Iridosis Station

Adriana
Aboard the F.S.S. Salient
Day One

Adriana slid out from the inner workings of the Salient's experimental particle cannon. The great hulking monster was one of her projects- she had designed it and contributed to its building. Only contributed because it was far too large for one person to build in any reasonable length of time. The cannon spanned the length of the ship and packed enough punch to break apart a ship of the same size, if not the ship it was mounted in. And some idiot on the bridge had fired it without even considering that the latter may well happen if they weren't careful. Fortunately the enemy had taken much more damage, but the cannon wasn't exactly in good shape afterwards. Adriana had been fixing the cannon for the entire duration of the FTL jump, about two weeks. She finished just in time to arrive at Iridosis and tell the workers to stay away from her territory.

Adriana threw down her wrench and walked away. Her mood was foul and had only grown more so as she continued to work on someone else's mistake. It had kept her from her research and experiments long enough, now she could get back to her life and stop wasting ammunition shooting things in the barracks. But first, a break. She had been working for six hours trying to get the last details finished up.

When she came to the mess hall, she found it packed. She was mildly surprised until she remembered that the ship had just docked. Most everybody on the ship would be leaving, very soon. One more rest, and those who hadn't taken off already would be heading out. But not far. The memorial service for the soldiers lost to Silver Eyes would be the next day. Once that was finished, the mission would begin.

Adriana inserted herself into one of the rare open spaces, and the conversation at the table dropped in volume. The look on her face spoke volumes about her mood. The soldiers aboard the Salient knew of her temper- she took out all her anger and frustration in the training areas. Quite a few of them were afraid of her. And that was just the way she liked it. She was content, until a bridge officer sat down at the table.

Clyde
The Salient's Mess Hall

Clyde eventually made his way to the mess hall, and as he turned the corner he groaned. It was packed. "This is not going to help my head..." He found a seat after a little searching. The last one at the table, with four soldiers and a surly looking woman with dark oil stains on her face, probably a mechanic. He pressed some buttons on the auto-chef machine, not really caring what. When his food was dispensed, he raised an eyebrow at the mess, but started eating it anyway.

The topic of discussion was the big battle against Silver Eyes. Normally soldiers would boast of their battles, certainly, but it had been weeks since then. The only reason it was still relevant was because absolutely nothing else had happened since then. At least, nothing that required serious firepower. The four had all been pilots in the battle, and they were throwing around battle statistics like it would earn them some personal fame.
"I took down fourteen fighters!"
"I never turned off my forward thrusters the entire time."
"Yeah, Well I took down sixteen fighters!"
Then one of the pilots said flatly, "Thirty-five." The other pilots stopped talking and stared at him.
"What did you say, Owens?"
"Thirty-five ships," the man answered. The table became much less boisterous after that. One of the others cleared his throat and turned to Clyde.
"What about you, new guy? What were you up to during the battle?"
Clyde was the navigator. He had been driving the Salient, and with his spare processing power plotting motions paths through the giant debris field that had probably saved all four of these men's lives. As an afterthought, he remembered the particle cannon. He had fired it twice, once to cripple a large pirate vessel that was later boarded, and once through the most dense cloud of fighters. "I destroyed Eighty-nine fighters and saved all your asses," he said with as much haughtiness as he could muster. The table burst out laughing. Even Ray hadn't taken that many out, and he died in the process.
The pilot wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "No really, kid. What did you do?"
Clyde had a brief flash of anger, but he knew that he sounded ridiculous. It was the kid part that rankled him. "I fired the ship's main cannon through the cloud of fighters. If the damn mechanics had been able to keep up with the battle, I would've taken out a lot more than that."
All at once, the table was dead silent. All the pilots studiously examined their trays of food.
"What did you say?" The woman asked innocently.
Clyde appraised her with a critical eye. He wasn't impressed- he could do better in his sleep. He HAD done better in his sleep, but that's a story for another time. A voice somewhere in his head told him to shut up and walk away immediately, but he ignored it. "I have the highest kill count on the ship, and if it weren't for the stupid mechanics, it would be twice as high as anybody else's." Clyde gave a self satisfied grin.

Adriana put down her silverware and meshed her fingers together under her chin. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.
Clyde began to answer immediately without any thought. The files rushed into his mind from the ship's database. "Adriana Stark, the head of the Salient's science corps. You built and run the particle ... cannon.... And..... You have..." Clyde slowed down as he read the file, the color draining from his face as he saw her battle statistics and unresolved anger issues marked by past military psychologists. "The highest accuracy rating on the ship," he finished.

The two stared at each other for a solid five seconds.

Clyde
Mess Hall

Clyde probably could have continued eating- his food lay cooling on the table where he almost received a thorough ass kicking. His heading was ruining his appetite, though, so he stared at the table surface in front of him. He didn't know exactly how long he sat there. His mind seemed blank, and everything was fuzzy, as if there were a cellophane bag over his head. He heard Hyena speak, and he nodded along. Nothing sounded objectionable to Clyde.
He shook his head vigorously. His first somewhat clear thoughts after the last mental thunder came to him. ... Am I okay? The implant... Clyde realized he had been spacing out.

She chuckles lightly, jabbing a leftover scrap with a fork before peering at him closer with that unblinking stare, "You alright? You look like she still managed to pummel you for a round or two."

"She might have. If looks could kill, I would've died five times over," Clyde said, with a forced grin. He slapped his hands on the table and pushed off to stand. "I think... I need to go to the med bay... My head isn't on straight." Clyde began to weave his way out of the Mess Hall, feeling a lot more unsteady than he actually was.

The House of Clubs, Iridosis Station, Redlight District
Day One

People come, and people go. That is how it is with living one's life on a space station. Especially one that also doubles as a colony in space. Trading... commercial enterprise... Federation supplies and personnel... even controlled substances make it onboard, despite the tight security. If something has to reach someone that's anywhere in the system, it has to go through this particular station.

And then, there's the Red Light District.

The nightclub, known by all as The House of Clubs, was always burning with energy from the never-ending supply of visitors to the station. Located deep in the heart of the entertainment level of Iridonis Station, informally known as the Redlight District, the club has a dual purpose. Not only is it the largest club and source of entertainment on the station, but as the name implies, it serves as a hub for the members of the Shuffle Vanguard Pirates. Even though it was owned by pirates, it was regarded as a neutral zone for all, and the SVP has fought many a times to keep it that way.

Inside, everything was alive, the movement of the crowds matched that of the music. The lights pulsed along with the beat, the walls barely holding back the flow of power from the speakers. Deep shades of blue and purple blasted against the walls, holding the same tempo as the lighting, followed by the never-stopping beams of neon green and pink. The atmosphere was heavy with sweat and alcohol, and periodically, a slight fog would roll through the crowds, amplifying the light show, as well as removing most traces of alcohol and chemicals from the atmosphere.

Cydus had been watching the crowds from the VIP observation chamber high above the dance floor, behind a mirrored window that had appeared to blend with the mirrored ceiling, as well as leaning on a set of rails. The room itself served another purpose as well. Despite being the VIP room, it also served as one of the command centers for the clandestine organization. The central table, a circular piece of red eye-candy compared to the dominating purple walls, was large enough to host a small card game between five or six people, though it was also a holographic port for the group's AI and communication links.

While he was observing the crowd below, a small group of people of seven were behind him in the same room. Three of these people, two females and one male, were playing a game of strip poker, and the game had progressed somewhat between them. The other four were sitting in one of the two "pimp" couches, both in the similar hue of red as the table. Three of these four were strippers, doing their thing with their client, a fair-skinned gentleman that appeared to be in his mid-thirties.

"I want to know why we never see you without that suit, Cydus."

Cydus had ignored the group, each a member of the SVP, specifically each a member of the Clubs, and expert in weapons and demolitions respectively, until when the elder gentleman spoke to him. Pushing himself from the rails, Cydus turned to look at the gentleman, who was being "serviced" by the strippers and their... particular attention. They weren't hookers, that's for damn sure.

"Well, Lester, you know that my suit serves as my public identity for our occupation-"

He was interrupted by a sudden monotone female voice, the voice that belonged to the pirate group's AI known as Seras, a green holographic female body forming above the table, interrupting the poker game as well.

As you instructed to be informed, a Federation cruiser known as the Salient has docked with the station on schedule. What is your command?

Ignoring the AI's interruption, Cydus continued. "And you know that I keep my personal and professional lives separate. Now, Seras, I want you to transmit a hailing message to the captain, only voice recording. Message is the following: This is the Ace of Diamonds. If you wish to continue negotiate the terms of our contract on the Federation's behalf, I ask for you to send a messenger to speak with us at the House of Clubs on the entertainment level of Iridosis Station. While it is recommended to speak face-to-face to us yourself, I do understand that you are dealing with pirates, and you should have safety precautions in mind. Please note, however, that we will provide an expanded safety escort for the messenger."

Message has successfully transmitted. Anything Else?

Cydus turned back around to resume observing the crowd below. "No, that is all, Seras."

The House of Clubs, The Redlight District

The room was dark, with the exception of the shifting lights flashing outside on the dancefloor, and the single lamp which hung from the ceiling. A mirrored window sealed off their meeting space from the outside, the material did not block out the flashing lights or the smoke effects, but they kept out the latest aura of techno music better than the Federation agents expected.

The two of them sat calm and collected, in the midst of a group of pirates. They were civilized at least, the pirates, seeing as this was an elite outfit that was worth the attention of the Federation. The two agents were told to be on their best behavior, and to sign a deal with the pirates that wouldn't give them too much leeway. Although they personally objected to this, it wasn't their job to ask any questions. Their job was to sign the deal and get on with business.

It was their duty.

At some point though, they realized that the situation must have been desperate for them to rely on mercenaries to handle some backwater insurgents. But...how could it be? The Federation Armed Forces was at full standing capacity. If they sent a fifth of the Sol Defense Fleet, or perhaps even a third of the Eris V garrison fleet, it would have been enough to destroy these insurgents. Unfortunately, the two agents did not have accurate numbers of insurgent troop strengths, and the reports gathered by FIS was only slightly better. This was among the reasons why they chose to strike a deal with the Shuffle Vanguard Pirates, they weren't just mercenaries, but also information brokers, and information brokers were only in business if they had information.

Two of the pirates were wrapped around some prostitutes, while the other one covered entirely inside his personal battlesuit. They assumed the man in the suit, who was not with any women, was the man calling the shots, seeing as how he was there for business and not a lap dance.

"Alright, so how do you guys want to do this?" the man on the left spoke up first, addressing the pirates. He was known as Glass, and the man on the left, who seemed a bit more cordial at least, was known as Sand.

Sand took a swig from his glass that was set on the round, red table, the transparent pink liquid went down.

"What my friend means is..." Sand gave a small glance to Glass, "Let's begin."

"We know you guys operate on a take what you find basis, and we're comfortable with that." Sand added.

(Co-written with R.T.M.X.)

The House of Clubs, Redlight District

The two FIS agents looked at each other, they didn't exchange any words, but they each held the same thoughts, though.

Glass snorted through his nostrils nonchalantly, "Rules two and three will be easy if we just follow rule number three," he paused.

"The problem we've got is, our superiors didn't mention anything about you guys using our weaponry and equipment, don't even talk about our communication systems. On top of that, we were told that you were putting up your services for six hundred thousand, not seven. So my first question is, what's going on?"

Sand sat there eyeing everyone prudently and studiously, trying to absorb all the little details that he could. The "Ace of Diamonds" though, was one that he couldn't read, because he was sealed inside a suit. The suit made him look imposing, but Sand simply glanced around.

"If we may, we'd like to step out and talk to our superiors a bit on this, and maybe they'll shed some light on our situation. If that's alright with you gentlemen?" Sand spoke up.

Glass turned to his colleague, nodding in affirmation at the request.

The pirate understood the request, and quickly offered to connect them to their superiors from the club. "This is a place of neutral hospitality. My operatives can leave the room as you can use our AI to connect to your captain. Secured channel, with encryption codes that you two can set yourselves. As for the raise, the extra hundred is awarded if, or rather I should say when, we bring the target alive. The six hundred is if he's dead." He had said, keeping a poker face of sorts over his voice, while indirectly ordering the others to leave the room.

The other pirates had quickly picked up on what he was meaning, and were seen calmly evacuating the lounge.

"As for the record, we aren't going to be using your equipment. The Insurgency..." The pirate paused slightly before continuing, "... and the other pirates will be expecting you to be using standard Federation equipment, and should already be readying themselves against such. We'll simply... enhance your equipment to throw them from their game."

"Actually, we're not referring to the ship captain, we meant our superiors at the F.I.S." Sand replied, "But thank you for the accomodations."

"Very well. If you wish to continue with negotiations, then you know where to find us." The Ace of Diamonds had responded to the two agents, holding up the enigmatic aura that surrounded him.

Sand nodded, while Glass approached the circular table and immediately plugged in his comm device. From there the table's holographic panels slid into presence and immediately hummed to life. The white lights began to flicker as they struggled to retain a constant unfading projection. Finally the lights managed to stabilize, and Admiral Fontaine appeared on screen.

"Status report," the Admiral asked.

"The Ace of Diamonds has said that he will be offering his services for six hundred grand if the Lord of Liberty is dead, or seven hundred if he is to be brought alive. Also, the pirates will require the use of Federation equipment? We wanted to clarify if those were the original details of the contract, Admiral."

"Yes, those were the conditions. What did he say?"

"He had several of his own conditions. One of which is full pardon for any Federation deaths by his hand." Glass stated dryly.

Fontaine rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowed.

"Very well, go on."

"But sir, what about the stealth teams?"

"I will send a message to them to stand down in face of the SVP."

"But sir..."

"Enough. There is a deal to be made. Do you understand, operative?"

"Yes sir." The communique closed, as the lights vaporized. Glass turned to the Ace of Diamonds, and nodded.

F.S.S. Salient
Day Two

Aronimus stood at a balcony in a firing deck of the Salient. He had received some minor message from Max, referring to some new A.I. The Admiral thought about it once, perhaps he was referring to the T.A.U., or A.D.A.M. However, his mind was too focused on the current occasion to worry about it. He was overlooking various sorts of personnel dressed in their formal apparel.

This was no banquet or honorary ball of sorts, no, it had no festivities to it. It was a day of solemn reminder and respect. It was a day of mourning. The marines, the sailors, and the non-military personnel came to pay their respects to the deceased and the people who gave their lives so they could stand there that day. For the admiral, he had seen many of these funerals over the course of his career.

But he'd never gotten tired or weary of them. He had worried that should he ever lose sympathy for fallen soldiers, he would become another Aronimus Weston who was alien to him. That was something that he would not allow to happen, despite the fact that he prided himself on his partially rigid adherence to reasoning and the military code of conduct.

They were gathered in the firing decks of the Salient, canisters filled with the ashes of the fallen were loaded into tubes and prepared for ejection into space. Long black banners were hung from the bay's overhead gantries.

It was time.

The Admiral made his entrance onto the platform overlooking the firing deck, positioned behind the soldiers, as they watched the tubes beings loaded into the launch tubes.

One of the master chiefs spoke aloud, "Honors...ten hut!"

As Aronimus spoke, the speakers carried his voice not just around the entire bay, but throughout the ship to crew-members who could not attend the ceremony.

"We must never forget the actions of fellow servicemen and women," Aronimus said, "Liberty, is a privilege, not a right. It must be fought for, and defended, everyday. Not an inch of ground must be given to those who oppose it."

"These men and women gave the ultimate sacrifice, and in doing so," Aronimus paused, "They will ensure the continued survival of our Federation. They are not just soldiers, they are heroes now."

The deck remained silent, as the marine band played the anthem, and the guards gave their gun salute for all who perished. Outside of the ship, fighter wings who had lost men flew in a "missing man" formation.

"Honor. Duty. Sacrifice. These are what make soldiers. Death will never diminish these traits within these fallen heroes."

The hatches opened and the tubes were ejected into the silence of the void.

Aronimus took off his cap and placed it upon his heart and closed his eyes for a very long time.

F.S.S. Salient

Day Two

The Admiral sat in his command seat on the bridge, observing the station's repair crews at work via exterior cameras. The bridge crew for the most part were running system checks, a task usually left to the A.I. About half of the bridge crew was gone on break, the remainder were knucklehead and try-hards who were eager to impress. Aronimus nodded, he expected as much from men and women who wanted to get a leg up. Merit, he warranted, should be the manner by which one rises in this world, not by rubbing elbows or scratching backs. However, that was just a pipe-dream reflecting an ideal world, he was in a less-than-ideal world, and he had to live with that.

"Officer Hansen, has Iridosis sent any updates on the Salient's status?"

The scotsman with his copper beard turned around and replied with his broken accent that was a mix of Scottish and Standard English. It was odd to hear him talk, but the Admiral paid attention to his words and not his voice.

"They said that the hull has received extensive damage. Reactors are at 35% and the chemical thrusters are in need of repairs.The upper decks are in critical condition and are receiving the first of the repairs. The plates on the lower decks are ripping apart as we speak," Hansen paused then continued.

"They said they'll have to completely remove the plates on the lower deck and replace them with refurbished pieces or wait for a shipment of neo-steel to arrive."

"From where and how long?"

"From Trangelis in approximately two Trangelis solar cycles, so two days time."

The admiral paused to think, at the moment the Salient would be of no use to anyone, it could only serve as a command ship. He should probably assign his secondary command elements to parley with TF-172's commanders.

"Very well. Get me on the comm system." Hansen tapped some keys on his screen.

"This is Admiral Weston to bridge crew, Lieutenant Commander Chen, Commander Dunaway, and anyone from the rank Captain and up is to meet me in my personal quarters at approximately 1400 hours for a briefing. Weston out."

The admiral reclined a bit in his chair, there wasn't really much an admiral could do with a ship in the yard.