Stealth Cruisers. A common, if unusual thing around Terra, and this one was no diffrent, being a drastically modified Dauntless class cruiser was doing a routine scouting patroll around the area where transports entered and exited terran space, this ship offically running as a merchant cruiser, rather than a warship, as its flags would show. Instead of being run by the heart of the Trantor military-industrial complex, this one was intended as a test of more civilian operations, managing smaller scale operations for the eventual reconstruction of the Hub orbital station.

"...So," a female voice said, as a log was started by an automated recording program, "It seems as if the transport schedule indicates something from the .. .UCON group should be making a jump at this point. Our mission is to simply track their progess through open space, and report back to Economist Smith... But before we do.." she stopped, as an image of one Motoko Attenborough appeared on a communication panel.

"Attenborough here on Terra, reporting that Terran space is stable and peaceful for now, but.. there are signs of something strange, the magical types, are reporting some sort of warning..."

"I have told you time and time again Attenborough, magical warnings and vauge ideas are not why we still keep you at the rank of Reserve Comodore... but the warning is noted, cousin."

The commonality between the two, both being part of the ZXGMAF line of androids was noted, as the command AI returned to her logs. It would be an intresting time to command a smaller vessel, even if it was unusually overarmed, with fighter craft, and various smaller scale M-type combat robots.

CNS High Grace, BSG-109
Squadron 62,
Maneuver Team Romeo




As the red planet spun below, the five-ship team from Squadron 62 appeared on an accelerated path through the gravity well. When the ship prepared to enter the field of the celestial body, the crew of the High Grace, a powerful Radegast class Battleship, prepared a structured interface among the four other vessels on the course with them; a pair of Roucart class Light Destroyers provided a broad flank 15km beyond the cluster of three ships to the rear. Another pair of Balius class Missile Cruisers protected the close sides of the Grace.

As a pair of Convector drones passed between the High Grace and the cruiser off her starboard, the CNS Ulysses’ Day, the Captain of the Grace watched the drones buzz through visual field of the vessel’s camera sights.
“All hands disengage, bring weapons to standby. Lieutenant Commander, prepare us for rendezvous.” The Captain ordered with a subtle voice, turning to an image flickering in the air and tapping at the digital interface of the High Grace’s powerful electronics array to broadcast to the remaining ships of the group.

“Ready for resupply, Commanders; we are in-system at final destination.” The Captain’s voice boomed through the team of ships as the Lieutenant Commander leaned on the railings of the walk-bridge.

“Prepare tactical drones for local survey, all marines to deck stations and scope crews in calibration.” The Lieutenant Commander issued his orders from a holographic image of the one kilometer starship. Located on topside of the command bridge in a recessed, armored bulwark of the hull, the technical crews of the high-powered quantum scope, an Enhanced Sub-Atomic Trigger microscope, began to mobilize as the order came down.

“Long Scope at minimum operation; drone launch at A-five.” The Ensign commander of the Grace’s weapons relayed from the crew pits on the lower floor. The bridge of the High Grace was a two-story capsule of hardened networking and capacity in the core of the ship. The Captain held onto the chair nailed to the flooring in front of him. The High Grace operated an advanced network of nearly 4,000 optically improved cameras to provide 360 visual confirmation. The airscreen situated at the front of the bridge deck relayed the patchwork of camera images in loops, while a combination of human and AI operators interpreted the information.

“Projection complete, navigation pathway active. Combined Vessel Group ahead at Saturn.”

As the Captain paced down the stairs in the minimum gravity of the bridge, the Lieutenant Commander began operating the basic jurisdiction of the vessel. Approaching the sealed bulkhead of the entryway and applying his information to a hologram at the controls of the door, the heavy bulkhead shrunk away into the walls to reveal the team of armed marines standing guard.

“Captain; MAG Echo eight is weapons hot. Ready for deployment.” The Marine commander, identified as a Lieutenant by his plating styling, saluted in the armored combat gear.

“Lieutenant, prepare to dispatch to the CVG. I want you deployed to the bodies with eyes open. Understood?” The Captain ordered, his boots sounding with his steps as he paced into the lengthy hallway along the center of the bridge deck.
“You have ten Arukas, fill your ranks from the Marine Group and scoot on out. Six ‘tols to the Carrier, four of you direct to Terra.”







CNS Stahl's Glory, ASG-95
Squadron 123,
Maneuver Team Ozark

The Assault Frigate Lebretov was on an armed patrol with the rest of the five-ship team on the farthest orbitals of Saturn. The Alachino class warships were a sleek, well-armed hull coupled with an advanced sensor and electronics sweet. Forward the main gun decks of the turret cannons, a cluster of modifications contained the magnetically-accelerated drone catapult used to field the Lebretov's 30 combat drones. Already, ten from each vessel were deployed; a patchwork of Convector and their class II heavy drone cousins patrolling an area of nearly 5 megameters with a precise-frequency searching formation. The vessels were scoping out the farthest reaches of the large facility that would soon supply the convoy with the logistical support it required. Behind the path of Team Ozark, the first large stations of the trade orbital began to move into place.

"Engineering, accelerate to full speed; thirty klicks." The Commander shouted through the bridge, turning to a camera view of the CNS Lightpark as it pulled closer in formation, the Lieutenant Commander relayed a broadcast from the Communications Unit below.

"Commander, we've got an extension from the Fleet -- kick the patrols to 2AUs."

The terminal darkened as Cortael removed his ID card from the slot, turning to survey the bridge of the Scathis, his scowl darkening. At least the lizards had modified the displays to be multilingual. He didn't think he could put up with reading their chicken-scratches all day.

It was at times like this, when he wasn't caught up in the hectic fury of battle, that he regretted his decision to turn on his brothers, and join the Oligarchy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, on the decks of the Star of Tirese, as they surrounded him and offered their ultimatum. He'd signed up, and after three months of violent mental evaluation, he had been determined to be useful in the modernization of the Oligarchy navy.

And now here he was, aboard an Orca class carrier, waiting to ambush a convoy packed with his former allies. Cortael's booted feet rang out as he shuffled across the bare deck-plates, frantically trying not to make eye-contact with any of the bridge crew. The ensign was still spooked by those predatory eyes, and the constantly salivating jaws.

He approached the gaudy command throne, averting his eyes from the sinuous form of the Captain. Cortael knew the dangers of looking upon the commander of the Scathis. The Vatakuec hissed down at him, scratching at the dried blood on the arms of the command throne. The Ensign winced as the implanted translator behind his left ear kicked in.

“What is the disposition of our forces, flesh-thing?” Again, Cortael winced, the colour dropping from his face. Insults of that calibre normally proceeded being snapped up like a chicken-leg, and torn limb-from-limb to feed the hungry bridge-crew, but as no clawed hand closed about his throat, he looked up to answer.

“High-Captain, I will present you the data-map.” Coretael made a brief gesture, darkening the already gloomy bridge, as the viewscreen flickered into life.

Through careful surveying of the system, the Oligarchy forces had determined that there were three viable FTL jump-points that the convoy could use to enter the system. These had been sown with a field of remote-detonated nuclear mines.

Lurking like sea-floor predators, in the intersection between these routes, was the Oligarchy raiding party. The Scathis had taken centre-field, ready to dispatch boarding craft as soon as the tankers were clear of the minefield. Flanking the Scathis, was the equally as massive Domitain, a Tiger-Shark class Heavy-Cruiser. Seated in the centre of the minefield, like a toad on a lily-pad, was the squat form of the Elector, a Minotaur class destroyer, a throwback to the old Confederacy fleet.

The Captain nodded, hissing away to himself, apparently satisfied. Cortael turned away, heading for the tactical terminal at the rear of the bridge. After logging in, he powered up the communications systems, and used one of the particle-arrays to send narrow-beam transmissions to both the Domitain and the Elector.

The message was a succinct account of how the ambush was going to run, from when the ordinance officers on the Elector blew the mines, to when the boarding crews should have control of the ship. They'd run dummy assaults several times before taking position, and it should go off without a hitch. Providing there were no surprises aboard the tankers.

After receiving brief responses from the tactical cadre aboard the other two vessels, Coretael settled back on his seat, unsnapping the clip on the holster containing his service pistol. He knew the Vatakuec were probably the least patient species in the galaxy, and if the convoy didn't turn up on time, he'd be first in the firing line. Cortael wanted to be ready to defend himself.

CNS Unfortunate Fortune, BSG -109
Squadron 62,
Maneuver Team Romeo
Portside Marine’s Quarters
.28 AU from Mars


“Of all the ships in UCON’s Navy…” Ramirez muttered, obviously frustrated at his position, as he disassembled his MR-24 for about the twelfth time since he got on the missile carrier. “I get stuck on the one that might as well be named ‘Yeah we’re going to die.’ This is why I hate space travel.”

With a sigh Ramirez set about reassembling his weapon. This sort of basic maintenance was soothing to him as it was simple and uncomplicated. Assembling his rifle was, to Ramirez, easier then trying to understand the basic systems of a ship’s engine. It let him feel as if he had complete control over whether or not his weapon fired, and that feeling put his mind at ease. As he put the final piece in place Ramirez sighed and set his rifle to his side. He looked around at the quarters he sat in. It wasn’t much, walls of gray, a few footlockers at the end of some cots. Ramirez sighed heavily again and attempted to distract himself. He remembered that the convoy would be stopping by Saturn for resupply before making their jump towards the Local Region. He could pick up a new vacuum capable helmet, although his choices would be limited. He’d have to stick with either the S94 or the S60, seeing as how he didn’t have time to order one from a private corporation. Ramirez sighed once more as he threw his body back against the cot and laid across the length of it.

“I got a bad feeling in my gut…” He muttered as he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to relax while he waited for the ship to dock at Saturn.

CNS Unfortunate Fortune, BSG -109
Squadron 62,
Maneuver Team Romeo
Portside Marine’s Quarters



"You think we'll see any action?" Eden's voice cracked through the com.
"Who knows, I'm not sure what side of fortune this ship is supposed to be on. Either way, make sure the first timers have their shit together. They are to be on combat alert from this point forward." Mayfield replied. "Inform me when the fleet confirms completion of resupply, we'll discuss drills when we set off. Until then everyone is to inspect weapons and gear." His boots clicked hard against the floor of the ships corridor as he walked.

"Rogers has already started inspections. I'll call you when we set a meeting for drills. Eden out."

Mayfield switched off the com and turned toward the marine quarters where his weapons had been stored. As he entered the room he noted a single soldier cleaning his firearm. Mayfield had seen the man on the log, former ODI First Sergeant currently employed as a merc, often under UCON pay, re-enlisting from what he understood. The man was reassembling an MR-24, the way he handled the weapon showed traces of the mans ODI past, Mayfield had seen it in the way every veteran cared for their weapon to some extent. The lieutenant walked to his locker and retrieved his rifle case, laying it across a cot and opening it to reveal his M92 and MR20 broken down and neatly tucked into padded compartments and a box marked with a strip of tape with the word "clean" scribbled across it. He retrieved the M92 and the "clean" box and closed the case.

"You must be Ramirez." He said as he sat down at the foot of a cot and began assembling his rifle, cleaning each piece as he went, sure that no unwanted speck was present before fitting pieces together.

Kronodo station,
Convoy 61





The forgery station attached to the massive starpipe elevator of the Kronodo station was operated by a small crew of technicians and an automated drone force. It housed the main nano-forge processing inlet for the station’s huge engines, and the powerful communications module that had a broadcasting perimeter of nearly three thousand light years.

In the interface complex, the command center of the Signal Booth churned out the orders coming from the Admirals of the Kronodo’s protection fleet. The combat patrols, numbering six on deployment in the outer region of the system, and the trio of Fleet Tenders dispatched the station to provide aid to the wounded behemoth looming over Terra and throughout the system.

“Long Night of Solace this is Station Broadcasting; your ship needs a navi-directional vector, home in on this comhar and follow the birdie. Prepare for a long cruise – you have fleet supplements inbound.”

The message was placed on a bursting frequency for fifteen minute intervals, while the leading vessel of the Maintenance Element Zeta, three Vanguard class Fleet Tenders began it’s acceleration away from the bulk of the station. The 200km network of locked hulls and large open decks forming a plate of habitable structures in the near orbit of Saturn. At the farthest section of the station, an area of the hull appeared to open in preparation for the incoming ship; to accommodate a Reverence II starship.





The navigation interface displayed an extensive graphed image of the route the initial construction vessels had taken from Point Kulokis in the Colonial Sphere. The fleet of a hundred and six starships had traversed thousands of lightyears, using postmarks set in over fifty star systems to navigate their way through the dense cluster of cosmic mass in the core of the galaxy. The Local Region was an exceptionally rich portion of Home; it's bounty nearing the Coalition yield in the Garden Zone. Across the journey a string of navigational probes were left in their wake, relaying the organic information of the solar system they were observing as the convoy completed it's objective in Sol.

"My suggestion will be following a similar path, though with variations from the information the probes are showing. This entire area has dozens of pocket clusters. Finding alternate routes could be difficult." The Captain of the CNS Tacit Complexion indicated with a stylus, marking a bright red line through the map. The Carrier Assault Group, of CAG, would be one of the modulated units escorting the first convoy from the Kronodo, through the Local Region and on to the Colonial Sphere. Beside the Captain, a stoic Oriyak crossed his arms over his chest and ran a hand to straighten the thin chest plate of the Scatterran uniform.

"Very well. You'll navigate your way to the Colonial Sphere. Identify locations of interest on your way. Captain Venkov, what is our tally of allied units?" The Admiral inquired, looking away from the hologram and to the Oriyak, who raised a hand to the image and interacted with the display.

"With the Aschen Reverence II accommodating a portion of the repair operations, her contingent will require another section for a brief refitting in unison." The Venkov replied as an image of the wounded Long Night of Solace blinked into life. The ship was limping away from the pull of Terra, the planet below possibly spared a catastrophic event if the ship had been simply abandoned. The Admiral furrowed his brow and looked back to the Oriyak.

"And this contingent, what is it?"

"Twelve operational Battlestars, with their group of singleships as well. It's no carrier group of Hurricanes, but the Battlestars are proven pathfinder vessels." Captain Venkov raised a finger up to the interface of an Aschen Battlestar. The Admiral observed the hologram with a subtle eye before readdressing the map.

"Alright, we'll prepare orders for the Sovrak vessel once it arrives on station. Captain Venkov, reclaim me those Battlestars and their crews, and put them to work; you are dismissed. You, of the Tacit Complexion," The Admiral disengaged the hologram device, the imagery of the Battlestars and the stretch of space station in Saturn's atmosphere disappearing in a brief blink of light.
"Assemble yourself a squadron of ships for the convoy. I want a complete Fleet Patrol in fifteen hours. There are more than enough soldiers in this system, Captain. You shouldn't have trouble."



CNS Unfortunate Fortune, BSG-109
Marine Captain Evan J. Winters, MAG


Peering into the cockpit of the Aruka, the camera screen showed the sleek hull of the Balius class Missile Cruiser passing underneath them. The Captain had rarely seen a cruiser as maintained as the Fortune; ahead of the structured bridge hull, the two large firing platforms of the ship's main armament were opened and armed. The average tonnage of nuclear ordinance a Balius carried measured into the teratons on armed deployment. The two Missile Cruisers forming the flank guards of the High Grace were a duo of nuclear armed harbingers.

"Ship carries enough hard core shit to stop a carrier. Guys that run these gotta' be a certain kinda' fucked, huh?" One of the pilots remarked over the cab-com, and Captain Winters turned away from the screen; addressing the fireteam of four MAG operators in the bay.

"One squad from each ship; ten techs, six combat. Fleet Patrol needs to report to the High Grace in six hours." Winters said, grabbing the clip of his helmet from a seat and raising the helm over his head. As the Aruka turned inward to meet the Fortune, the starboard vehicle bay was seen underneath the heavy armed missile platform. As the VTOL pulsed the heavy ion thrusters to better nudge itself within the large magnetic net of the vehicle bay, the Captain felt the presence of the ship grow before the first automated docking arm reached to claim the VTOL.

"Ship's under a Commander Jack Rennard, privateer from the Eastern Republics before going national." One of the marines shouted to the Captain as the Aruka was pressurized with an atmosphere. Removing his helmet after the cycle of hissing and sensor watching ended, Winter activated a hologram display on his arm terminal and reviewed a brief dossier file.

"All-Stars, huh? Never in short supply. We'll pull the list of civvies and the Marine Group and dice 'em up from there."

CNS Unfortunate Fortune, BSG-109
Squadron 62
Maneuver Team Romeo
Portside Marine’s Quarters

Ethan Ramirez ODI First Sergeant (Discharged)

Ramirez looked up as he felt the weight of another person fall upon his cot. He was not surprised to see that at his feet sat a soldier assembling what looked to be an AMHR-MR20 20mm firearm. A quick glance at the type 10 combat armor, the same archetype of armor that Ramirez himself wore, told him that this guy was UCON soldier. Further proof was that his armor met regulations standards and was pretty much standard issue as opposed to Ramirez’s stripped down/lightweight version. Sure it took away some of the protective capability, but it still did it’s job without weighing him down.

“It seems my reputation exceeds me.” Ramirez grinned in response to the other soldier’s statement. It was obvious through the soldier’s mannerisms and actions that he was an officer. Ramirez knew that the guy probably out ranked him, well his old rank. Technically he wasn’t a soldier yet, so the officer could take his chain of command shit and act out the world’s first self performed colonoscopy. “You got a name?” Ramirez asked as his head went back against the cot and he relaxed.

Tal'dor Union Reverence II Long Night of Solace First Reverence Carrier Group
Combat Information Center
Outer Terran Sector, Mars approach

Commander Johan Alessia was a stocky man, a veteran of various campaigns fought throughout Aschen history, the soft violet hue of the status screens in the ship's CIC Flickered on and off as a result of the damage, now that manual override was disengaged, the ship's AI handled most of the subroutines of flight, and the ship's minimal crew was hard at work flying a crippled super-ship towards Saturn.

The massive twenty-seven hulk of the Reverence II Continued to slowly inch it's way towards the outer planets of the system, with blue-plasma and ice crystals leaving a visible trail of debris and drift from behind the ship, for all intents and purposes it could come off as a comet sailing through the black void of space.

The AI Finally chimed in, once the Solace received the message from the Kronodo station, with her communication array systems in line, the female hologram appeared before Commander Alessia's eyes.

"Greetings Commander, I recently recieved a message from UCON's Kronodo station, a large command station in orbit above Saturn." The AI Explained allowing Alessia to reply with a brief pause.

"Alright then, Solace, patch it through on the speakers." He ordered, and the voice filled the CIC, with various lieutenants and technicians listening to the message and it's contents.

“Long Night of Solace this is Station Broadcasting; your ship needs a navi-directional vector, home in on this comhar and follow the birdie. Prepare for a long cruise – you have fleet supplements inbound.”

Alessia nodded and then turned to the AI. "I want an ETA And a reply pushed to the Coalition beacon, lock onto their comhar and proceed at speed."

"Very good, Commander, at our current speed of one hundred and thirty kilometrons per second, i calculate that we will arrive at Saturn in three-point-five sectons." She said, with Alessia nodding. "And we're at top speed? You've got to be kidding me, this ship can go faster than that."

"Commander, we are operating on three reactors, and two engines, we are at maximum safe speed, in it's current state, the ship is incapable of traveling any faster."

"Station Kronodo, this is the Long Night of Solace, declaring emergency protocol approach, My FTL Drives are offline, however my shipboard AI has pegged our arrival... three and a half sectons from now at sublight speeds... Unfortunately we can't go any faster, this ship is too badly damaged... I'll update you on any change in that estimate, additionally Long range DRADIS has pegged an outgoing convoy, you guys need some help?" Alessia asked, before he turned to the AI.

"I want three Battlestars prepared for deployment, and outbound, additionally I want a single Battlestar outbound for the Kronodo station." Alessia ordered, in which the AI Responded, forwarding the appropriate protocols.

---

Battlestar Maintenance and Deployment Bay

The massive cylindrical battlestar containment bay was suddenly actuated by the ship, the clunking of metal on metal, and the sounds of hydraulics seemed to fill the bay once the ships were crewed and prepared for deployment. Three ships were ordered crewed and readied for deployment. Upon massive docking clamps, they began the descent down into the deployment hangar bay, which was a gaping chasm in the aft section of the ship, towards the bottom. With a deafening clunk, and the familiar hiss of depressurization, the bay doors slid backwards to expose the blackness of space. Then the clamps released the first of three Support ships to descend into the black void of space, carefully, her commander maneuvered the ship out of the Reverence's hangar bay. Carefully the first ship eased it's way downwards and once it was clear of the hangar bay, it pushed it's engines and began to cruise forward, easily exceeding the speed the Reverence was going.

Two more Battlestars were deployed in the same method, forming up in a Delta formation, they proceeded forward, sure to be clear of the mothership before they engaged their FTL Drives.

---

Battlestar Yashuman, BSG-32 - 1st Reverence Carrier Group
Combat Information Center
Commander Frank Tenpenny

"Lieutenant, proceed at speed, push an outgoing transmission to the CNS High Grace." Tje Commander ordered, steadying himself at the railing of the tactical table, plotting the small plastic models before the crackle of the communication antennae in the fore section of the Yashuman engaged.

"CNS High Grace, this is the Battlestar Yashuman, copy confirm reception of transmission over..."

He awaited a reply, before broadcasting the second portion of his message.

"We've been dispatched by the Long Night of Solace to provide escort duty for the outgoing convoy, we're requesting orders." The Commander said on the radio, as the three Mercury class Battlestars pushed their speeds up to cruising speed, set to arrive near Mars and ultimately Saturn in under two hours.

"We also need coordinates and relay points to follow, I don't want anything going wrong, I want this to be a clean op, please advise.. over."

The stealth cruiser would drift into the main hyperspace lanes, its main engines gently pulsing with particles produced from the collision and annihilation of smaller particles, the old style antimatter still being used as a cheap way to produce high energy reactions, but this was a minor detail to the crew, the process old and typical science from the Elder Days.

The cruiser was armed with the usual weapons one would expect, various torpedo style weapons, beam weapons, and a small railgun array lined it up, the trade vessel unusually well armed for its nominal mission. The biggest part of its role was the hangar bay, where fighter craft, and unusually large, armored module like craft were being fueled and topped off, the starfighters meant for infra-atmospheric combat, and the armored modules meant for interstellar missions.

Trantor Crew Lounge, Stealth Cruiser ”High Stock Cap
Exiting Lunar Orbit
“So this is Terra..” the pilot stared at the quickly fading planet, the spaceship already having left Terran space for the interstellar regions. “I hope that this mission is peaceful..”

“Katerina” In the halls of the launch bay, a man with stunningly blue hair would bounce, the lower gravity of the launch decks apparent, “We have orders to launch, and prepare to have the boosters, we are going to escort this thing at true speed!”

“You have got to be kidding me. They want to have my mobile machine, and a glorified attack bus run escort? We have only 40 fighters, and 15 armored modules, 4 of which are half assembled, and they want us? I don't even know why we trust this contract, we could be at Gambits getting drunk...”

“And..” the woman with the pink hair retorted, “That costs money, and it is why, Tobias we have to do this. Besides if we do well, we get more contracts, we get more money and...”

“We get to drink the best of the best!” The two finished in unison, before seeming to stop, their normal bodies simply walking into storage units, their very minds transferred into the armored modules, the robots having a vaguely humanoid form, if the lack of legs, and stubby arm like attachments could be called humanoid.

The first one launched, armed with what appeared to be a sort of missile array, and some sort of connected energy weapons, and the usual collection of short range heavy armament for operations like this, as it assumed an escorting potion in the warp bubble of the starship. “Aligned with warp bubble, prepared for high speed transition. Cyberbody has been parked, brain is now in full control of Remote Systems...”

The second craft was more humanoid, its appearance most likened to a sort of dancer, armed with melee weapons, a legacy of the old wars again, “Remote drones connected here, battlefield command unit preparing for high speed transition,” Tobias would make the robot bow, before its form shifted to that of a wave-riding craft, “Standing by for jump to sublight speeds.”
Trantor Stealth Cruiser ”High Stock Cap
Enlisted Crew Quarters

“So you mean we are going to attempt to.. fix that..” The Cruiser was tiny, being only 600 meters long, compared to the super massive basestar, and situations like this showed that very well, “No, Petty officer, PFC, we WILL fix this, or I'm not the chief of this boat! I will show you all how we do things here in the mighty ranks of the Space Repair Force... from repairing on the True Homeworld to space..” The older chief would don his outer power armor, the massive suit over 3 meters in height, meant for this sort of operation. “And I will teach you new Sailors how to do that, Hoyah!” His motivation was clearly high, as the team would march, the lower enlisted donning their own suits before boarding a shuttle, prepared for repair operations. This was one advantage of having a mixed force crew, expertise from all the branches focused in one centralized platform.

Trantor Stealth Cruiser
Main Bridge ”High Stock Cap
Intra System Transfer
[1.5 light hours from Saturn-Near Mars Orbit]

"This is Independent Trading Vessel'"High Stock Cap,' making a request to Confederacy station for permission to conduct a fly through of the outer gas giants for refueling and navigational testing purposes, we will submit to any and all requested inspections as per TERRANAVCOMSPACEACT.2 and other related articles," the voice of the captain was designed, through the long Trantorain way, to be a calming and smooth voice, the female one chosen as the most likely to calm and prevent accidents, but this voice was managing another newer conversation.

"Attention incoming vessels," the voice said, this one a more quiet, almost unsure one,"This is the "High Stock Cap, requesting permission to launch repair craft, and escort your vessels to the run to Saturn. Reports of piracy amongst the Asteroid Regions have made trade vessels a target for attacks..." The vessel had launched its largest Armored Modules, and the captain was ready for her choice.

Being a mind was a hard life, chosen from thousands of biological and artificial persons, given training on starship operation, grafted to a modified cyberbody, and now directly attached to the systems controlling a cruiser... “It is hard being only 20, and having command..” she would speak, as much as any cybernetic being could. Captain Agatha of the 'High Stock Cap' was her title, but in her head, she was always the tactician, part of the Economists first classes, and now in the field...

“All Systems ready to go. Warp Bubble active. As soon as we receive clearance, we shall make the transition to STL. All Hands man battlestations, set condition FPCON Charlie until further notice.

Charlie had various drones deploy, yet only the 2 main Armored modules had launched, the rest of the vessels waiting for the FPCON to change to delta, the threat condition only requiring the launching of minimal force rather than the full launching of the entire ship's compliment.

“It is going to be a good day to be a Commander,” Agatha thought, her mind filling with the data collection abilities that the ship provided, “Lets make this a good safe Trantor day.”

CNS High Grace, BSG-109
MEV t456





The High Grace began plotting the last part of the navigation to the convoy assembly point when the Aschen supercarrier dispatched an element of three Battlestars. As the ships exited the inner system of the stars long reach, the trio of Fleet Tenders appeared beyond Mars and closed in towards the Solace, while the Aschen ships deployed were given a broad mission package to rally on the convoy with the High Grace. In the bridge deck of the battleship, the Captain turned away from the airscreen and returned the navigation of the ship over to the Lieutenant Commander and addressed the hologram interface of the mainframe terminal.

“Battlestar Yashuman welcome to Convoy 61; this a heavy vessel maneuver team on approach to the rally point. We’ll be linking up with a Carrier Group farther at the station where the Solace can put her feet up.” The Captain replied, his voice beaming to the Aschen starships as the entire team of ships engaged their sub-light velocities.
“The convoy route takes us straight through the Local Region. Plenty of surprises we won’t have a clue about. Once the Solace makes it into the station, we’ll be outbound.”

The Captain looked at a optical image from the ship’s ESAT telescope, the ship was brushing through the vacuum while the massive hull of the Solace loomed at a minute crawl. Turning around from the hologram, he peered over at the main airscreen, glancing over the Lieutenant Commander’s shoulder to see the hologram of the eight starships of the team moving toward a position at the far edges of Saturn.

“Battlestar deployments should prepare scouting expeditions; we’ll have a large vehicle force on this convoy, I think we can invest plenty in reconnaissance.” He said; his suggestion broadcasting to all the ship commanders of the team. As the commanding networks were interfaced, the Aschen ships were provided rough proxies to utilize on Coalition frequencies to coordinate with the Scatterran ships.




CNS Vatican Guard, CVG-334
Kronodo station
Convoy 61

Attached to the station by a complex network of large hull encasements and a horizontal elevator frame, the Excalibur class Fleet Carrier occupied portion of the heavy docking decks of the orbiting platform. From here is where the convoy’s direction, motivation and deployment would be directed; spanning 8 kilometers in length and capable of carrying a group of heavy fighters, interceptors and drones the Guard was to be the primary capital ship of the convoy.

Captain Judas Maybourne stood on the fourth level of the Vatican Guard’s bridge deck. Addressing his holographic interface, the Captain maneuvered through several audio connections until finding the video link to the loading and crew-adjustments of the fleet. On this convoy, nearly 4,000 civilians of multiple nationalities would be traveling on the transport vessels; a force of 6,000 private contractors from a pangalactic consultant known as OmniCorp was provided in comparison with the Navy marine force. Those Golden Legion mercenaries now gathered on the station were addressed in a section of the ship close to the docks supplying the Vatican and the heavy transports that would form the bulk of the trade convoy.

Patching through to the video feed, the image of a Scatterran station worker in a communications hub on the Kronodo flicked active before a Navy technician saluted to the video screen.

“Captain Maybourne, we are prepared for crewing. The transports are stocked; we can begin onloading the security personnel. We’re looking at about 300 contractors per ship.” The Master Chief replied from the communication hub, forwarding a projected file of the vessel’s organization before embarking. The Golden Legion mercenaries were parsed into small teams with a defensive structure across the 20 heavy transports.

Passing an image of the 10 kilometer superfreighters, Captain Maybourne addressed the Master Chief as he surveyed a camera of one of the freighter loading gangways.
“Alright then, Master Chief. Load the privateers up and prep the connections; direct the Golden Legion commanders to the Vatican and we’ll receive them. You have an operation time of ten hours.”

CNS Unfortunate Fortune, BSG -109
Squadron 62,
Maneuver Team Romeo
Portside Marine’s Quarters



"Lieutenant Mayfield." he replied casually. "I saw we had a former ODI on the log, decided I'd come extend an unofficial welcome from the corps." Mayfield looked over his rifle, deciding that he was content with his work he stood and leaned it against the wall carefully. Ramirez certainly had some non-ODI mannerisms about him. Mayfield could tell the man wasn't one to care for rank and file, at least not while he was contracted out to, and not a part of, the corps. He couldn't hold it against him, not being under orders was one of the perks of civilian life.

Another was non standard armor. The type 10 armor Ramirez wore was clearly modified, it lacked a certain bulk that the standard units had. Mayfield could recall a number of times when he had wished the type 10 was a bit lighter and more maneuverable, but he couldn't deny that the armor had saved his life of more than one occasion. Mayfield wondered what other civilian sector gear the man had. The ODI corps wasn't to stringent with what gear a soldier carried, if it helped them do the job commanders usually allowed it.

Retrieving his second rifle from the storage case Mayfield returned to his place to assemble it. "Read you lost an arm." He looked the man over quickly, "Seems you got a new one. What brings you back to UCON? Bionic limbs aren't cheap, you seem to be doing fairly well off if you can afford one. Or is this just another gig?"

CNS Vatican Guard,
Kronodo station
Convoy 61



As the last of the bulk transports answered the digital rollcall dispatched from the Vatican, Captain Maybourne monitored a holographic display as he waited in the command hub nestled beneath the bridge for the Golden Legion authority; besides a Corporal dispatched to receive the Legion commanders, a pair of marines were stationed at bulkheads in the hallway for reception. Beside the Captain, the marine guard stood on the flank of the door with weapon across his shoulder.

“We’ll have 25 ships just transporting … meaning even with all the defenses, we’ll still be lightly armed.” A Marine Major said, pointing a figure to a map of the 40 something vessels of the convoy spread in a loose horse-shoe over the station. With the Aschen Solace occupying a section of the Kronodo’s massive drydock facilities, the personnel of the station were already more than busy laying the groundwork for the Solace; the convoy had taken a backseat, and it was now Captain Maybourne in command of this operation.

“I don’t want any surprises. From anything, at all, Major. This whole trip will take a good three weeks, meaning we’ll be burning the wax on everyone. Don’t let national lines draw the rest schedules either, Major; you are in command of the personnel logistics of every ship in the convoy, Aschen, Taiyou, I don’t give a damn. They speak up you better damn well put a bullet in their head, because I’ll do it myself.” Maybourne grimaced in his speech, he was certainly apprehensive about taking on more than they were scheduled for. The more armed vessels, of course, the more ships could be used to guard the freighters; mobile vehicles like interceptors, reconnaissance craft and VTOL transports would be a requirement and a necessity in this operation; there was a force of nearly 2 battalions across the entire fleet, adding to the potency of the Navy vessels, in tandem with the private contractor force.

“Out of the system, we’ll need all eyes and ears open. Prep every hand with a weapon for zero-gravity detail. Those transports are a big distance to cover and we’ll need all hands on deck.”






CNS Unfortunate Fortune, CVG-334
56km approach to Kronodo station
Convoy 61


The forward marine station of the Fortune now housed the MAG team headed by Captain Winters. As he surveyed the first assembled platoon of the Fleet Patrol, Winters pointed to an interface terminal as a squad of marines prepared the crew armament of MR-18H LAWs.

“We’ve got ODI, ex-COLSOG and IB bumming on the ship; 40 hands ready to carry weapons in under an hour. Station approach still off for a few hours.” Lieutenant A.J. Matthews offered the Captain a computer tablet as the hull of the Fortune rumbled with a burst of the engines. Winters examined a portfolio of images along with a brief text interface.

“I want those Jumpers on their feet and in the forward station. What’s the personal gear on this ship station?” Captain Winters shouted to a Sergeant, tending to a stack of MR-18s outfitted with an underbarrel repeating shotgun, the K modification.

“We’ve got twenty carbines and Ks, not seeing many PDWs. There are sixty EO packages, outfit a few squads from that.” The Sergeant called back, pointing a Private to a workbench housing an HMR-5.

“Saller found a pair of Heavy-fives that were undergoing maintenance. We’ll get those working in ten minutes.”

“Carry on Sergeant, get it done fast. Matthews, you’ve got thirty minutes to get to the bridge and request our personnel. Prioritize ten take what you need.” Winters commanded, laying the tablet on a stack of ordinance.

“Affirmative, Captain. Corporal, ready this ordinance and give me an element. Put us an appointment on the bridge.” The Lieutenant confirmed with a salute before departing with three other marines. Tasked with an extensive list of personnel to redeploy to the Fleet Patrol, several names of ODI operators and marines of the Fortune would be summoned to the forward mission deck of the Missile Cruiser with a full weapons assembly.


“Command; this is Winters, sitrep?” The Captain inquired into his headset, feeling the slight angle of projection the ship was on its approach to the station at the gas giant. As the Commander of the Fortune keyed into the communication network, Winters felt the dull rumble of the ship from the engines located a few hundred meters back.