time or resources as I might have preferred.” The android explained carefully, clicking every so often from his electronic mind picking each word with such care.” However I can attest a full transference to and from without sign of signal decay.”

“This is a successful operation? By Thejas I always knew you bots were soft in the head…now are you going to fix this?” The floating head demanded settling in place no sooner than he caused himself to twist in a new direction.” My body…where did you…you still have it right? I swear if you have done anything to prevent reattaching it…”

“Your body is whole and intact. Only your mind has vacated.” J05-PH replied leaning past the crackling holographic image to the projecting astromech’s head.

“Why you cold blooded…typewriter! You are going to fix this if I have to-“ Antilles, fighting to turn after the machine, demanded before winking out of existence.

The droid deactivating the recorder next, confident his invention had been sufficiently demonstrated, and lastly as an afterthought went to the bacta tank in which the good doctor was suspended in returning his mind into its oblivious state. His mind whirring like mad as he teetered away to the room’s communication panel, using Antilles access code and voice print to bypass security norms and link a broadcast directly from his suit to the Judgment further in system. A momentary feeling of mechaniod revulsion at debasing himself to deal with organics but it passed, his work demanded it.

“Contact made, Wraith? This is the Judgment is there an issue?” Came a very droll sounding person of the lowest rank and therefore of no importance.

“There is no issue nor is strictly speaking is this the Wraith. I am a third party representative wishing to solicit favor from your charitable leader.” J05-PH spoke going slow and plain as his programming would allow.

“Your what? What is your operating number? What is this? Some kind of joke?” The fool on the other end demanded, no doubt reaching to terminate the link as he did so.

“J05-PH, I am a medical droid aboard the Wraith through I no longer wish to remain so.”

“Equipment transfer is not my or the Commodore’s prerogative. Take it up with your quartermaster.” The communication officer’s snarked clearly believing he was being set up.

“ Let me speak with your Commodore and we’ll see if it is within his responsibilities.” The android replied with false pleasantness, his internals all but melting at the inefficiently and idiocy of the organic chain of command.” Inform him that I am upon a discovery which will allow the creation of immortal men of iron, true men with minds that can think-”

J05-PH was forced to pause there from the enormously of the lie extolling every scrap of decorum programmed into him to keep from breaking out in fits of electronic laughter. Organics thought highly of their disorganized and highly emotional minds, entire libraries filled with holos on their mark superiority to cold and logical druids, entire industries devoted to ruining the perfection obtained by their mechanical brethrens. Trying to make them more emotional, more “lifelike” with usually poor and cruel results.

“-and will be forced to give this secret to Captain Jackson if I am not given passage of this ship. Tell him that and see if he will see me then. I will kindly wait.” The machine finished after half a heartbeat, allowing the faintest traces of his artificial smugness to seep through as he waited.

He didn’t wait long even for one whose thoughts could be measured in nanoseconds.

Judgment, Sickbay:

With a snap and the reptilianiod alien lunging for his face with its dripping jaws sprung open into an unimaginable gulf of serrated edges Mike Donner bolted up right from the medical bed. Assessing the situation that there was indeed no slobbering sithspawn alienoids thirsting for his blood followed by the realization his armor carapace had been traded out in his unconsciousness for a light blue tinted smock smelling vaguely of disinfectant. His hand, a hand he’d vividly remembering its breakage, going to his chest made whole again but stiff chest rubbing at it to ease away the pain each breath caused.

“I’d think you’d be adjusted to it by this point, it’s almost your official uniform.” A pleasant voice whispered in his ear, a very nice pleasant voice attached to a very pleasing face who wheeled around the Assault Commander to his face.

A normally mature and professional woman she now exuded a glimmer of youthful energy he found so endearing as she raised the hand clutching a pair of standard issue naval glasses up to her face extending a finger to flick a curl of red hair which had fallen into her face. The other held a still frosty bottle of his favorite blend.

“Thanks Bev.” Donner replied accepting his traditional “painkillers” as well as both glasses and tearing the lid off the bottle to fill both.” One fe-I mean it was an intense battle down there. We did win right?”

“Yes, in part thanks your cavalier disregard for your own health or your primary surgeon’s time.” Bev answered accepting a cup back and holding it up against Donner’s own.” You came up in a real mess this time, half of it from those first year medical students they have practicing meatball surgery down on the surface and for a while there I was sure there were pieces missing. Don’t worry I managed to save the couple of bits I really enjoy…those delightful eyes of yours.”

“I’d hope you salvage more than that.” He answered in a cheerful manner he never release among his men tilting his glass back against his lips and downing it one long gulp.” Without an arm to shoot with what good am I?”

“You always have your head, save for maybe neutronium I can’t imagine anything denser.” She purred using the glass to hide her mild distaste of his rather intoxicating brew, preferring something in a fine wine or as Donner frequently called them “dishwater”.

Still the tradition which had grown up over the years of him half killing himself and her patching his innards back up required that small discomfort to spending the time with him. As well his unorthodox and bewildering superstition against modern painkillers, through she could not and would ever understand the distinction the Assault Commander was fine with microsurgery reattaching the arm he’d lost bludgeon the enemy to death with but a centuries old salve to null the pain afterwards would somehow destroy the galaxy or make him less then a man.

“True warriors become old friends with pain, learn to control it, to use it.” He’d frequently quip, no doubt stealing it from some war-holo, when she pressed him for it.

In the end it didn’t matter, merely enjoying his company for several long minutes as she nursed her drink and he consumed the bottle. Neither having precious little free time from their duties to otherwise socialize, through she at least did her best to try while he was equally in love with tinkering with blaster rifles and ordering his men through maneuvers. In the end however she couldn’t postpone the inevitable and as the bottle began to run dry produced for him a datapad which he looked at quizzically thumbing through its contents.

“What’s this, your resignation so you can escape the look of my ugly mug?” He joked raising the bottle up to drain the last drops, his still fuzzy mind only able to comprehend from the long sequence of heavy words that it was an order transfer of some kind.

“Your new assignment, redeployed to the surface for “special purposes”. Likely means whatever hell you just walked through they are about to send you someplace worse and it means I have to brush up on my anatomy books to make sure I can put everything back.”

“When do I have to report?” He asked smiling setting the datapad down beside him.

“As soon as I clear you for duty…of course after watching you consume so much raw alcohol I do require some additional observation to ensure your liver isn’t going to disintegrate or anything.” She purred as he reached a hand gently out stroking through the fields of her hair and drew her head towards his.” Twenty maybe thirty minutes just to be sure you’re in no danger.”

“Guess I have no choice.” He laughed, tasting her lips.

An act which stung quite heavily with nerves still raw from damage and being healed but the pain was outweighed, he believed, by the mirror opposite signals generated by the act.

Wraith, holding bay 12E

Amazed at what having the congealed guts of unspeakable mutant horrors blasted off with a warm spray and having a solid meal in his stomach could do to one’s disposition it didn’t make him tread any less lightly into the bay. Knowing he was all but an alien to the assembled squad, an intruder who dared believe he could fill Bragg’s boots. Indeed he, Stuart, was shaking in his boots at the prospects which the deathstick clamped in his mouth hadn’t been able to fix, of what he would find beyond the smooth military gray door he and Rookie who trawled behind him like a iron chunk after a magnet approached. A deathstick prominently on his face as well, both unhelemeted and wearing their worn and corroded awaiting reacquisition of new armor with the proper sigils of their new rank and placement, which he fidgeted with betraying the nervous fear he was trying to place a brave front on, the newly minted Sergeant’s brief narration of what he knew of the squad doing little to ease his worries.

Worries which only intensified as the bay door rumbled to life sliding out of their way revealing the squad assembled before the backdrop of the landing shuttle they’d claimed as their personal chariot. The craft’s two pilots, honorary members if not official, sitting along with them in one of the numerous silver painted folding chairs situated around a hollowed out proton bomb casing overflowing with ice and the best refreshments they’d been able to scrounge. All quite exotic, from alien worlds and all likely equally illegal under Imperial Edict but Stuart could hardly quote regulation and he’d doubted he’d have gotten far before being silenced by a blaster bolt in any event.

Turning their heads at the newcomers arrival but without much surprise they watched the two march crisply into their solemn farewell to their Sergeant without word or protest or encouragement. Just a stare equally at home in a Hoth winter as it was in the hanger, following the two of them as they came to a rest directly in front of the assembly.

“I uh…don’t know if you’ve been informed…that is I’m…I’m Cor-Sergeant Stuart…” He mouthed feeling both a fool and a heel for interrupting their obviously private affair, mentally cursing the smirking Lt. Lee who had told them where they could be found.

“We know, orders travel fast.” Rumbled a squat man with a misleading doughy face who sounded as if he knew who deserved to fill the lost Master Sergeant’s place.” You’re the hotshot grunt they put to coral us, plus your assistant.”

The trooper looking pointedly at Rookie when he said that, the sneer almost evil, looking disappointed when the younger man only initially bristled and let it go. Determined not to embarrass Stuart if he could help it, indeed after a moment too long of thought he even beamed back at the accusing squat stormtrooper.

“If the Sergeant allows my helping him it would be because I have proved my abilities to do so.” He answered making it a point to stand a little taller through his insides were still squirming.

The predictable response of Stuart having failed to prove himself to the Blood Hawks were interrupted by a taller stormtrooper who stood up, sweeping the large brim coarse hat still worn on Soth Thejas and its colonies in the more arid climates into the vacated seat, and warmly extended the hand not clutching his drink to each soldier in turn.

“Don’t mind Hammer, we shouldn’t don’t. Can’t say I’m happy about how you came to us but my Paw always taught me to treat strangers with some common courtesy.” He informed them nearly breaking the arm off of either Rookie or Stuart with his well meant but overly strong grip.” Of course if you betray it I will kill you. Handles Snake.”

“Yes…yes, thank you.” The Sergeant hawed caught between the dichotomy of his greetings and the underlying threat to Snake’s message, the squad warming slightly even if it felt closer to a meeting of the enemy than a force he was supposed to command.

“Howdy. Call me Reb.” Answered a man clearly hailing from the plains of one of the Colonial worlds, made to leather by the merciless sun, and likely every bit as treacherous as the scrubland which forged him.

Voice not friendly but at least it wasn’t hostile, mostly indifferent as if Stuart was a momentary annoyance he’d have to deal with for a spell. Or in other words a typical plainsman, harder to read than alien text. His friend chuckling beside him as he passed one of the two fresh bottles he’d take from the improvised cooler to Reb was far easier. Platinum teeth shone from his durasteel jaw the only clear and distinct article on the charred slab of hastily patched flesh he called a face. Bald, either by purpose or extensive damage, with deep twisting scars from every weapon conceivable meandering purposelessly over it he’d made a pointed impression. As one of the few of the team Stuart had met previously, very briefly, he’d knew it was no act and that he was as loud and abrasive on the field as he was no in “peace”.

Thrilled by flame and thermal blasts his armor had been modified to handle excessive heat as well as blessed with additional compartments for stowing charges away at, while over his chest he’d run a string of pouches in a sash like arrangement from which dangled both high tech explosives gels and old fashioned more volatile mixes he fearlessly allowed the ashes to his deathstick he chomped on to fall over.

“Don’t see the need to become all chummy, odds are you’re not going to last long.” The pyromaniac called Psycho explained still laughing.” You two may think you’ve seen some stuff but we are a cut above, how else do you think the Navy put ups with us?”

And so it went, receiving a couple more veiled deaththreats and at best indecisive responses from the rest of the squad as they felt him out and decided what to do with him. The pilots the most encouraging and even they harbored hurt feelings at an outsider taking over the hole left in Bragg’s death. A few more basic pleasantries followed, Snake alone offered Rookie and Stuart a drink in the memory of the fallen Sergeant and even offered his own sympathy for Samuel’s death, and it all appeared to be winding down without him putting his foot too deeply in his mouth when he innocently asked, after counting heads, if anyone was in the infirmary or otherwise disposed. That got a loud of laughter from the soldiers, even Snake grinning for what was to come, as Hammer “graciously” informed him that the missing trooper was present but preferred the quietness of working on the shuttle than the festivities such as they are.

Jumping up before anyone could stop him, or more likely beat him to it, he trotted over to the side of the armorplated shuttled and began slamming his fist against the side of it shouting for “Big Boy” to come out and see the new Sergeant. A few moments later, just long enough for Stuart to began to suspect he was being set up, the back of the shuttle opened and Big Boy stepped down.

A fuel cell normally requiring a hover-cart resting on the stormtrooper’s shoulder like one might a small sack of flour, the lightest resting of one hand enough to hold it in place. In the other dangled what appeared to be a Z-6 heavy cannon only larger which Stuart questioned until he realized the swivel mount it was attached too feeding into the back of the heavily customized armor and the shielded power cell therein. Looking up from the chest level height he reached when the clear mutant had reached ground level, the armor sheathing it easily capable of holding two full grown men, he was met with the cold black eyes of a standard helmet but magnified and somehow made colder than any other trooper had ever managed.

The effect only growing more pronounced as Big Boy strode towards him, the rest of the squad parting enjoying the show, stopping inches in front of him and turning eyes he’d only seen their likeness in holos of Megarachnids down upon him.

“What is it?” Someone blurted out, Stuart thinking it was Rookie only because he wasn’t sure his mouth could work at the moment.

“The last surviving member of one of the Emperor’s brainchild. Namely an attempt to grow better stormtroopers, not simply clones but enhanced.” Hammer snorted appearing at Big Boy’s side and guiding the oversized trooper away.” Made them bigger, more resilient to damage and far less likely to care about it. Just had one problem.”

“What?” Rookie nervously inquired still watching the giant, making it more likely that he’d asked the first question.

“They were completely nuts, killing and eating their supposed instructors. Once the situation was under control again the project was scrapped and all subjects were to be disposed of in the typical manner of failed projects. But Big Boy was saved from being tossed into an incinerator chute, a little cranial readjustment to tone down aggression and alas socializing skills and presto you have one fething good bodyguard or our in our case a heavy assault specialist, by a soft hearted team leader and repurposed for “special” duties.” Hammer said with a laugh as the giant began its walk back to the shuttle.” Welcome to the Blood Hawks, when you want the best you call for someone else. When you want someone to die screaming in his own blood and excrement you call us. Think you can handle it?”
*

Gunny is the greatest thing to happen to this fanfiction section man

Many thank yous again, just glad you liked the combat scene. Was afraid they were going to be too hokey.

the last bit there great little manuscript on proper doctrine for tyrants,

:) I do enjoy writting those, fun to get into your evil side, and I'm glad you enjoy reading them.

Man, you and Breetai have decided to pull out all the stops in action with your latest chapters...
Nice, intense, and chaotic, just like a real battlefield...

Thank you and glad you like it.

[Admiral Breetai]

blood Hawks huh? Awesome name and Big Boy? I am honored though I must say he is much more bad ass than my pudgy fighter pilot.

That Android is a wildcard

[sonofccn]

Latest update and its the special all Alien addition! All alien all the time with absolutely no humans to be hurt or maimed.

“Beyond the seven veils upon the pestilent crag abroad the festering blood sea her jade tower glistens, its parapet awash in the never ending emerald glow of her purifying flame. A radiant perch frum whench see kals tu E’m. Raeh Reh? Gnillac Rof E’m Morf Reh’Rewot?” Partial transcript of the “Cannibal Killer’s” confession before his attempted escape and fatal shooting.

Interlude-

Extractum Gladius, Upper orbit

His deep Chromium-blue flesh scrubbed and cleaned and dosed in a subtle weave which did not irritate or inflame the numerous legions carved across his back and body Jor’ock felt nearly whole again as he once more walked the halls of his precious ship. The dinged and deteriorated walls of which barely wide enough for the two armor clad warriors who walked both before and aft of him less he tried to escape from their clutches. The grayish armor of their shoulders brushing the grimy edges of the wall with each hydraulic powered step they took smearing free some of the years of encrusted filth as well as poorly connected cables some of which Jor’ock was still sure were being utilized for something.

Through his recollections were becoming increasingly useless as he and his chaperons plied for the bridge, numerous junctions opened along the way by the horde of slim, green skinned drones who busied themselves repairing the immeasurably old innards. Outside a similar process was undergoing, the scuttleships from the starbase flittering over the Gladius’s hull plasma-burning into place fitted pieces to cover up years of neglect, abuse of space and the gunships’ inflicted damage, rebuilding the old girl whole again. Better than when she’d first been assembled on some forgotten moon colony.

All for a price and part of it was the two thugs who now held his life in their augmented hands, merely two representatives of the detachment who had boarded along with a company of drone-marines who’d usurp control in place of his skeletal crew. None of them privileged as Jor’ock had been, a fact he tried not to dwell on as he entered what he purposely continued to think of as his bridge.

Like the rest of his freighter it had been overhauled, controls which had lain broken and unused for years sparkled and gleamed with renewed life caused by a pair of blue skinned Vraen one of whom stood over the last of the consoles pressing blinking studs causing its electronic song while the other was vanished up to his waist inside said machine adjusting it. Slipping out and standing beside his partner as both turned towards Jor’ock’s entrance, the presence of suit adorned warriors unmistakable or ignorable, cleaning away the worst of ancient grime and grease his hands had collected with a soiled rag.

“I take it you’re the skipper.” The hand wiper acknowledged in the agreeable accented tones of one of the Consortium.” A real pleasure to work on one of these older ships, I thought they’d dropped them all into a sun years ago. You can call me Tresh. This is Sla-Utgo-Ryth, but I just call him Slyth. It easier.”

Pointing an oily hand he gestured to his associate who bemusedly regarded his companion with an annoyed look, bristling as he took as even more stern standing before the alleged leader of their little expedition. The air dropping a degree to match his succinct but slippery voice in the style of the dreaded Serpent-men.

“I believe proper identification would be a paramount concern as well as a proper sign of respect. It would help if you did not try to disrupt each and every proceedings we conduct with your own irrationalities.” He protested.” I am Sla-Utgo-Ryth, I will be your chief engineer. I trust you will find me satisfactory in such a position. My jovial and free spoken associate is Aldo Tresh my apprentice and more than adequate assistant.”

“Pleased I’m sure.” Jor’ock huffed brushing them aside as he toured the semi-circled shaped bridge, glad to have space to move once more as his “bodyguards” took up rooted position on either side of the sole entrance.

Pulling at the cracked and faded leather like seat he preferred to rest in he was pleased to discover the faint squeak it always produced had been dispelled as was the wobble when he sat down into it. A faint tingling of control returning to him as he leaned back in his seat and flexed his hands over the armrests, back where he belonged. It didn’t last however, the soft murmur of machinery of his escorts ruined any relaxation he could hope for, and all too soon he sat back returned to his bleak reality.

He drank that in for a while, not so much savoring its bitter taste but drowning it, with glittering promises and hopes fading like mirages off the distant horizons until he with a shrug he rose and tried to at least share the misery eating at him. His guards were the least things he wished to speak too, on both their cover guards hung the stylized images of the vile Cythereans, and by the pit it all that left was the engineers returned to their mystical work. Tresh half vanished again inside the bowels of the console while Slyth stood above with a reader connected by cables to the device as they sought to short befouling them.

“Yes sir?” He answer curtly and professionally once he sensed Jor’ock’s presence behind him.” Is there anything else?”

“Its just that…well you two don’t strike me as leg breakers like our silent companions and well…do you know what we are being sent out to do?” The freighter captain prodded.

“To retrieve something or other, why don’t you know?” Tresh joked from his metal tomb, laughingly fervently as he tightened a loose connection.” Okay, how about now? We still getting it?”

“We have been dispatched to retrieve an alien vessel. One of supreme import to the First Consul which is all I need to know.” Slyth answered rechecking his reader.” There, that did it. I’m reading full now.”

“By the pit don’t you realize our fate?” Jor’ock asked genuinely surprised by their indifference, having been fully briefed by Psirious on their mission.

Denied feeding that-which-lurks-beneath-the-central plaza his rotting corpse the leader had delighted himself in watching the freelancer squirm as he was informed exactly what was expected of him and how his odds were. A fine bargain Psirious had said when he had finished, at the pit he could never have lingered in his agony as he did then.

“Destiny is to be forged by she in the tower who watches not by mere mortal as of us.” Slyth responded reaching down to help Tresh out from the consol.” But fealty compels us to serve at the First Consul’s pleasure until we repay all our debts.”

“Believe me nothing could be worth this, nothing…” Jor’ock lied knowing full well there was one thing in the universe he still feared more.

The sole reason he didn’t turn and rush the armored titans and compel them to crush his skull in with one motorized limb, cautious that they would only maim him. Leave him conscious and aware for when he was dragged at noonday to the gypping, stygian abyss and tossed over its edge.

“You weren’t there…you didn’t see them…couldn’t understand when we saw Captain Orlock…” Tresh started before being silenced with a raised palm by Slyth.

Taking over for his more jubilant associate, his voice digging deeper into the rhythmic slurring of the Cythereans as well as entombing itself in bitter remembrance. Regret building up inside the freighter captain even before the first word of their personal tragedy spilled forth.

“On our last ship I’m afraid there was an irregularity. The slaves in the hold we were transporting, a polygot mixing of races, underwent a form of mutation while we were in transition. Some did at least, killed and ate the rest. All except the Enigmaticrons, those they released from their psionic dampeners.” The chief engineer said slowly reliving those dreadful days.” Can you imagine what they can do to a man’s body? The things they did do? Took us days to reestablish control enough to return to real space and by the time someone picked up our distress beacon it was only Tresh and I who remained aboard a ghoul ship. Our debt to the First Consul for his warship saving us is immense but our life-debt to him is stronger still. If he asked me to fling myself into the molten heart of a star I will do so, I owe him such.”

In his time among the great celestial lights Jor’ock had met mystics who thought they knew the answers to the cosmos, their religious zealots, fanatical warriors from dozens of aliens races, harden criminal scum and a thousand other strata of the sapient condition. He’d learned enough never to doubt or question the under pinnings they used to anchor themselves, instead taking note of the flinch of uncertainty on Tresh’s face at what Slyth spoke. It wasn’t much, just a ripple at sanity, but for a man adrift in an ocean of sand a drop of water is a great sea. And Jor’ock realized he was in the very center of a very large, very desolate desert which wanted nothing more than to see his wind stripped skeleton vanish beneath the shifting dunes. Which realized as he returned to his seat to find the bottle of ale stashed in a console’s secret compartment, his one true skill which even Tresh hadn’t uncovered despite his prodding and poking, easily summed up his existence to this miserable date.

“Not bad for the runt the House Matron tried to eat.” He sighed twisting the bottle open.” Well then if your dead set on us flying to our death please let it be done right. Alert me when we are ready to make the transference, I’ll wish to know when to switch to the good stuff.”

His stomach clenching in ways he hoped no one noticed as he thought about his race’s preferred means of exceeding the lightspeed limitation, one with its own advantages as well as extreme disadvantages compared to our systems pilfered from across the cosmos. Hardly the attitude of an experienced spacer but unlike the mutants, vagabonds and alien warfleets he never could quite adjust to the transference.

Krona, Deniero

Killgore’s targeter picked up the rocket before he did, running through the dusty, smoking street towards an upturned and gutted conveyance, letting out a plaintive chirp and with flashing icons directed his hawkish head up to the smoky and overcast sky where the slender, silver tip cleaved an open and clean path. The hazy grit produced by the burning city parting from the missiles path, cut away by the blunt nosecone as its invisible eyes searched out the entire chaotically unfolding hell for the exact being slated for its wrath. For him, targeter reading the invisible webbing it weaved and fastened over his body, dipping down from the angry and befouled sky diving for him. Without stopping he turned his chest towards the speeding rocket lifting his pulse rifle up to his soot covered face cradling it against his cheek, ethereal pulses and beams of his own linking his rifle up to his targeter which generated a closing yellow halo around the missile that slowly turned red. He waited another breath, moving his rifle to keep it aligned, to ensure no error or last second change on the rockets part as well to allow one of the cameras hovering around him a better vantage and then he squeezed. Feeling absolutely nothing from the burst of tiny, fiery rockets of his own his weapon fired, tungsten tipped dum-dum slugs which propelled by their own fountain of propellant ripped cleanly through the inbound missile severing its electronic brain and triggering its payload, its pyrotechnic laced demise flawlessly captured by one robotic lens-eye while the other two covered Killgore’s indifferent turning away and sprinting behind the conveyance.

“Took you long enough.” Defender Thyde chuckled poking up over the side of the roller digging an elbow against the still open driver’s door and hosed the darken window of the office building across the street where the rocket had come from.” Almost was afraid you were going to make me dust all of these hybrids myself.”

“After you went another squad materialized, secondary beacon. It’s handled.” Killgore answered dropping to a crouch and leaning around the side of the transport towards the building’s main entrance picking away at three of the four emerging and forcing the fourth back behind cover.

His targeter as well cycling through its full spectrums noting the heat signals clustering behind the impervious walls as well as the others running about on the upper floors and two separated figures highlighted by blue. One sequestered by red icons near the top of the building, the other by itself tucked away nearer the middle. It was the former he kept directed on as he darted back behind the conveyance ahead of the oven like wake of the hybrid’s electromagnetic accelerator cannons, high velocity filaments combusting along with the surrounding atmosphere, raising a smoke touched hand up to his head further calibrating the sensors. The Defender narrowing its field onto the blue figure, its intangible fingers reaching through the riddled transport and the thick, reinforced walls isolating and examining the blinking blue light. Giving Killgore mass, exact temperature, even computer reconstruction based upon ultrasound projections of the target, every sense or measure the modern warrior needed to find and kill his enemy. Or save one of his own.

“Survivors.” He shouted over the crackling din and warping of metal feeling like he’d taken a kick to the stomach.” Two, one appears female…they’re holding her hostage. We’re going in.”

Leaning around again he fired again, gritting against the lingering smog and heat from the cannons, cutting down the rabble that had been running out stopping only when the bullet count on his targeter dropped to zero. Drawing back as alarms sounded of additional missile locks sounded in his ear and their threat icons flashed manifoldly from the building, dozens more of the red silhouetted hybrids rushing to replace the fallen. Coming to him, coming to die.

“Are you trying to get dusted? “ Thyde exclaimed back behind the transport, continuing to pepper the upper berths as he skidded towards his fellow Defender.” They have a grotting battalion inside and likely enough beacons to drop a regiment.”

Undeterred Killgore gestured for him to go over the top again as he went back around, the missile locks seeking him vanishing under Thyde’s loose but effective barrage while he emerged around the side of the transport rising and walking forward firing with controlled bursts. The scuttling horrors which vomited from the doorway like a long fleshy tongue breaking apart under the high powered darts, scales and encrusted carapace splitting apart, turning to wet mush which he ground beneath his boots as he ran up the grime painted steps.

Flame shooting out, gingerly washing the outer edges of his uniform, form further shadowy shapes hidden by the dragon’s breath of their weapons which poured out threatening to engulf the Defender only for him to twist away. Not before he plucked two grenades from his chest and tossed them inside, hearing their twin thuds as he hit the granite stoop of the building and rolled into its equally solid railing putting out the smoldering flickers. Rising up into a crouch he directed his rifle skyward as he pulled a more compact, old style weapon from its holster firing it through the billowing smoke which had replaced the emerald flame at the skulking shapes which still moved.

The Ripper gun, inefficient compared to gyrojet slug but very flashy and of greater range than a plasma pistol, slamming back with hammers blowing into his arm throwing off his aim through the wide and violent swath only added to the spectacle needlessly sawing one of the shapes in half. All too quickly, having barely pulled the trigger, it went dead and was forced to eject the magazine and rip a fresh one off of his combat webbing. Which he installed as Thyde cam running up covering from the other side of the steps, switching from his long barreled rifle to a more squat and compact carbine variant as he tucked himself into the corner.

“It’s going to take more than a pair of compression grenades and some bullets to pierce through here, grotting half of them appear to be coming for you.” He complained shattering a bulging eyed thing with snapping, steely jaws.

“Indeed. Hold them off for a minute and I’ll show you our entrance.” Killgore answered turning away from the smoking door across the growing clusters of red signatures to a building facet curving to meet the alleyway.

The segment in question directly in line with the growing mass of hybrids, cloistering behind the safety of the concrete wall. A simplistic touch to his targeter adding one particularly wavelength to its invisible rays it plastered the wall with, sliding partway down the stairs for a better vantage as he opened up his radio channel.

“What the grot are you doing!” Thyde cursed as a four armed ax wielding thing took a swing at his head, its two eel like heads a slithering and intertwined mess, falling backwards out of the way and clearing away the thing’s midsection with a frantic burst.” I can’t dust all of them by myself!”

“Seeing if we still have any luck left today. This is Defender Killgore I am requesting a two-shot special. I repeat two-shot special, target parameters and position enclosed.” The warrior called out into his radio, heartened with an almost immediate response.

“This is Lt. Brell of the Prized Bounty, I hear you loud and clear. Think I can help but we have to be fast, enemy armor spotted on Prosperity street and command’s throwing everything to stop it.” A voice spoke in Killgore’s ear, cluttered with the hiss of pulse cannons hinting at the choke streets he was wading through.

The Lieutenant confirmed a moment later as the Defender’s targeter flashed with a new icon, an acknowledgement from its distant war sibling. Feeding among its myopia of symbols and data sigils a decreasing intercept time for the Prized Bounty, the seconds ticking off painfully slowly as Killgore without breaking his concentration on the wall façade wheeled his Ripper behind him and swinging hard away from Thyde studded the interior of the building.

Ejecting once again when the forty round cycle surprisingly finished, the design too old to merge with his targeter, and bringing the weapon lose to his chest to reload once more as his fellow Defender loudly complained. Scurrying behind him both in preparation for what was to come as well as to avoid a leaping thing which crashed against the far banister, tried to rise and under the bellows of Thyde’s carbine fell forever more.

“Two round special…I hate two round specials, if they grot up we’ll be the ones flummoxed!” He grumbled, shaking his head to clear away the worst effects of the loud Ripper, tossing a compression grenade through the door.

Which shook and trembled a moment later as the device cooked off with a gust of noxious smoke from the reactants, an echoing thunderclap of crumpling bone and rippling floor panels as the explosive shockwave was generated crushing everything in its path.

“They are not going to grotting mess up.” Killgore hoped smashing his gun against the railing to fit the fresh clip in and then picking up his rifle, watching out of the corner of his eye as a fat, beetle like mass transit conveyance lurched into air and then collapsed flattening.

The Prized Bounty the cause as it rushed over it, contra-grav sled pushing down the light aluminum and plastics with ease, and turning in the city street smacking another smaller transport from its path crushing a pair of skulking hybrids. Their friends milling around in the fire gouged and collapsed building avenging them in gouts of flesh searing flame and hails of stolen pulse rifles, the former washing harmlessly over the composite armor and the latter skidding and flying off on its slanted edges. The creatures in turn were not so protected from the helmeted Defender protruding from the dome shaped turret cresting as the highest point on the delta shaped war tank, swiveling his firing pulse cannon after them independently of the housing which locked onto Killgore’s targeter. One of the two boxy missiles cells jutting from either side of the turret animated in a spurt of scarlet flame, a showery tail of glittering embers which carried the breeching rocket straight as an antiquated arrow followed an electronic millisecond later by a shell from the snub nosed anti-personal cannon positioned in the middle of the turret.

“In coming!” Thyde shrieked curling down as the missile struck first with a small explosive charge to shatter the concrete wall and wedge itself in and then with its main payload which scattered it.

Not truly a lot, designed for the perforation of harden steel flanks, a jagged an uneven hole not too much larger than a man’s torso but sufficient clearance for the lobbed seventy-five millimeter shell which sailed through. The hurtling bomb far more liberal with its high explosive blast, sharing it freely in all directions against the clusters of soft skinned hybrids and back against the fractured and weakened wall. The hybrids, as targeter sensors noted, dispersed like shattered glass by the detonation while the wall groaningly split apart. Splintering, dusty chunks which had endured for centuries snapping from place and crashing into the street creating a chasm, a chasm Killgore and Thyde ran for. Moving away from the stunned and shell shocked survivors of the blast who’d try and pour through the door in a moment, moving to catch their soft side where they’d have no protection no cover from the Defenders’ guns.

Saluting the Lieutenant and his tank as they sped away with a wave of his Ripper Killgore took the lead, bolting past the smoky tendrils of smog through the clefted opening firing freely with both his weapons. The Cam-bots following devoutly oblivious to the peril around him capturing it all and elsewhere in the nearest launch point where hoppers ferried to and fro Sammus the agent stifled a tear.

“Call the Stylus, that’s going on the cover of the next Killgore Chronical! Well, maybe place the other guy on his shoulder like he’s been wounded or something…” He commanded already envisioning the credits it would bring.

Extractum Gladius, Upper orbit

“All right let it rip and see if it’s going to frag us!” Tresh exclaimed excitedly over the intercom from the engineering hold, specifically the transference plate-drive he’d spent the last few minutes tinkering with.

“Engaged.” Slyth confirmed without regard for the knot that word placed in Jor’ock’s stomach, a tightening knot that turned into a hellish kick as he felt the electrified “tang” of the drive engaging.

Unfathomable fields spreading out across his ship, soaking thorugh his blood and bone and everyone’s else’s, from the heart of the arcane device first pried from a doomed Cryptship found among the stygian abyss. Oscillating tendrils of energy surging across affecting the variance of every particle, every atom, within the machine’s reach. Painless, undetectably except for what could be observed through the viewing ports. Some mad, fiendish impulse within him, the same which always drew the bottle to his parched mouth, forced Jor’ock to sit in his chair and stare out to the flickering lattice work of the construction docks and the diffused aura of the planet Aviarion itself. Watching as, imperceptibly at first, the color drained from them. The vivid reds, the golden light, the crisp blue of the world all was leeched away, drained.

Reduced. The arms of dockyard shriveling, becoming less tangible, less solid. The crowned jewel that was Aviarion transformed into a gray specter, a transparent mirage that the passage of every second robbed a little more clarity from. Continuing the process it Curdled into a hazy smudge, the station likewise with its thousands of slaving workers and untold hundreds of scuttleships a faint suggestion of its former glory. A hint which dissolved away even as the captain watched, Aviarion unto like a flame crushed between two fingers winking from existence without a trace.

Nothing. Where it had been, where the station had orbited, was a void. A void which stretched out unchanging and unmarred along infinity, utterly black without hint of breakage for no stars burned. No light but the feeble projections of the freighter itself washing weak and discolored against the soulless veil, passing unreflectively through a world which still existed in the same place but could not be seen or touched. A world whose own photons failed to interact with any crewmember’s retina spiriting immaterially past like a mist.

Outside the universe continued in its travesties and merriment but the Extractum Gladius was deaf, blind and dumb to it. Stolen from that world, by the cheap trick of altering the oscillation of the fabric of their composite material, and reduced to one which stretched from one bulkhead to the other and not a centimeter more. Denied the comfort of fellow travelers, for the slight variance of phases rendered them as invisible as it did the universe at large.

An ill fortune that was reversible but only by the active input by a secondary and all important device, the phase-coupler. Should it ever break the transference could not end, a thousand vigil stories of the ghost-ships which still plied the dark corners. The crew long since dead, wizened at their posts but continuing on their voyage until the ends of time and perhaps beyond even that.

“Transference complete. Commence propulsion drive.” Slyth without a hint of disquiet or distaste reported to his apprentice who balked a few moments later as the unit fired up.

“The electrostatic assembly is completely out of alignment-gah! By the pit! What addled slave have you been allowing to tinker with this?!” Tresh demanded sounding quite sore with the warbling undercurrents that came with receiving a nasty shock.” I can give you three-quarters nothing more. By the pit, I think aluminum siding from beverage containers has been used in this.”

“Parts are hard to come by, I did what I could to keep the coupling in working order, the propulsion…is what it is.” Jor’ock, upturning his bottle, answered as lights began to dance out across the never ending gloom.

Shimmering white tendrils meters in length swaying and dancing out from the hull of the ship, the key to making the ghostly-veil an interstellar system instead of purgatory, an incandescent strobe which would push them along the simulacrum wastes. And they in turn were treated as nonexistent by the uncaring universe, mass less forms for whom such trivialities as the universal limit no longer applied.

“How far behind will that put us?” Growled one of the captain’s metal guardians, speaking for the first time in ages.” Because of this cur’s wretched ship?”

“Let’s see.” Slyth murmured producing a pocket calculator and thumbing away at it.” The system the distress came from is just shy of forty light years away, assuming we can attain three-quarters speed within the day, barring setbacks, we should arrive in twenty-eight planetary rotations. Thirty on the outside.”

“By the pit!” Jor’ock groaned imagining all those hours trapped with the steely goons and their equally minded drones.” I just pray to She-Who-Watches-From-The-Tower none of you messed with my ale stockpile, I’ll never survive otherwise.”

[sonofccn]

Okay another update but, to borrow from Admiral Breetai, come on I can't keep this alive by myself. Breetai, Preao, Khas the forum needs your contributions. Please? *Rattles tin cup*

“We had to have dropped nigh couple hundred Atomics across the Imperium, erased cities from existence, blackened the sky, gouged holes through once thriving farmland that won’t be inhabitable for anything but radioactive mutants for a thousand years. I’ve seen with my two eyes the dead, the hungry, the miserable from what we did so understand when I say what the Imperium would have done if we’d blinked would have been a million times worse.” Army Pilot Jeremy Kong’s response when asked if he ever regretted his actions in the Purging War.

Chapter IV To Reign in Hell:

Wraith, corridor outside sickbay-

Ambrose, marching at the head of his small column of stormtroopers, felt the ship’s slight lurch as it transcended realspace into hyperspace and immediately felt an equal but opposite one as it plunged back from the tachyon maelstrom into the material plane. The barest fraction of an immersion but all that was needed to consumed the unthinkable billions of kilometers which had separated the Wraith from the Judgment and Talon II. Now only thousands of kilometers away, distance that would rapidly shrink under the powerful wake of the ship’s ion engines. Only that long to reach the hanger bay aboard the prepped shuttle, for through they could only leave on Jackson’s word Ambrose would not have the commander wait because of him.

And the cadre he selected was determined for it not to be for them, two of the dozen strong force breaking away wordlessly to take up position ceremonially on either side of the door as well as triggering it open for Ambrose and the rest to stream through. The meddlesome droid caught tinkering with a shattered gray lump he returned to the frigid-cooled biological containment case sitting on a medical table as he turned to greet the captain’s assistant. Greeting Ambrose with words which were cordial but laced with an undercurrent he didn’t take to, all the more for it to come from a mechanical.

“I will survive droid.” He answered diplomatically as four of his troopers carried past with a grav-sled between them to load the slumbering alien body for transport, the aid strolling towards the robot inspecting his work and then with a more cautious eye over the deserted medical bay.” Where is doctor Griforge? He should be on duty droid, where is he?”

“Dr. Griforge is in Bacta tank number four. You may find Antilles in tank number three.” The Medical android answered after a short lull punctuated only by the clicking of its artificial brain, dismissing Ambrose with a turn and hobbling on its durasteel legs to fiddle with astromechs head.

Not understanding fully but feeling something tighten in his stomach Ambrose unclasped a hand from behind his back long enough to pick two of his remaining six troopers to stand watch over the droid with the rest following him to the blacked out tanks mentioned. Crouching beside both to key to reverse the polarization revealing the bodies floating suspended in both, his hard face twitching just slightly as he stood back up. The veteran stormtroopers were more colorful several making elaborate oaths and drawing signs maternal grandmothers had taught them warded off evil, one removed his helmet gagging and stumbled for a corner. Retching as Ambrose deliberately panned from one crystalline container to the other to try and understand what he was looking at, to understand what had happened.

Much of the top part of Dr. Antilles skull had been cut away with a laser scalpel exposing his soft brain matter through little of it remained visible beneath the grafting of cybernetics. Foreign machinery which pulsated and glowed serenely in the translucent healing fluid. But it wasn’t he which made troopers look away but doctor Griforge, where Antilles had been tampered with he’d been remade. Body slit open to make room for the rearranged organs, new organs budding from mottled originals supported by the additional blood netted from the culling of the extremities and much of the head past the brain stem.

“Do you like them?” The droid asked continuing its work reminding the aid and his soldiers of its presence.” Dr. Antilles shall go down in medical history, Griforge…unfortunately his physiology was not up to follow in Antilles footsteps however I have successfully grafted a clone of the alien’s hormonal gland stabilizing a mixture I think would be usable in human biology.”

“Sergeant…alert the ship we have a medical emergency.” Ambrose ordered with an even keeled voice as he bent over Griforge’s tank and deactivated life support letting the wretch have the dignity of death.” As for the malfunction piece of scrap have it melted down piece by piece.”

His command given he rose to leave the room, to finish out his order with the alien specimen already shackled to its hovering gurney, seeing no more need for his continued presence. The two nearest stormtroopers holding aloft their carbines as they snatched at either arm of the mechanical being to lift and carry it away to the smelting plant only to be surprised by the lack of docility normally found in mechanoid servants. Ordering them in venom laced electronic speech to set him down as it reached out with a hand to finish the final connection it had been working on for the astromech, finishing just before the two soldiers hauled him out of reach of it.

“ You will release me.” He thundered swiveling his head towards Ambrose and fixing him with a glassy stare.” I have done nothing wrong, nothing but conduct medical experiments for the good of the Empire.”

“You have butchered two proud citizens of that Empire, inflicted by your own admission a true son of Soth Thejas with…alien matter. I ask you by what god or authority can such things be permitted?”

“That would be mine.” The hologram of Tyler flickering into being explained.” Expressing the Commodore’s will of course. He transmits his deepest regret for any injury inflicted on crew during these experiments but strongly requests the medical droid and any applicable research be transported over with the prisoner.”

The air in the room suddenly as frozen as a Hoth winter as the stormtroopers turned from the glowing simulacrum to the flesh and blood Ambrose. Staring not saying anything but awaiting for his response, for how he willed to proceed. He in turn had his orbs burning into Tyler’s trying to ascertain the phantom’s soul, at last reaching a grudging decision and gestured for his men to free the droid something they did with extreme distaste. The machine scampering away before they could change their mind to retrieve his bio-container and a few other choice memorabilia he would need on the Judgment.

“Care if I ask why this transfer of equipment wasn’t notified at an earlier juncture?” Ambrose asked when he was confident he could control his voice.” We could have…better prepared for it had the Captain and I have been briefed.”

“I’m sure you could have but this was a sudden change. Once more I wish to extend the Commodore’s sympathy for any problems this have incurred but at this time he has decided the experiments would be better served aboard the Judgment. We have resources which a mere Imperial class lacks.”

“Indeed.” The aid responded glancing towards the door as the summoned medical experts appeared confused and bewildered directing them with a nod of his head towards Antilles’s floating form.” I hope the droid succeeds with you beyond the wildest expectations. Now if you excuse my leave we still have an alien to place on a shuttle and I must inform Jackson of these alterations.”

“Of course. For the Empire.” Tyler answered with a smile that could have cracked crystalline as Ambrose and his men filed out with the alien prisoner.

Leaving only the attending medical experts as they drained the bacta tank unsure of how to even proceed from there and the medical droid itself which, unweighted by the gear it stowed upon itself, approached. The contents already known and expected by the subcommander who none the less gazed innocently and earnestly at the clicking and whirring machine placing its thoughts into a semblance of order.

“Has the Commodore reconsidered my proposal? While I mean no disrespect to what I am sure are marvelous facilities they won’t be a Kamino, genetic aberrations in my cloned tissue is unavoidable. If I was allowed to transplant the organs in question from the specimen into a human host, non imperial of course, it would greatly accelerate my research and the Commodore’s results.” The robot asked hopefully and, if Tyler was any judge of character, quite hungrily as well.

“I’m afraid not at this time. The Commodore fills that given the unknown nature of the alien race in question the specimen is more valuable an asset to us breathing.” He answered doing his best to sound sincerely regretful.” Perhaps afterwards, if there is still a pressing need, it will be turned over to your…impeccable skills.”

“I see.” The android sighed moving away to open a medical case he’d left out for such an event, being sure to load the ampoule into his arm without the attending doctors observing its label.” If you are still intent on transporting it alive I must stress the prudence of additional sedatives. Its body is building a remarkable tolerance to the chemicals making it unpredictable the time for supplements.”

“Just as long as the Commodore gets his prisoner alive.” Tyler finished before his transmission winked out.
*
Judgment, storage area ZZ-B-

“Its right this way gentlemen, please pardon the mess.” The glossy black painted protocol droid warbled high pitchedly as it teetered ahead of a pair of men in junior officer uniforms.

The machine, nicknamed Drip by its human acquaintances, the curator and logistical manager for the impressive and haphazard menagerie vault that took up one of the Judgment’s underutilized storage decks. The more illicit and banned substances and materials which sluiced through the shadowy webbing the subcommander had strung across the outer rim, after all which planetary agent in his right mind would dare board and inspect a Super-class. Most worlds were graciously happy just not to see the Judgment’s thousands of turbolasers fire in anger.

Among the unfathomable wealth filling the cluttered cargo hold, unfathomable that is to those living on an lower officer’s pay, was exotic and addictive spices, one even rumored to increase one longevity, fearsome war beasts bound for blood drenched coliseums on a hundred worlds frozen within carbonite and neatly stacked for shipment to even weapons of war. A selected knot of technicians busily returning to functioning condition long in the tooth Y-wing bombers, originally destined for what would have been a discrete assassination, to the more fearsome Utapau P-38 starfighter which knelt in the shadows of a quartet of Persuader class battletanks that could have perhaps benefited from the same attention.

But they hadn’t come for that, instead lot# 5401, and the droid walked them past the bustling restoration, weaving them between merchandize messily shoved wherever there had been room, towards the one special item they been commissioned to retrieve. Something Drip was apologetic about heaping as much scorn as his electronic heart and protocol program would allow on the inefficient loaders, expendable sorts unlikely recruited from the crème of society, the sub commander would hire to load the material from the planets.

“I really get no help at this, the astromechs assigned are worse than useless. You have never seen a more lazily creation than one…” The machine blathered as the palm held communicator Ensign Drenton carried chimed.

Sharing a knowing look with his partner Ensign Rukus he slipped it out of his pocket and held it before both of them as they walked activating it. The center of the flat, square device bursting into a blue light which swirled above and compacted into a twilightly image of Tyler. Miniaturization doing nothing to alleviate the dread those eyes of his could induce as he looked both officers over.

“ The appointed time I wish my package to depart for the world below draws near gentlemen, I trust my faith in you is not misplaced.” The shrunken visage demanded of them.

“Of course not sir. It’s just that it’s taking longer for us to reach it than we anticipated.” Drenton said quickly hoping the subcommander’s receiver wasn’t high tuned enough to catch the sweat forming on his skin.” As well your droid you’ve placed in command of the Catacomb appears…a touch eccentric.”

“I what? Why I have you know-“ Drip protested sidestepping the “leg” of Umbaran assault tank, turning around to continue the protest and tripped over the vehicles other one.

“We will not let you down subcommander the package will be delivered on time through if you will forgive my brazen if we were enlightened as to what it is and not rely on your droid it would exuberate our efforts.” Rukus soothed cutting over any other rushed thing Drenton might say as well as the needless gibbering of the flailing android as it flopped about on the floor.

Delivered as smooth and refreshing as a steaming cup of Hoth chocolate, a revolting beverage Tyler swore never to try again having no stomach for Tauntaun milk, unlike the blaster in the bolt his queries typically turned into. As icy as a Wampa den he appeared all the more resourceful and useful compared to the oily man at his elbow, likely why the reserved Ensign had fostered the waste upon him. So the smile Tyler wore wasn’t completely forced as he answered in the negative, his transparent image gesturing to both men with a sweep of his arm.

“I’d prefer not to state such matters over a channel which could be recorded, by any interested parties, a bit of a superstition of mine I’m afraid but one which has served me well in the past. But trust me you won’t be able to miss it.” He answered letting his smile grow bigger, watching as at Rukus indication Drenton, passing the communicator, helped picked up the most indignant Drip who resumed leading them to the package.

“As you wish.” The unflappable Ensign relented brushing past a stack of rusting aerial hover platforms.

The officer following after the other two who rounded a corner of a kneeling AT-PT causing an immediate collision with the suddenly halted Drenton, his cold reply to his comrade’s clumsiness dying in his throat as he looked past him. The package, obvious as Tyler promised, sat before them sitting like a king among the assorted personnel carriers from a dozen races, alone sheeted from even mild elements found aboard a ship’s hold showing the awareness of the subcommander had of his prize. Even beneath the gray plastic wrap however it was obvious what it was, and the potential devastation trapped within its durasteel armored hull.

From his perch in Rukus’s hand Tyler smiled once again, this time fully truthfully. Rightfully proud of one of his better acquisitions, taken from an Imperial Army colonel with a spice habit and a nose for a tidy profit.

“Is it functional.” Rukus asked moving towards it, ignoring Drip’s puzzlement over their reaction over what was, to him, merely another lot number.” I mean fully, did the Rebellion sabotage it before…it was claimed?”

“Flawless condition, as it was explained to me an Army’s gas shell fell through the main hatch seconds before they’d have closed it killing the luckless fools without placing a scratch on my little toy.” The subcommander answered.” Truthfully until now I truly did not have a purpose for it, nothing worthy of the cost or deserving for a war machine almost as rare as AT-AT’s.”

Still in rapture of the weapon, of its inherent lethality, the Ensigns were slow to began unsheathing it from its preservation shroud revealing when they began to tug away the plastic sheet the traditional white and reddish-orange paint scheme it and rolled off Yutrane-Trackata assembly with had been replaced with a more solemn and uniform gray. The symbol of the rebellion, stamped upon the mighty mechanical beast’s hide only after it had been spirited from its homeland for political reasons, replaced the black sigil of the Empire.

“It was hardly fitting the way it was before, almost an embarrassment.” Tyler explained as his image crackled and began to disperse.”Now please hurry I do not wishing the Emperor’s Will, as I’ve decided to dub this glorious chariot, missing its scheduled departure. And you would want it even less.”
*

New Hope, Camp Medicus-

The camp was like the countless others of its ilk sprung up in the wake of “Hot zones” across a planet. A hub of dirty gray prefabricated buildings slapped together hastily to provide basic power and facilities for the task at hand surrounded by fields of far simpler fabric tents where those no longer critical were sequestered. Dirt plowed landing fields serving as landing vanes for the LAATs which descended from the heavens, field nurses and medical droids rushing to greet the battle dinged and dusty crafts taking the battered, burned and broken occupants which spilled from them. Some capable and pointedly brushing away the help staggering on their own two feet, even at times supporting one of their own injured, while others blissfully sedated and carried by grav-sleds to have armor boiled to their flesh cut off.

Gunny had seen such bases a million times in his service to first the Republic and then the Empire had used them nearly as much and so could have told an interested party everything there was to know about Medicus the moment he awoke in one of those hot, sticky tents which outcropped from the may surgical hall. Training as fresh in him as it had been all those years ago driving him into an upright position none the less, chaffing at the loss of the sensation of armor on his skin, reaching for a weapon he knew he wouldn’t find. Which wasn’t the only item missing beside his armor his awakening mind noted as he rotated his arm and held it in front of his face.

“Oh, yes...the fight.” He remembered studying the blunt stump where his forearm traditionally had been.” Did I win?”

“Well if you mean the entire front I think they enemy is willing to call it a draw.” ’19, throwing his hand of cards at Kid, exclaimed swinging himself off of the cot the two had been playing on.

His legs and back whole once more from a dip in a healing tank, carrying him without any sign hours previously both had been uselessly smashed. He, like the rest of Bravo squad, out of his armor through unlike Gunny they had been given not medical smocks but Imperial jumpsuits. Issued from the Legion’s stocks as indicated from the markings on the collar of the otherwise deliberately congruous attire as well as Kid’s being far too large for him making him appear even more diminutive then he already was.

“Good, I’d hate to think they don’t feel half as bad as I do right now.” Gunny answered, forcing a smile, as he laid back down acknowledging the pain in his gut for the first time.” The front stabilized then?”

“As much as it ever does.” Lucky, continuing his playful arm wrestling with Specs, stated unable to hide his relief at the sergeant’s awakening.” Smiley roused an all or nothing defense of the Gauntlet and that coupled with precision bombing runs with heavy, thermal ordnance stopped the slimy Xenos in their tracks.”

“It was one fething blast caught some of it as we were evaced out, but these lugs having been playing the noble soldier about their part.” ’19 fauxly complained indicating Lucky and the rest with a wave of his arm.” Stood shoulder to shoulder to break that unholy tide of sithspawn and they’d rather play cards than talk about it.”

“We did nothing worthy of embellishment. Valor squad did its duty but that was it.” Specs, winning and furthering light hearted suspicion he’d been given augmentation for more than his destroyed face, answered looking at ’19 with the nearest sheepish grin as his metal visage could muster.” Due to our fatigue and depleted numbers Smiley placed us behind the Gauntlet protecting an artillery position.”

A forwardly placed one as it had turned out lobbing light anti-personal shells at the discretion of the forward line violently trying to repulse the attackers which meant being close enough to see the scaly hides of the Xenos as well as having their projectiles cracking over the protective embankments erected around the piece. Which was still closer to the fighting then the Kid would have wished but it would have been unlikely to have pleased ’19 had he’d been there. Something Lucky voiced weary as the rest of ‘19’s insistent “thirst” for the battle. Coaching a weary laugh out of the resting Gunny as ’19 protested the remark.

“Knock it off your fussing ’19, you’re a trooper act like it or I’ll personally kick your asteriod into another nebula.” Gunny said momentarily growing harsh before easing back into his softer, for him at least Kid still thought it sounded like the screech of a TIE engine, tone of voice.” Now the real question is why any of you are moping around here, unless the Emperor descended while I was napping and declared an Armistace we still have a world to win.”

“Valor squad was retired to the rear in preperation for another assigment, granted a few hours rest to grab some chow, wipe the worst of the Xeno guts off of us and retrieve our beloved hot tempered trooper whose has been deemed fit for duty once more.” Lucky answered briskly and professionally.” As well we wished to see you sergeant before we took off, only right you being the leader of Valor squad know everything possible about what’s happening to it.”

“Feth, I’m ready to deploy with you.” Gunny grunted sitting up and swinging his legs off of his cot, pausing there as a wave of nausua swept over him and his side burned like molten lava.” You can explain everything I missed while I suit up.”

Fighting off his vertigo the sergeant stood, manage a solitary step away from his bed and nearly collasped back into it but for ’19 and Kid appearing on either side of him to help coax him back onto his seat. His body drained from the accelerated healing it had undergone as well as blood loss and trauma, on the faces of each of his subordinates he saw it and it burned through he was no longer a fresh faced clonetrooper and accepted the sting without complaint. Stuffing it inside of himself, boxing it away until he could exploit it until then he did the best he could to shrug away their concerned looks. To being seen weak and vulnerable.

“On the other I suppose if the lab boys are going to go to such trouble I might as well wait around for them to fit me with my prosthetic. Unless they plan on cloning me a new arm.” Gunny said with another laugh finding the idea humorous ignoring the barbs it placed in his stomach.

“Synthetic I’m afraid through trust me once you adapt you’ll wonder how you ever got along without them.” Specs offered speaking from experience.” Once your fitted you’ll be able to bend durasteel rods like it was wire.”

Which in the end was all that really mattered to the sergeant, after all what use were a stormtrooper’s arms but means by which to wield the sword and shield of the Empire against all who threatened it. Having none of the fears Specs undertones worried about, whatever limb he was granted he’d fight with of that he did not doubt, but for his wards being dispatched hither for what fool’s idiocy. Countless times in battles gruelingly interlocked in a draw but which by the passage of time would have corrected into Imperial victories were made harder by “brilliant” officers hoping for credit and glory in innovative “breakthroughs” unhindered by the blood their victories would be paved with.

“Being shipped to one of the other spear points…assuming they’re still calling them that after all this sawing back and forth?” Gunny inquired standing up again and pleased when he managed to hold it.” Or did you get nabbed for deep insertions to try and loosen their defensives.”

“Neither.” Lucky answered for the squad.” We’re not sure what precisely we’re being shifted for but it is big. Smiley complained they’d pulled about half his forces out from under him and the pilot who carried us here talked about an uptick in barges and landers at a point several kilos further in the rear about where the initial landings were. Enough tonnage for more than half a full legion, all sitting easily a hundred kilometers from the nearest fighting.”

The fighting that was occurring of course through Gunny didn’t bother to correct. Lucky could read a tactical map as good as the next man, certainly better than the sergeant’s still slightly hazy memory of the situation. He couldn’t miss the plump “arms” just waiting like ripen fruit to be plucked by anyone who could rustle up an a concentrated strength of arms, saw it in the younger soldier’s eyes that he didn’t. That he knew what he was likely about to walk into and would do it without flinching. He and his men were stormtroopers after all and not for the first time through he didn’t show it Gunny felt a different kind of pain in his chest.

He also felt an intangible emotion, merely for a flicker of a second, which he couldn’t identify and would not until Valor squad had left and he was slowly fading away on the operating table to have his new arm grafted into him. Having a sudden epiphany as the sedatives did their work and he sunk beneath the warm, smother blanket of sleep. Identifying the feeling as pity. For the scaly fethers who were in his squad’s way.

[sonofccn]

Another weekend update. A little lighter than normal which I apologize for and low on action mostly being Krevin and Tyler reminiscing about the "good ole days" . Any thoughts or comments are of course welcome.

“ Our breadth? The same plastics used in our Baby Bumper Carriage is used inside our “Zealot” assault tank as well as inside the A-67 transport which carries both and a whole hell lot more from Eastern Europe to the scorching deserts of the Arab League.” Union Industries representative when questioned about the corporation’s diversity.

Judgment, Bridge-

“…and you’d want it even less.” Tyler finished causing the pale, shimmering image of his agents to vanish from his palm.

Pocketing the flat, circular holographic projector the subcommander strolled back into the bridge, the stormtrooper to either side snapping a little sharper at his passing, for the crewpits. Navigating the sea of technicians, ensigns and naval rattings assigned to the various consoles and systems needed to maintain the Judgment’s vast functions, black and gray garbed men whose fingers moved faster at the officer’s approach and who leaned their necks more closer to their respective screens focusing on the text the glyphs scrolling across. Each releasing a relieved gasp for breath, not daring to breath beneath his shadow, until the one who didn’t, who didn’t sense the subcommander walk past him. His now perspiring face growing tense no longer reading the symbols flashing cross his screen, still refusing to breath as he lifted his hands off of the controls sliding them instead to either side to help catapult him up and turn him towards the officer. The technicians sitting to his sides like droids at their stations, no help or well wishes bestowed upon him.

“Status of the diplomatic party Ensign…Krebe?” Tyler questioned the man once he finished turning around making it sound like a command for a firing squad.

“B-begging your pardon subcommander but there has been a delay…I’ve been having problems correlating between department heads…certain advisors have not been assigned.” The Ensign protested in his defense to a face which might as well had been carved from a planet’s rocky surface for all it changed.

Seeing no response and knowing he was already bound for the Reek pit Krebe continued reaffirming his allegiance to the officer, the Empire, and the dead Emperor and everything else while insisting his failure was the fault of squabbling divisional leaders. In part of this he gestured to Technician Tano for confirmation for the egregious stalling on the part of Chief Engineer Zarkon in particular only to see his friend and colleague deliberately turn his head away studying a smudge on the crewpit wall. The reason made as he felt the officer grab him from behind twisting him towards his monitor and slinging him into it. The crystalline pane, designed to the highest standards of the Empire, of the consol kicking him straight into his jaw and it wasn’t it that he heard break and cause something warm and sticky to gush into his mouth. Choking droplets of scarlet dotting its surface as he pulled back woozily fighting to breath forgetting about the subcommander until he felt his hands on his back shoving him down and pressing his face and chest into his station’s controls. Buttons, sticky with the blood he continued to cough up from his broken tooth, which cut along his nose and cheek as he twisted his face around and tried to push up earning himself a crack across the back of his head with the butt of a blaster. A blaster he was treated to a close up view of as Tyler jammed it into his mouth scraping the raw nerves dangling from the tooth snapped out of place.

“Listen carefully. The Empire does not want excuses and I will not tolerate them. The only reason why I am continuing to tolerate a Sarlacc fodder like you is for the moment your Emperor given talents would be slightly more vexing to replace but if you make it any more tempting…” The subcommander whispered leaning close never letting his facial features change. ”… understand?”

“Hmpfh! Hmpfh!” Krebe mumbled shaking his head furiously and nearly screaming as the tip of the weapon tore up more of his jaw.

“Good.” Tyler answered yanking his weapon out, releasing the man and tossing him his naval hat which had fallen off when he’d been grabbed.” I want the issue solved in five minutes, in six I’m stepping back down in here and in seven we will have a new Ensign assigned to your post. I hope you keep all this in mind, good day.”

His task completed the subcommand clicked the heels of his boots together as he swiveled away leaving the mewling junior officer to scramble up off of his console, grabbing at his aching mouth then retake his seat wiping away the stained red from his screen with his sleeve. Now working at least twice as diligently to complete his task as he had before. The subcommander wearing a smile in his eyes as he stepped out of the crewpit and made his way towards Krevin who hovered near Shanulas station and its brewing kettle, the latest contents of which billowed pleasant aromas from his steaming teacup he held against its holder.

“Disciplinary problems?” He asked with a smile nodding his head towards the sobbing fellow huddled at his station.

“Nothing that couldn’t be dealt with. He will now serve the Empire usefully now.” Tyler answered taking a place beside him, surveying the bustling bridge together.

“It is important to remember a sense of proportion. More now than ever.” The Commodore said neutrally loud enough to be sure to be overheard.

Krevin waiting, rising his cup to his lips as the smile in Tyler’s eyes moved to his mouth, for his second in command’s reply. As always it was cordial overflowing with warmth but then it was the same when he laid down a winning hand.

“I didn’t shoot him didn’t I? What more could I have done? Put him to bed with a story?”He said with a laugh which the Commodore, lowering his glass, shrugged his shoulder in agreement.” Now then I’m pleased to report Operation Anvil is proceeding along on schedule with any luck we’ll make one fething breakthrough across the aliens’ lines.”

“Along as we avoid what’s happening in the south, we need them encircled not slipping through our fingers in drabs to regroup. We may be winning but we can not sustain a prolonged conflict of that nature.” Krevin cautioned which while an honest concern did more to see the subcommander’s response, see if he showed any recrimination or anger at the slight chastising.

“Assault Commander Donner has been well briefed on the creature’s proclivities and their phenomenal speed. He’ll have a legion of 2-M and older fighter tanks at his disposal once the AT-AT’s cut through their lines.” Tyler answered once more looking, if only for a split second, like he was a fresh faced cadet answering an instructor.

Loosing as the Commodore laughed, beaming with a smile, raising his glass to toast his second in command before downing the remainder of the contents. Turning to refill it from the now whistling teapot gesturing for Tyler to follow him and continue the conversation. At all times being sure to keep his tone as friendly and agreeable as the subcommander, his little probing test complete for the time being.

“Well that’s the part which worries me, Donner may be a proven trooper but he tries to lead from the front. Remember that little tumble with the Gamorreans on Astor? Thirty thousand warriors, thirty thousand for Emperor’s sake, got behind him while he was assaulting the foothills. And you can’t tell me that bulkcruiser load of pigs with delusions of grandeur could outwit a rock. If anything I think they were surprised they hadn’t found Donner’s army yet.” Krevin reminded as he poured himself another helping of the sweet smelling tea.” Thank the Emperor most only had those stupid war axes of theirs or they’d have ruined that pleasant brunch the Governor had made in our honor.”

Of course he hadn’t been thinking of ruining Governor Philip, leader of the ruling human government presiding over an extremely large and hostile alien populace, festive occasion or even worrying about not being paid for the unscheduled and unofficial “cleansing” when the horde appeared at the city’s walls. Calling down a turbolaser bolt or two down upon the green skinned boars’ heads was, a thought he only postponed for fear the turbulence might affect or hamper his shuttle he was preparing to run to until he realized the Governor’s troops and the cadre of stormtroopers he had brought were slaughtering the mongrel wastes.

“I remember or more precisely I remember the Governor’s daughter. The little blond through I would forgive you if you don’t remember the way you held onto that red haired soldier-girl you stumbled across at inspection.” Tyler replied smiling wider.” As for Donner we can check his medical records, perhaps he has Colonial blood in him down the line.”

“Oh I remember her and I remember the Governor’s reaction, didn’t quite have that in mind for payment in keeping the unruly populace down. Scared me more than the Gamorreans.” The Commodore lied settling his filled cup on its saucer and, seeing the communication officer motion for his attention, made his way across his bridge continuing his conversation with Tyler who followed closely.” But we got out unscathed and we’ve certainly weathered worse ports.”

“That monastery world we interred at after routing those Huk cruisers would be the first to my mind. No women, no drink or drug, no vices at all. Just millions of blindly compliment monks of just as many races.” The subcommander recalled with a shake of his head not only at the fully organic fully spiritual work crews who had bordered the Judgment to mend the battle damage but the wasted nights he attempted to cultivate “need” for his more shadowy talents.

Further reflection on the pious fools with their noxious incense and righteous sermons was blocked by the communication officer who reported to the officers the imminent arrival of the Wraith’s shuttle which would deposit the alien prisoner and the droid. A murderous, soulless abomination without mercy or the slightest compassion for sapient beings while the other was an unknown alien marauder captured in an assault on an Imperial ship. It went without saying their arrival set Tyler’s teeth to tickling, an irritating twitch he shrouded beneath his cozy demeanor.

“ Inform the shuttle they will be met by a squad of stormtroopers. The prisoner will be escorted to the detention block and our…guest…will be taken to the lab of his specifications.” Krevin ordered glancing back over to the subcommander, another faint nick against to see some magma heart beat beneath the placid seas.” The lab has been prepared to the droid’s specifications?”

“Absolutely.” Tyler answered informing the Commodore of the android’s requested renovations as well as the additional security taps the commander had deemed prudent.” Everything is as it should be.”

To which Krevin nodded signaling for the message to be transmitted, his second in command waiting until that was finished and the Lambda shuttle was making it s final approach to the prepped and waiting hanger bay to pull him aside from listening ears both flesh and inorganic.

“If it is still your wish to humor the machine, knowing what the machine has admitted, proudly, mere elimination would be perfectly understandable.” Tyler cautioned.” Without question it doesn’t understand its place, dares believe it is our equal without any loyalty to its master.”

“ And I’m with you completely on that.” The Commodore agreed pausing to drain his teacup before continuing.” But for the moment I think the risk is counterbalanced by the hoped for gains, his work is intriguing and he shows the promise of actually caring them out.”

“When that changes?” His second in command inquired.

“Oh I’m sure we can think of something for that eventuality. Remember the Gamorrean leader on Astor?” Krevin, placing his glass back against the saucer, answered slyly confident in Tyler’s abilities.

The feth stinking boar in question had been part of the Commodore’s “apology” to the Governor, taken alive and placed inside a carved hollow on an asteroid just a millimeter large enough to take his great bulk and an oxygen filtration unit. A tap into the holonet had been provided which had broadcasted the prisoner’s thermal images and sobbing protests in his pitch black and claustrophobic tomb across Astor informing them of the price for questioning the Imperial supplied government. Supposedly on the second day the Xeno had purposely triggered Krevin’s other present, fifty kilograms of thermal charges lining equally around the tiny shaft’s dimensions on the off chance anyone tried to tamper with the welded shut opening.

“Insurance. One of mankind’s greatest invented concepts.” Krevin jestfully purred believing wholly in the concept as the bloody mouthed Ensign scrambled from the crewpits towards them.

Nearly throwing himself at Tyler’s feet as the subcommander slowly consulted his chronometer on his wrist, pulling up his uniform sleeve to gaze at is electronic surface. Noting the time he nodded and looked down at the haggard figure panting and standing hunched over before him.

“Sirs…the diplomatic party is assembling…”He wheezed, mumbling his words with haste and blood.”…except…Engineer Zarkon selection…please sir I tried! I begged him but he was adamant he could only spare Engineers Addam and James and they can’t be raised inside their lab due to their dampening fields…”

Finishing he cowered lower raising his hands up to shield himself as Tyler contemplated and made his decision. The smile never leaving his face as his hand sank to his holstered blaster.

“I already explained how I feel about excuses.” He grunted glancing to the Commodore who made a show in shaking his head no.” Return to your post Ensign and be thankful I am tolerant of your continued failings.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir! Thank you…thank you!” Krebe cried standing up, trying to salute, bow and merely sprint away all at the same time and managing only the latter with any degree.

Tyler waited for him to leave before addressing the more unorthodox of the Judgment engineering crews to the Commodore. As with nearly all of the ship’s compliment they had been sequestered aboard after falling in disfavor with some faction or element of the Empire. Unlike most however theirs had been precipitated by the reversal of orbiting alignment of two separate worlds transforming a Grand Admiral’s favored garden world retreat into an ashy wasteland.

“Someone is going to have to get them then or force Zarkon to pick someone else for the mission.” Tyler sighed.

Zarkon and the rest of his team of course having long since refused to enter the two’s private lab since the disintegration incident instead supporting the initiative to all but make it a starship onto itself. Ferrocite reinforced bulkheads layered with durasteel plate and as well the cosmic sheath of dampening ray shields to further mollify any breaching explosions.

“Someone with rank, you know how they can be when they are “contemplating”. A super nova couldn’t interrupt them.” Krevin mused deeply not wishing a repeat of the disintegration incident.”Of course they are not the only cause for our concern. It may be to our advantage to present a strong face to our arriving guest as well. A reminder of whom is in control of this vessel and all that.”

“You really don’t want to go down to their lab do you? The issue was exaggerated, most of the body wasn’t disintegrated at all.” The subcommander tried before relenting with one of his laughs.” You owe me for this Commodore, maybe after all this has settled down you can bring along one of the finer vintages on our beloved ship and give me a chance to pick you clean at cards again.”

“I’m sure I can scrounge up something good and I’ll even give you a chance to lose to me assuming you haven’t been reduced to boiling vapor.” The commander agreed as they broke apart, he for the tea kettle and Tyler returning towards the crewpit.

“Oh I assure you I’ll survive.” He replied stepping to the edge, looking down at the bustling working crewmembers below.” Ensign Krebe you have just been reassigned new duties. May you perform these better than your last.”

Fixing the man with a knowing grin as he stood up, parting looks to either of his comrades who studiously ignored him, and vacated his consol which would soon be replaced with another nameless aspiring officer. His fate now linked to the cold hearted abomination waiting for him, taking him from the bridge to the turbolift and from there ultimately to lab MI-V. Krevin departing a few moments later, his beverage refilled, for the hanger to greet their coming guest as well as a curiosity driven peek at the subdued and enshackled alien prisoner.

[Praeothmin]

Is it me, or is Tyler one nasty son-of-a-bi***?

I certainly wouldn't want to work under him, I'm too fond of my natural teeth... :)

[Admiral Breetai]

well damn Tyler is a monster and that Droid is fantastic I think you've out done my pyschofounders with that one holy crap

please don't ever stop till the story ends

[sonofccn]

Sorry for the lack of activity I've been having a bad case of laziness and acute sessions of writer's block. But I finished the update, mostly just building to what I hope will be a very cinematic clusterfrag. As well I've taken and modulated the idea of Praeo, tried to give each section a "feel" or "theme" and I hope I didn't mess up too badly.

“The blood of ages flows through me, aeons I have traversed from one air encapsulated dust-mite to the next, witnessed births of civilizations. I am endless, I am eternal. How small compares the fragile meat puppet called “Man”. This vassal you may destroy but I shall endure, I promise I shall taste of your flesh, feel your souls wiggle within me.” Boast shortly before incineration of Unidentified Biological Organism recovered from an infestation subsequently labeled a “spore cult”.

I.First attempt hope I didn't mess up too badly.

New Haven, Ironforge-

Sinking from the sky like a fat water droplet the LAAT serenely circled over the bloated barges which baked in the day’s hot sun and the ant like army which streamed to and fro the gargantuan landers’ gaping mouths carrying everything from spare fuel cells to dehydrated ration packs on grav-sleds trodding the ground bare that the descending craft kicked back up. Loose, choking mists swirled between the men gluing to their slick skin and moistened uniforms, for those who hadn’t stripped off everything above the torso as they worked, stinging eyes and turning throats raw. Something that wasn’t a problem for those aboard the transport nestling on the dirt airfield between its own ilk, thick fingers of detritus rushing up to the opening side but washing harmlessly over the white suited figure who dropped down. His rifle held cradled against his shoulder, his other arm making signs through the nebula of dust for his teammates.

“ Valor squad disembark, move it like Gunny’s calling for it!” Lucky shouted into the compartment stirring the others into action.

The first of which was ’19 who hopped speedily out of the craft with his helmet tucked under his arm and a hand lightly caressing one of his holstered carbines. An action he ceased as he squinted in the abrasive air and slung his white coated headgear up over his head, having its place cemented with a rap from Lucky as he ran past the sniper. Next came Specs, only leaving his seat after he’d ensured his scanner was properly fastened and his equipment stowed, who made sure to wear his mask even through he’d have been immune to the worst effect of the particles. Nodding his concealing helmet towards the acting squad leader, who clasped him at the shoulder in passing instead of a light tap to his augmented cranium, as he formed up with ’19. Trailing last with a healthy berth between him and the cyborg the Kid stumbled down from the craft as it began to take back off gagging on the dry dirt it kicked up.

Recovering as best he could he staggered forward with eyes blurred by his burning tears feeling Lucky’s touch at the base of his neck guiding him towards the others. Hazy figures he lined himself up with pawing at the grit in his unobstructed eyes, listening as the squad leader gave his best impression of the sergeant. It was a poor imitation, a bantha wail compared to a krayt dragon, but it still snapped him at attention digging the butt of his weapon into the crumpled ground, placing his arms straight at his side and jerking his head towards the bellowing smoky figure wafting in and out through the choking mists.

“Alright let’s try and find out who’s in charge of wild bantha chase and see what we’re in for. Specs you have lead, ’19 you have the rear.” Lucky ordered taking position parallel to their line formation, after a moment’s hesitation, sandwiching Kid and helping to hold him in place as they moved through the bustling throngs.

Pushing through the thousands of tireless trains of humanity who strained in place of beast of burdens of ancient days to unload the haulers before the next batch would drop from the heavens bustling with goods ferried from the Judgment. None of their number, Kid noticed between blinks of his eyes, or the dutiful ranks assembling the tent buildings, setting up generators and clearing away the sparse, sickly brush to expand the landing fields encumbered by the shiny white armor of Valor squad or the dozens of other units exiting the transports perpetually circling and landing in the growing base. Not pushing a hover-cart, running electrifying cables from fabric huts to the shiny prefab structures or guiding barges in could one be seen.

“ Army’s the Shaaks of the Empire, stout and slow but industrious.” ’19 explained with relish when Kid broached the subject.” We troopers are the war-Nexu’s, we kill that is our purpose.”

“ Troopers are also expected to follow more in-depth and specific mission briefings and thus more time consuming as well we are the primary choice for high security matters.” Specs offered more diplomatically pointing ahead to their apparent destination.

A small isle of open space cleared from the bustling crowds less by the half dozen of stormtroopers forming a protective screen than the noncommissioned officer they were assigned too. A product of a life spent conducting assaults in the Outer Rim large and small he appeared to stand a foot taller than he actually was, his helmet and durasteel plates he hung off of his uniform in clear violation of regulations creased by the furor of those years as well as script from over a dozen separate languages. Each reiterating the promise scrawled in Basic of the sweet release of death.

In his hand he cumbersomely wielded a datapad, more accustomed to the hilt of a dagger or pistol grip, less to inform and illustrate for the working masses as to catalog the arriving provisions by way of the low frequency tracking beacon inserted into every Imperial box, can and crate. The passing of one of the uniform and undistinguished gun metal gray supply containers within a hundred meters of his position allowing him to know precisely what it was it contained, of what quantity and their collective weight in the measurement of his choice. The toil and lifeblood of warfare distilled and electronicized into sanitized charts and graphs, far more so than his taste preferred having been weaned on the long and bloody clan wars of his homeworld which explained why he looked upon the approach of Valor squad both with relief and annoyance.

“Something I can help you gentlemen with?” He asked with a smug tone blowing smoke out of his mouth removing his oversized deathstick to tap away the ashes.” Maybe your just lost and need someone to hold your hand, is that it?”

“Valor squad…sergeant.” Lucky recited after the slightest of pauses as he directed his unit to halt.” Acting squad leader Lu- Stormtrooper Y-4848,merely requesting where the embarkation tent is.”

“About a quarter kilo that way. You can’t miss it with all the “icemen” goldbricking around it.” The sergeant answered thrusting with his smoke billowing hand towards the encampment.” But Valor squad? At three and a quarter men aren’t you a little understrength?”

The NCO’s eyes looking down at Kid when he said that who in turn swallowed loudly trying not to fidget in line or let his still stinging eyes water up again. From behind he sensed ’19 stepped out of place arms held compliantly at his sides as he met the armyman’s gaze and without waiting for Lucky’s approval answered his question.

“Master Sergeant every member of Valor squad will do what is expected of him. He will then do what is expected of the man beside him and without false bravado Sergeant I will attest there are no other beings in the universe I’d want on my six than my brothers before you. If you can’t tell that Sergeant its only because you’ve been using your head as a Xeno punching bag.” ’19 snapped raising an arm for a quick two fingered salute before stepping back into formation for the coming storm.

“Specialist KT-4019 you will not address an NCO in such tone or manner.” Lucky snapped pivoting towards his friend and comrade forcing himself to react as he believed Gunny would have.

“Leave him be, I like him.” The Master-Sergeant said with a laugh, plucking his deathstick back on his lips which danced.” Good to know at least some of you “icemen” didn’t get your mouth crushed by indoctrination. Remove your helmet trooper, I like to know the face of those with the jorblocks to insult me to my face.”

Not the least bit intimidated ’19 immediately reached up and pulled away his headgear revealing his proudly smiling face behind it. From his position the sergeant memorized the gloriously refreshing impudent man’s face, noting that despite the experience radiating like thermal radiation from his face how young he was, and nodded his approval with a similar smile of his own. His features then hardening as he shooed them away to their business and him to his.

“But I hope your right 4019, about your squad because we’re about to undergo one feth of an assault not like the little bughunts they’ve been playing us for until now.” He called out as they departed through his ring of solemn stormtroopers.” Makes everything else look like a fething teaparty.”

Above in the air as he spoke making their way lumberingly past the growing military post Valor squad was making for theta class barges plodded alongside their more nimble and acrobatic screening guard of TIE fighters. Huge, cumbersome transports dwarfing all but the Y-85 Titan variant fighting on repulsarlifts through the atmosphere like flung whales to set down on the ground. Unleashing from their holds which could have housed a mechanized battalion comfortably a single war machine each. The shadows of the just squeezed out walkers as they unstooped from their confinement stretching over the laboring soldiers cooling their sweating brows and freezing their muscles. Each and everyone of them gawking at the durasteel mountains lifting up on knobby legs after the ascending barges, gun bristling heads swaying from side to side like beasts getting the scent of prey.

A tea party indeed.

New Haven, Undisclosed location-

II. Somehow this seemed fitting

The apartment complex was situated in the sunnier, more up right district of the city far from the debacle at the Administrative office. A place where kind old folks walked the streets without fear, the local security-police smiled and waved as they made their rounds, and in the morning and afternoon schoolchildren bustled to and fro from school learning their devotion to the Glorious Leader and the heroic Fatherland. Where Radio-Germany could be heard wafting through open windows informing the sedate populace the latest truths and revelations of the world around them, where Capitalist-Marxists driven dissidents would never dare show their face for fear of bullet deformation.

It was here, in this wayward spot, that Lord Burkhalter had arranged through intermediaries for a spacious room to be lent. Paying not with a government check but discretely from holdings of a mid level obscure officer whom, if investigated too deeply, had perished years previously to help maintain his separation from the security forces normally incharged and the prying intrusions that resulted. Learning long ago when he was still a military officer that the eyes and ears which protected you from treachery could see other things, things which could loosen coin purses and lips. The slippery alliance of the security forces particularly treacherous and expedient for the overturning of covert dossiers.

Normally reserved for more fetching activities with splendid examples of femalehood today there was a more somber and far less appealing atmosphere of a gathering of the few souls he could trust with any certainty. Taking all he had not to break down and weep at the motley collection which included an balding imbecile, whose overfed sergeant guarded the apartment’s door more by bulk than with any skill or intelligence, an SS major energetic in his defense of the Fatherland and…something else. She, a duchess by title, sat of to one side of her male cohorts basked in shadows which seemed to touch no one else mostly listening to the others talk sipping her beverage. The others glad for the shadows which helped hide the choice of drink, something far different from the brandy the others imbibed, save for when she leaned forward to speak in her silky voice and one could see the slightest haze of scarlet on her deathly pale skin. Such was the vanguard for the Venerable Imperium.

“…parades through the streets in some corners. You would think the Leader had returned.” Major Hochstetter finished as he rose his own cup.” My men are no different, accepting these space-Englanders with open arms. It’s disgraceful. And dangerous.”

“Maybe you have that problem Major but my men saw how I handled their commander.” General Klink boasted resembling nothing so much with his energetic bobbing of his head and wide eye stares like some parrot taught to recite a few chose phrases.” I eyed him steely, spoke firmly, made him putty in my hands. A plaything to be crushed!”

Obviously chosen for his conviction to the Imperium, based solely on lacking the imagination or intelligence for duplicity, rather than his piety such outbursts were all too common from the General and requiring frequent prodding to coral the officer back into place. Typically an imposing look from the Lord would suffice but if not the fat’s councilman’s voice could still pummel its way through the smothering egotism and slap sense into the man however transitory.

“Klink!” He snapped loudly enough silencing the officer, pausing to down his drink and recollect his thoughts before continuing.” Now then its agreed from every strata people are warming to these Starpeople and as success against the Schlange continue it will only grow worse. The question is what can be done about it.”

“Rounding each of them, bestowing lifetime inprisonment, workcamps, maybe even shooting a few for conspiracy. We relentlessly hound the sympathizers, break them into tears…” The Major went on starting to shake, his voice growing higher with his excitement and energy for his work.”…then, and only then, once the Security Forces have been made sufficiently loyal to the Leader and his dream we can move against the government complex. First by rounding them all up…”

Continuing on with his frequent prattle about camps surrounded by camps, to guard his prison guards, as the councilman refilled his glass and drained it in one swift throwback. Setting the glass down on the coffee table between the plushed chairs they all sat at and hiding his eyes behind his hand to rub at his aching temples.

“Agreed we must start pruning but anything so drastic is sure to bring fire down upon our heads.” He said at last when the SS officer subsided from his monologue” Not just from Rathorn and those he owns but the Starpeople as well. I will not draw the Imperium into an open conflict she can not win.”

“Rathorn bah! What does he know of power, of will of force? He’s a politician. Exploiters all of them, think of nothing but their own pleasure. Their own pleasure and plotting against the dream of the beloved Leader!” The Major thundered forgetting his company in his exuberance.” But these Starpeople…they are another matter…another matter indeed…but they have weakness. Weakness we will exploit!”

The Major close to giddy as he could be as he knelt down to pick up his briefcase, an ordinary brown leather variant with metallic cuffs dangling from the handle, he’d left against his chair’s leg. Unclasping it and opening as he continued speaking, the mad glint of his devious mind and the main reason his presence had been tolerated to this point fiendishly present.

“They want to appear as our friends. Win over the disloyal populace who deserve to be rounded up and sent to camps…win them over with good deeds. Pretending to be our friends and making outlandish promises which the traitorous populace, pigs all of them, easily fall for like common dogs!” He exclaimed with a voice rising and falling as he fought to stay on topic, extracting from his case a crisp sheet of paper which he handed over first to Lord Burkhalter.” As you’ll be notified upon your return the Government was recently offered a proposition in addition to continued diplomatic ties. Talk of advisors, of hands of friendship, and technological promises believed whole heartedly by the bureaucrats who infest the government! Traitors all of them! Blind completely to the threat the Starpeople represent. But their offer gives us the advantage we need!”

“It does?” Klink asked as always having trouble moving with the conversation.” I mean of course… absolutely it does. Yes of course. Without question.”

“Well for those of us a little slower than you perhaps you could explain it eh?” The Lord asked with a haunting smile, drawing out more of the livid color in his dueling scars cutting across his cheeks, removing his hands from over his eyes at last and leaning eagerly towards the General.

Enjoying the way his color drained from his face, his monocle nearly falling as his eyes widened even further, the way his mouth hung open midway through a sentence and the various enfeebled sputtering noises he did make when he attempted before Hochstetter swooped in to recover.

“Because their generosity binds them, we can force them to reveal their rotten traitorous core or empower us in the most crucial of matters. Here take a look at these, obtained for an Abwehr officer who had…an accident.” The Major explained pulling out freshly processed photographs and passing them around.

Each a different location showing rolling countryside, rocky foothills to mountains or marshy swampland but with the same centerpiece in each frame, a gigantic bell shaped cloud rising like a smoky peak from the soil. Identical blast markers had sprouted over the Imperium all those years ago, their cause undoubtable.

“Atomics. Used frivolously as an air deterrent, a most effective air deterrent.” Hockstetter said with an air of awe and jealously.” Imagine what the Leader could have accomplished had Capitalist-Marxists not swindled the secret to the United States! Traitorous cowards, betraying their Fatherland! For that alone they deserved death!”

“What makes you think they would give us that even if we demanded it? Or worse turn it against us? They have humbled the Schlange’s airforce, how could we defend?” The fat councilman asked through unable to greedily rub his hands together at the mere anticipatory thought of the Imperium gaining such power.

“My dear councilman without the means to defend ourselves we are…quite dead.” The Duchess whispered in a voice that was at once cold and yet warmly seductive pausing its sticky, smoky presence only to laugh at her own little joke.” We must take every chance to improve our weaponry, we are a predator race we must strike boldly or perish. Those are the facts of life.”

Her opinion noted she slipped back into the blanketing veil of darkness but her eyes, the magnetic presence they exhibited, the Lord was sure was still on him. Tugging at him making him wish to reconsider his opinion, make him want to agree with her. That captivating way she had with words, with her tone. Intoxicating and partly the cause for the furtive whispers about her in both army barracks and political circles.

“Be that as it may we can not afford to be reckless either. We represent the last fragment of the Imperium, we can not stumble blindly. For this or any other action.” Burkhalter said resisting the impulse.” We need to learn more about them…the truth not the idle lies their leader span for the council. More about their goals, their intentions, why they have appeared to us!”

From his perch Klink bobbled his head in agreement, trading the look of a parrot with that of some simian, heaping his agreement and belated endorsement of the idea which the Lord shrugged off. Waiting for the other two to offer solutions, wanting solutions. Childishly eager to exploit the Starpeople’s “generosity” even if he forced himself to temper it with prudence.

“I have already taken steps to uncover their devious threat to the Fatherland, instructing loyal, brave members of the SS who will not stand for this betrayal of the Leader’s path…to intersperse among the fighting along the Southern perimeter to retrieve subjects. Close proximity to radiant matter weaponry cremates the outer layers to such an extent proper identification is impossible. The flesh fused into the uniform leaving only trace elements and anyone can wear a uniform including disloyal traitors who must be expunged in order to protect the Leader’s realm. All of them, traitors that deserved to be shot!” Hochstetter thundered with a wave of his arm knocking over his briefcase as well as his glass and only noticing as his euphoria ebbed slightly.” Ahem. I assure you we will shortly have a virtually unlimited amount of information about the Starpeople as to your former question I concurred with the late Lord Hershal opinion in cultivating a threat against them. Allowing the Englander “General” to depart and through him and other…agents at my disposal…alert Earth. The Americans may be decadent, capitalists who think of nothing but girls…girls and hot rods but their fleet will act as a counterbalance. Make the Starpeople need the industrious, hardworking peoples of the Imperium and then that is when we strike! Rounding them all up into camps…”

“As well I and…my associates may be of some assistance on this front. We have a talent for coaxing such secrets. I assume Lord you recall our previous work before the War.” The Duchess purred.”A concern of mine is if we do succeed the compliance of the Starpeople may strengthen Rathorn and his pawns’ hold on power unless…something is done about him.”

An obviously tempting offer, one long dreamed by the councilman, but one he rejected the moment the light fluttering he felt every time that woman spoke left him. The stab of fear perhaps even helped to crystallize his resolve and vitalize his mind.

“No, not like that. He’s too protected, all we will do is cause a bloodbath the Imperium can not afford. That is unacceptable” The Lord snapped masking his previous weakness with a burst of emotion.” However the Schlange attack has annulled many of his supporters on the council and granted us a slim window we may not have for years hence. We each have an ally Lord with two uncommitted to either camp, if the six replacements can be made loyalists or even four we can strangle Rathorn out, hold him in isolation until the time comes when we can dispense with him.”

“What is this? Politics, corrupting appointments, bah! I am a loyal officer of the Reich, I say we go down there and round every one of them and put them in a camp! Be done with it.” The Major snorted in disapproval.” Besides seven factions will be going over the proceedings they will catch any of this mockery.”

“I don’t think our dear Lord was speaking of such crude methods as breaking arms or arrests. Those are the reckonings of the Republic long dead, our methods must swifter, more subtle.” The Duchess whispered in her thick, velvet voice of hers.” Between security and our treacherous hold on the Lord’s council we should be able to select whomever we wish for the appointments. Who would dare vote against the choosing of a Lord after all?”

“If only. I’m afraid I can’t afford to public sponsor any of them, it will take all I have merely to keep Rathorn from stopping us.” Burkhalter said with a shake of his head reaching for his glass and pouring himself another helping, suddenly very thirsty.

Dispatching the same flittering, floating sensations in his skull with a heavy swig before he continued. Gathering his courage, both real and liquid, he always required to address that which lay shielded beneath the shadows, at the supple form relaxing against the back of the chair holding a cup and saucer near her hidden face.

“I’m afraid you will have to support that end, the word of the Duchess carries much weight. With the people and with those we will need to carry forth the banner of our candidates.” He continued feeling somehow small held in her gaze as she silently contemplated.

Pressed away by some presence which extended, exuded, intangibly from her apparent frame. A cold, noxious force, slimy and reptilian, condensed and represented more by a vague foreboding feeling than a physical property. Likening it to a baleful stench of a rotting bog through the air around him was not unpleasant if not slightly perfumed, an incongruity which made him sweat in the corner of his forehead and made the pit in his stomach grow tighter.

“That complicates matters…but not unduly my dear. I think I can be persuasive.” She answered breaking the lull which had remained after the Lord finished, sitting and staring expediently.” Very persuasive…for a price.”

Spoken so sublimely, so innocently the barbed viper slithered unnoticed for several long seconds among her male companions, the Major breaking her aura of enchantment first. By jumping to his booted heels his face twisting a disgusting purple color as he drew his weapon from his hip, training it on her as drinks and bottles spilt.

“Witch! Charlatan! You pledge to be loyal to the Fatherland but like all of them you…you are a traitor! Like Blud you think of nothing of Father-Germany but your curse. Your curse and how to spread it to the hard working German people!” He melodramatically cried contrasted with the Duchess’s bemused demeanor as she watched the display.

Over the icy, lonely years she’d adjusted to the momentary sting of slung lead, the mystic fear it once held gone.

“Put your weapon away I assure you there is no one more committed to the cause of our great land but please don’t think me naïve. We are a predatory race, we take what we want, we do not give like lambs. The weak or unneeded have no place in our world. For the price of my support, the price of my…skills I ask two souls.” She breathed from her place in the shadows.” Two of our blood…for the council, insurance that our partnership…won’t be dissolved.”

“May the devil take your soul Duchess.” The Lord, motioning for the Major to withdraw his weapon, answered puckering his face.” And may he have mercy on ours. What you ask will be carried out but if you betray us you shall pay…I swear that.”

“Of course my Lord, I am a proud…German. My heart goes with you, my spirit soars after yours. This is a mere formality…protection…just protection…so that we can fight against the Starpeople without fear…fear of betrayal. Of people with old hatred…ignorant peasant stock driven by idle gossip and legend.” The Duchess explained, in a way which made all three listeners want to believe, while both she and Burkhalter thought over what they’d just done.

Both imagining the fragmentary legend of the tomb-crypts on the primordial world of M’th rendered in passing in the book of Eibon. Of decaying sepulchers engorged until the eight sided crystalline blocks threatened to break their bonds, of shaggy things not dead but neither truly alive which shambled and clawed forth on the setting of the sun. One of the two inwardly smiled at the thought of those whitish-hairy beasts pawing at the base of flower like crystal towers, the other took another drink.

New Haven, Ironforge-

III. Not original but I thought it captured the mood of the rising force.

The holopicture of the growing enemy fortification, taken by nimble scout TIES at a higher resolution than the Judgment could have without risking ground to space ordnance, shivered and threatened to implode upon itself until Donner’s fist sank through it like a falling asteroid denting the light projector beneath and stabilizing the simulacrum.

“Cheap junk, ever since they nationalized.” He grumbled to the mixture of uniformed men raising his hand out of the mist like images and flexing it more to work out kinks still in his muscles than from the slight pain the blow had caused.

Before him and the others the shimmering blue highlighted hologram began to play out, first the miniaturized alien vermin displayed as barely motes on the glowing board became animated. Some slithering for the cover of shallow trenches dug along the ground, concurrent pits arrayed in overlapping fields, while others rushed towards larger more fortified emplacements. Nexts the hundreds of guns running from minute chemical propelled slug throwers to magnetic cannons as well as high energy plasma and intensely concentrated lasers which the scout TIEs had observed awakened. From their pits even smaller, individual guns began to fire showering the four red hued icons which plodded into frame flattening length of barbed wire, scattering sandbags like flour and ignoring the intermittent flash of a cooking off mine beneath their durasteel feet. The shells, bullets and searing lasers reflecting off of their equally thickly armored hides as they plowed forward, their head mounted guns belatedly returning fire. A slow, sedate firing pattern meant to be exuberate both specified destruction of select targets and sheer crippling terror through none of the aliens were displayed retreating. Indeed several, based upon previous combat reports, were depicted as rushing the giant behemoths swarming beneath to attach explosives or crawl up its surface.

Behind the iron colossuses more things appeared exploiting the pandemonium, steely bird of war in the air and sprinting gliding durasteel Nexu’s across the ground, racing through the path paved by the metal lords. A caravan of hovertanks, walkers, APCs and speeder bikes which diversified and splintered passing through the narrow band of fortification, some peeling to remain with the AT-AT’s who dispelled squads of stormtroopers permanently silencing the twin nerves of communication and command so needed for an army to be anything but a mobbish rabble. Others spread out like a startled herd of Reeks across the scraggy frontier, dividing into close knit hunting packs the “camera” panned with keeping them in sight. Watching them weave and dart between themselves as they drove like spears into the heart of the revealed glowing icons indicating townships/bases.

“The attack gunships of group “Rolling Storm” will proceed ahead of the Nexu packs acting as additional scouts, suppressing enemy activity/movement and fulfilling as airborne artillery for when our forces encounter resistance. The LAAT/cs of battlegroup “DeathStrike” will loiter in reserve and deploy AV-7 cannons on direct command of the hunter packs to either force into submission or escape around pockets of heavy resistance.” Donner explained with the joy of a child with his first holoset of Imperial soldiers.” And all hunter packs are to disengage and circumvent any forces they can not immediately handle, packets of soldiers can be destroyed in the air by “Rolling Storm” or “Reaper Sword”. Any questions?”

The assembled, Stormtrooper and Army field officers, looked at each other. Some with the expression of knowledge having experienced Donner’s command style for years other with a mixture of surprise and shock at the crude demonstration they had just witnessed. At last one, prodded by another’s light kick to his heel, loudly cleared his throat catching the Assault Commander’s attention.

“Isn’t that a little light sir? What is our order of battle, what objectives should we prioritize? What about force concentration? Or even location, how will the combat units find each other or even how will the spread out LAATs find us?” He protested desperately seeking the rigid structure of Imperial battle plans.

A few around him laughed, nudging their colleagues beside them at the remark. A few others dared to show modest support, openly wondering how to orchestrate the maneuvers depicted on the holo. Donner waited for that to die down, wanting to say it only once.

“Most of you have just stepped down on this rock let me assure you Vipers are not like Rebel scum. They’re fast and they entrench even faster making any plans based upon our intel dated from the onset. More than that I expect every trooper and soldier under my command to use the sense the universe saw fit to bestow upon them.” He answered sweeping his hand across the hollow diorama.” Your priority is to get inside their bases and kill them, all of them, and you don’t need me and or anyone else hand holding you while you do it. You need both hands to properly strangle a Xeno, just can’t be done otherwise. Anyone who feels he isn’t up to it may step down now, everyone else is in for the duration.”

He waited. No one stepped away from the briefing table, most didn’t even dare to breath. The questioning officer, looking if not convinced sufficiently chastised, sheepishly looked away and tried to blend in with his peers but he didn’t budge from his position. They were Imperials, they had pledged to bring order to a lawless galaxy and a planet side scuffle with a vicious alien race wasn’t going to change that.

“Good. Then in just a couple of hours we shall began the largest offensive these creatures have ever had witnessed and by the Emperor it will crush them in its tracks! For the Empire gentlemen! Primo Victoria!” He shouted striking the holo display again, causing it to fizzle, dismissing them to their respective units and him to brief the second wing’s tank commanders.

[sonofccn]

Ah yes filler, the all alien variant. Still working on the main battle but figured I needed something to make up for my previous missing an update and well I really wanted to try my hand at another scary segment. Let me know how I did as well as on my musical experiment.

“A primordial world, lush and verdant while ours churned in endless flame, with towers of glass and crystal thrusting towards the opaque sky. Vast intelligences, vast and cold like the outer depths between worldlets, searching…always searching. Trying to understand, leaving their mist shrouded marble for the jungles of Cytheria and for the great Crimson Cyclops where the marble city of Ph’nok was founded in the red desert.” Séance of Swami Chandraputra calling back to the forgotten age of M’th.

Krona, Deniero

I.

The wall was made in the standard interior template consisting mostly of sound dampening foam sandwiched between thin sheaths of plastic crust, a cheap and quickly disposable medium which could be resculpted and altered to the whims of the changing layout. Five rounds rapid from his pulse rifle, each cutting through into a separate target highlighted by the targeter, cracked it like an egg weakening it enough for the squealing body he hurled in front of his racing one to plow an opening across. Killgore, twisting his rifle arm and torso behind him, rushing behind followed by a pair of his cam-drones. The third spinning to cinematically capture the spray of viscera of the hybrids trying to squeeze through the opposing side’s doorway, more to either side in the hall the Defender’s targeter screamed.

Also picking up the half dozen crouched over the torn remains of citizens, one of their number thrusting a cracked and drained skull from its quivering mandibles and snatching with webbed hands an accelerator cannon hanging off of its loose and reeking robe. The air burning, erupting into a curtain of incinerating flame, with as a whine as metallic ejecta was expelled at colossal speeds. The shimmering pillar reflecting off of the cam-drone’s hulls as they darted towards the ceiling, and their brother belatedly whooshed in envious of the excitement, recording Killgore twisting the clutched at bleeding and still twitching hybrid against the tongue of death heaving it towards its vulgar siblings. Turning back from the recently made hole he continued to run across the room drawing from an army pouch and throwing to the ceiling a fist full of translucent sludge where it stuck transfixed and then drew his ripper gun. Across the way the flame-cannon swept after him and the other huddling things had sufficiently recovered to forgo their meal and make for stolen pulse rifles, hands more claw or tentacle grasping unfamiliarly with the metal and plastic stock.

“Thyde, status?” The First Atune asked dropping ahead of the wake, his skin tingling from the passing heat as the blast gouged into the wall splattering hot molten droplets of plastic all around, rolling both back towards the original wall and further towards his attackers ending in a raised crouch.

“Got to the civilian, scared out of his mind hiding in a broom closet. Excitable, talkative chap but he’s from the colony world Doramia…can’t understand anything he’s saying.” The fellow defender answered over the noise of gunfire which in turn paled before the noise of the ripper shredding the mutant scum.” Primary route of departure blocked, attempting to go down the stairs and let me tell you this guy could stand to lose a few kilograms but enough about me. How’s things by you?”

“Good. Proceeding on time.” Killgore announced rising, releasing the spent gun’s clip, holstering the bulky weapon and sprinting towards the remaining one of the six to crack his pulse rifle across its rotten brow.” Resistance…light.”

Ignoring the flashing warnings across his targeter he dramatically dipped the barrel end of his rifle down toward the ground and the thing’s pulsating, mushy head allowing it to linger just for one photogenic moment before he fired,cam-drone whizzing past his ear to better capture the exploding gore as the bullet explosively exited out the back of the rubbery appendage vanishing into the floor. Much quicker to swing his weapon back up to perforate the twin looking hybrids which rushed through the door the first of many both in front and behind, the recently gouged entrance flooded with a war band easily a dozen strong. The survivors of the probing force the defender had slaughtered spreading out in a drunken like fashion to find him while he swept his rifle across the natural doorway stemming those tides. Instead flipping open a pouch on his uniform and removing a small silver cylinder, opening its orange protective cap on one end with a slight application of pressure and sinking his thumb against the red button housed within, igniting the explosive gel which flared into an incandescent radiance filling the air with acidic smog and masonry dust as the ceiling splintered.

Following next as the midsection crumbled and swung down over the hybrid’s picket line while the other end creaked and groaned like a old hinge suffering its own disintegration. The ground shaking with the thunderclap as the edge in freefall ceased to be so flattening all the mutants into a solitary smear, the swing point unmooring from the stress and transferred shock but remained before sliding free for a second and equal thud long enough for the defender to run up it.

“Guess some get all the luck and-ah! Transport beacon! Hang on…” Thyde snidely cracked as Killgore turned on the sinking stone and leapt off landing on the lip of the far edge without breaking his running stride.”…hunting squad dropped nearly right on top of us, cleared it and them out through. Nearly out, don’t tell me you’re still playing around. You got to her, yes?”

“Almost.” The First Atune allowed spinning out of the way of the jaws of a snapping fiend, imparting sufficient force via the stock of his weapon to send it stumbling over the edge, and planting his back against wall beside the doorway.” One second…”

Holstering his rifle as he drew his ripper and another clip to sustain the hungry weapon, slapping it in with a hard shove with a replay of the process for his pulse rifle before he twirled back into the doorway. A hall yawned out before him, cramped offices dotting either side, with the signature which had drawn him forth burning behind the sealed door at the end and in between streaming to fill the vacant gap they poured. Sprouting from the offices where they caroused, fought amongst themselves and sated perverse and unspeakable lusts with the dead. The targeter reading countless surges of accelerator cannons as well as three separate missile locks and tens of dozens of lower intensity emissions of pulse rifles cycling to fire.

He did not stop, did not hesitate. His facial tendrils squirming at the scent of the lifeblood, every shade of ichors imaginable, which sprayed in all directions. His skin crawling with disgust as, impaling his weapons into his foes, he struck at their malformed and riddled flesh. Feeling the brittle bones in the neck of a serpent headed demon snap, the life draining from its eyes as he shoved it into the path of a screeching missile, the iron surface of the crude war axes he purloined from a combatant rushing into the opening made by the explosion. Ears rattling with each swing, the sound of the meat of their body parting, he made hacking his way towards the missile firer. A squid faced abomination whose arm ended in a three puckered tendrils, two of which Killgore removed weaving around the third and planting an ax into the thing’s soft head.

Splitting open another’s chest with the other he liberated an old style pistol, itself no doubt stolen from some forgotten world, finishing the started excavation to the other’s hybrid’s chest before firing behind him. Cratering it when all of its chambers had been expended into the carapace of a squat crab like creature driving it down beneath his feet and cleaving open the midsection of the reaching one behind it shoving it from his path as he launched himself of the sinking armored one to land behind the remainder of the loathsome legions running towards the door.

“…okay I’m there.” He remarked pulling a pair of compression grenades off and hurling their primed forms over himself as he barreled through the door.” Don’t wait for me!”

“You got five before I’m coming back and rescue your sorry rump. Try not to die till then okay?” Thyde asked wryly as the First Atune kicked the door shut behind him protecting him from the destructive forces transforming the mob to jelly.

Through the room he’d entered was likely to be just as dangerous, originally a grand office for a corporation’s chief executor it had been built with spacious but cost effective manner with a sweeping window bank allowing the powerful Vizer of finance to gaze across kilometers of the identical skyline and revel in the undiluted power and buzz of commerce it represented. Now through the window was caked in dried blood and other offending material, the walls cracked and pitted as if by some supernaturally strong petulant toddler with iron links hacked into the cement ceiling dangling gold gilded cages too small for their occupants and fitted with stubby triangular steel points which would have cut each time the miserable beings inhaled. They hung dead now, peace at last found in their ravaged bodies, surrounding the corpulent being which had so delighted in their “songs” which draped its maggot like bulk over the crushed remains of the executor sized desk and other filthy rubbish it had smeared claiming the room as its own.

“Understood.” The Defender answered stopping before the obese hulk, eyeing the comparatively tiny form draped from one of its fat, bloated hands.” Out in three or…drinks are on me.”

“I’ll take that…three starting now and not a second more.” Thyde chuckled, showing strain from the passenger he carried running down the steps, as the immense seated being rose with a few starts and laborious air.

“Who dares interrupted Kor’ath the hungry?!” It bellowed not from the rows of dagger tooth lined jaw but from the “T” shaped gash across its forehead with puckered and undulated in sequence with it.

Hinting at the patronage of a noble Trader man or women to sire such a revolting, slug like fiend a notion which turned Killgore’s stomach. The parenthood of the other member of the forced coupling far more apparent and strong in its engorged living corpse, the six stunted hands ending in feathery fingertips sprouting not from the side but the underbelly of its elongated and bulbously round body. Shifting its prisoner around tucking her against the side of its ample and stretched leathery skin three of those hands went for a weapon each dangling from rotten cord and strands from its revolting form.

“I dare.” The Defender replied throwing a fitting pose for the hovering drones before charging the fat beast.

His targeter squealing a warbling cry in his ear and highlighting the power build up in the ray-pistol clenched in one boneless claw, a curious memento of an alien race whose golden radiance hurtled sluggishly from the weapon’s bore. Expanding heatless circles which none the less dissolved his armor and cloth where he grazed one dive away like water splashing against a rock face and dissolved a circle a man height in size through the room’s entrance with identical ease. Several more of the golden bands continued through gaping maw growing larger, if progressively thinner, removing the clutter of the compression grenades and shortly chunks of the room itself while the hybrid cursed clumsily swerving his potent weapon towards the sprinting figure even after the blond light had diffused. The gun itself humming a magnetic tune and through his targeter Killgore spied it channeling energy from its reserve for another destructive volley. Time neither being could wait for, the hybrid leader its second weapon revealing it as a flechette cannon. Belching a cloud of razor shards that would strip gristle from a man’s bones but fired too early, the gun’s barrel hacked far too short for anything but the closet of shots and spreading like an avian’s wings the nebula of laceration became a loose asteroid thicket for the diving First Atune, a few stray triangular chips sticking to his helmet or cutting red lines along his shoulder and back.

A back he reached around for as he rose and continued not to stem the blood or sooth the first inkling of stinging pain but to unhook the baton and extending it out while swinging it out blocking the mutant’s heavy bladed sword, sparks shooting off of the stunner’s metallic surface and pelting the Vraen manufactured weapon’s sliding across, and pushing it aside clearing his leap onto the moldy and rank flesh of the hybrid. Sinking his legs and knees into the putrid thing’s flesh, a horrible cross between porridge and septic, kneading and dragging his way up to its slobbering face. Then with a cam-droid flying behind the alien commander to capture Killgore’s facial expression and two behind him for the event itself drove the steel baton up through the thing’s eyesocket. Fat from decades of gorging, mucus from the ruptured eye and the brain itself sizzling like a skillet as the great beast convulsed once and with further protest titled backwards in less of a fall and more of his immense fat gushing out over the floor without his muscles holding it rigidly in place.

And through he had his frequency blocked since dropping in the city Killgore imagined he heard his manager scream a sigh of ecstasy at the execution and babble about a new line of action figures including the Sluggo-General. But that would wait, it had too. The Defender still having a job to do, and a beer bet to win. Pushing himself up he took a quick reading with his targeter sensors, spotted and snagged the energy pistol up from the dead alien’s plump fingers and dove towards the prisoner who had only just began to awaken to her torturer’s demise. Surprise and disbelief turning to incoherent fear as the First Atune violated her personal space, hands once more clutching for her raw and bleeding skin. Rebuking she shoved them away, reaching out towards the gore slick face ripping diagonal streaks across it seeking for the soft, wet popping of the eyes while tugging ineffectively at her tattered garments to cover herself.

“I’m First Atune Killgore and I’m here to rescue you!” He blurted grabbing her hand away from his face, throwing it back at her and despite her protest wrapping his around her and heaving her over his shoulder.” Now if you excuse me I don’t have time for pleasantries.”

Daring to glance back through the vaporized crater in the wall at the endless horde piling into the hall he balanced the struggling woman turning the ray-pistol towards the office window and fired a short burst from the powerful weapon. Releasing only a pair of the destructive rings, sprinting modestly after their expanding forms as they slowly flew. The first, reaching size to encompass a being of the Defender’s size, hitting the barrier of the crystalline glass and making the smeared blood, the window and part of its mooring vanish into the ether leaving the way open for the running man behind.

“Wha? What are you…WHY!!!!” His passenger screamed, regaining lucent speech remarkably quickly, in his ear realizing his intent.

“ Don’t know but it’s going to be fun!” He cried back in return planting one foot on the edge and propelling them out into the naked air alive with the scents of explosions and the whine of falling artillery.

The squat alleyway between the office building and its rival gazing up invitingly for a moment with all of its harsh and blunt angles but only long enough for the woman he carried to see it and momentarily tense as the prospect they sailed forth through what had a moment previously been a solid concrete wall. The First Atune dragging her off his shoulder onto his stomach as he flipped and skidded on the rough uncarpeted flooring standard in Trader buildings than spun up and over onto his knees and rose still carrying his passenger leaving the slobbering pursuing masses on the window edge squabbling lethally amongst themselves who’d take the first leap.

“Time! I’m out with thirty seconds to spare.” Killgore boasted locating with his targeter the nearest staircase and any obstacles between.” The beers are still on you but it’s going to take a second to get to the ground floor.

Extractum Gladius, Transit-

II.

Tramping down the rusting steps to the holding pens a trusty bottle in his hand Jor’ock sang a crude, blunt melody at escaping his champerons, laughing at their arrogance that they knew his ship better than he did. Some part of him, the part not drinking from the bottle, realized he’d merely delayed the reckoning slipping away from the two tin platted soldiers as they escorted him to his chambers but he ignored that part instead drowning it in Consortium rum to mix with the Cytherian whiskey he’d already had the pleasure of.

Around him, as he plodded from the stairs to an equally rusted deck plate, were the familiar mottled walls of his ship, the reassuring moans and creaks it made in motion blissfully letting him imagine they were merely piloting through realspace and the moaning racket of the slave-pens which painfully reminded he was in no such blessed state. Slaves tended to react negatively, more negative than Jor’ock himself, when first exposed to the transition, some became merely agitated feeling an unnaturalness which the captain could relate too while others could become violent. The proportions of this madness, which along with the mutation plague, were a new and unknown risk with every run of cargo and adding to the price of certain races such as the Enigmaticrons who in addition to their immense mental powers were notably susceptible to its influence. Thankfully they held no such cargo, having been close enough to the First Consul’s pet than he ever cared to repeat, merely the cheapest slaves available to legitimately pose as a freighter. A small Consortium colony found on a habitable moon not far from the First Consul’s domain.

Apparently it had been a religious sect through Jor’ock found it hard to believe in the monolithic Consoritum they’d allowed any breakage of faith away from the venerated ancestors they so coveted. And in the end their believe in some celestial figure, in mystic energies hadn’t spared them any more than the greater populace’s beliefs did from Vraen raids.

Singing along with their mournful cries he toasted them with his bottle, stumble between the creaking bulkheads, and tilted it back over his face vexingly treated not to a the sweet downpour he expected a faint drizzle which dried away. The captain’s eyes narrowing on the rim of the bottle’s lip where the last traces of the its contents puddled together into a solitary drop which he flicked his tongue out to catch.

“By the pit!” He cursed pitching the bottle to the floor afterwards, turning his head towards the direction of the prisoner’s howling.” Shut up you filthy whiners! Have a care you-“

Pausing in his groggy expletive as the fumes in his mind parted long enough for him to remember the nice drop of brew he’d stashed behind a panel in the restraint cabinet just outside the hold pens. Smacking the hard horned beak of his mouth together greedily in anticipation as he stumbled forward with renewed purpose, guided through the weaving and heaving passageway just as much by the pounding of the stirred up slaves as by memory. Reaching the holding area, and thankful for the loose bundles of cables messily strewn along its walls to anchor himself, just as something popped the lights overhead flaring to a brighter intensity and then faded into a darkness even blacker compared to the radiance of before.

Which didn’t impede his progress, instead it was a drone’s toolbox which cut at his shin and sent him stumble face first to the deck plate with a loud oath. More following as he rose up brushing his hand against one of the cages and jerking his hand away both because of the normal electrified current that ran through it and the slamming of an enraged slaves against the metallic mesh. The fool repeatedly running and hurling himself against the medium trying to force his way through with the sound of other footsteps joining him as they realized the shock-guard had been removed. All screaming gibberish mismatch of words and sounds as they did so which Jor’ock, pulling himself up along the far wall, realized wasn’t Consortium standard. Versed in it, the Trader languages, as well as a smattering of Cytherian none of which sounded remotely similar to the spiel of the infuriated slaves. Continuing on, after kicking the tool box for all the good it did, running a hand against the grim ridden wall as a guidance he walked past each of pens which thrashed and echoed with the unruly mobs within testing the bounds the Vraen had engineered to hold their quarry and found wanting each time.

“Shut it and get some sleep curs!” He grumbled at them nearing the center point where the cabinet would be.” When this is done you’ll be lucky if I don’t space all of you!”

His threat undercut by his foot sliding as he reached for the promised cabinet and he found himself falling forward grabbing at a running power cable and widening the seam torn through it with a burst of ionized light. The molten droplets of which sailed flitteringly down to Jor’ock and the surronding space smoldering in their death throws and casting an enfeeble light over the drone’s body clutching the burn-stick it had removed from the open cabinet to its torn chest. Its head missing entirely and from it seeped the slipper ichor the captain belatedly realized he’d crashed face first into.

“By the pit…” He mewled weakly with an acuity lacking seconds previously, pressing both hands in the flowing blood to push himself onto his knees and then to rise.

Feeling in his pounding heart the silence of the slaves, so insistent in their taunts and attack, who now stood in the darkness waiting, he could almost feel their eyes on him through the darkness. Could hear their steady breath rise in anticipation, turn to almost a gasp when as he turned part of the ceiling he’d passed under unnoticed in the dark detached in a swirl of long, fleshy tendrils and silently dropped in front of his trembling body.

The Vraen lacked a centralized religion and the manifold beliefs and superstitions abound across the breadth of their domain were not highly regarded or closely followed. Mere pale, ghostly flickers of previous civilizations the Vraen had encountered and absorbed in their long conquest of the spaceways and Jor’ock was a proud member of the majority sentiment. If he’d ever seen anything which could have been a devil it would have been the thing down in the pit. What raised its gangrene tentacles before him and yawned jagged mouths lined with yellowish teeth however could have been a greater demon in service to it.

“By the Matriarch…” He wheezed stepping back from the limbs which agonizingly slowly coiled about him catching the congealing blood of the drone and falling backwards onto the body.

The thing, patiently, oozing after him, its fleshy tendrils pushing it across the floor and grabbing at the wall and cables running across it turned itself towards him. The foul stench of its breath washing over the ship’s captain as it leaned its bulk towards him splitting open dozens of mouths to reveal toothed throats undulating eagerly for the taste of meat from which blasted something even more foul and loathsome than its rotten musk. Its voice.

“Watch my children…” It ordered in a voice wet like a bog and as heavy as lead delicately curling a tendril behind Jor’ock’s neck, having slide over the dead body and against the bulkhead itself, to drag him towards its many jaws.”… watch and remember…”

The slaves, pressing up against the restraining mesh to be as close to their cult leader as possible, watched indeed, spying through the darkness the cancerous lump of alien protomatter pause in its attack and swivel part of its bulging, sack like body towards the sounds of whining servos Jor’ock found upliftingly familiar. Shouting with joy as the first as the first high velocity slug tore through the moldy beast exiting with a hole bigger than the captain’s head, the alien’s mouths opening in a echoing scream as a second round exploded within it and it drooped backwards in a revolting heap of oozing smelly fluids and rotten green flesh. Its killer, each step sounding like a falling anvil, sprinting towards it and the captain who he regarded momentarily from behind his metallic faceguard.

“Recovered our package down by the slave pens…status alive…shots from engagement with some form of mutant alien…” The stern sounding chaperon radioed to his partner, kneeling over the alien’s corpse with a needle like speartip protruding from beneath his forearm.” Unidentified…attempting retrieval for gene-check and-“

Dropping the charade faster than Jor’ock could yelp at the change of fortune a tentacle become rigid once more locking around the armored titan’s wrist and pulling him down as the alien heaved its body up. Tens of dozens of tendrils wrapping around his arms and body as it squirmed, dragged and wiggled itself up over the solider and onto his armored plated back. Stretching open a jaw elastically as it prostrated itself over the bewildered man’s head and snapping it shut with a crunch of metal and bone like a spring trap.

“By the pit!” Jor’ock screamed holding an arm up to shield him from the spray as the thing jerked it’s body backwards revealing the shredded, gushing stump.

If only it had drowned out the alien’s own voice which spoke in reverberating tones from its countless mouths as it chewed and digested the grisly morsel.

“No…not that simpering pet you’ve trained…”The thing growled launching itself off of the slaughtered chaperon, whose computer controlled stabilizers kept his feet balanced and upright, after the huddling captain.”…you face a mere prophet…of the stargoddess…”

Landing the horror of teeth and whip-tendrils rushed forward blasting Jor’ock once more in its steaming, putrid breath as his hands grappled for anything to smash it away. Tightening around the pitted, rubbery insulation of the torn electrical cable and ramming the energized, copper strips within into the center of the thing’s mass. The air filling with a burning smell and god awful light which revealed the thing’s lumpy, green body in nightmarishly vivid detail as a connection was made from the active wiring to the metallic deck plate the thing crouched upon. The captain watching from his perch atop the dead drone the creature’s body lock in the embrace of death, its rubbery outer layer began to broil and turn brown. Withering away before the astonished Vraen’s eyes until it was nothing more than a murky wisp laying in the blood, smoke gently curling up from the emaciated remains. Dropping the cable on top of it, which smoked and sizzled, Jor’ock scrambled along to the wall finding the cabinet and the removable panel in its back extracting the tinted bottle he’d longed for in the first place. Unscrewing the lid he made off delicately through the darken corridor, away from the baying of the remaining slaves, drinking liberally from it towards light and the inherent security of the First Consul’s executioners.

[Admiral Breetai]

magnificent updates plotting by the primitive humans starpeople envy all around and the plotting and conspiring eh? i like the aliens think it's great! good job

keep it up

[Praeothmin]

So Breetai's got the awesome space battles, you have the furious ground battles and plotting...

I guess I'll go back to my slow moving sleeper then... :)

[Admiral Breetai]

So Breetai's got the awesome space battles, you have the furious ground battles and plotting...

I guess I'll go back to my slow moving sleeper then... :)

yours aint no sleeper pal, believe me I think you've inspired both of us at one point or another

[sonofccn]

magnificent updates plotting by the primitive humans starpeople envy all around and the plotting and conspiring eh?

Yeah, everyone is a plotting weasle it seems scheming for an angle. Except Captain Jackson, he just punches you in the face.

So Breetai's got the awesome space battles, you have the furious ground battles and plotting...

Glad you enjoy my insane ramblings and I concur Breetai's all shades of awesome.

I guess I'll go back to my slow moving sleeper then... :)

Dude you blown up basestars, had an all out comando strike on the Resurection ship lead by whom we're sure patenity tests will reveal as Khan's long lost son, your battle scenes are a thing of poetry, but the good kind which involves hurting bad people, and now your promising a little action from a certain silicon based acid bleeding extraterestial we all know and fear. That isn't sleep that's a catatonic state induced from adrenilan depletion. :)

[Praeothmin]

Breetai, I'd say your space battles are four kinds of awesome, and really put us into the heart of the situations...

sonofccn, I love your descriptions and your attention to details, and your political plotting...

What I love about both your Fanfics are the fact you mixed two universes, and you created original stories for them...
I like that a lot...

You also both inspire me, because I try to have both styles in my Fanfic, even though I dilute them both through my long exposures of set-ups... :)

[Admiral Breetai]

Breetai, I'd say your space battles are four kinds of awesome, and really put us into the heart of the situations...

thank you

sonofccn, I love your descriptions and your attention to details, and your political plotting...

yeah he does that better than either of us I think, then again I haven;t seen your plotting

You also both inspire me, because I try to have both styles in my Fanfic, even though I dilute them both through my long exposures of set-ups... :)

I don't think so you do yourself an disservice my friend your story - is very laid out very easy to follow where mine is very chaotic and Sonof writes as if he channels JRR Tolkien

]Yeah, everyone is a plotting weasle it seems scheming for an angle. Except Captain Jackson, he just punches you in the face.

him and Thanagar need to go out for some beers

Glad you enjoy my insane ramblings and I concur Breetai's all shades of awesome.[

I appreciate the compliments guys, still it would be awesome to have Krevin and his merry band of manipulative bastards have a go at Vi'retess

[

Dude you blown up basestars, had an all out comando strike on the Resurection ship lead by whom we're sure patenity tests will reveal as Khan's long lost son, your battle scenes are a thing of poetry, but the good kind which involves hurting bad people,

that was crowning moment of awesome the entire time I was reading that scene it played out in my head with "you got the touch" or that music from Amistad dry your tears Africa..right when the British blast that slave fortress right off the map and liberate the slaves?

yeah..that was in my head..i got a rush that was very good