Exogarden Forces's Story

The running gunfight that had brought Alpha 2-1 out to the Governor’s Mansion put fire deep into Solomon’s veins, him and his marines chasing the retreating fighters out of the city and into the muddy slums on the port’s outskirts. As Solomon and his squad of twelve made their way onto the street, the radios squawked on as the roaring engines of an Annihilator were soon heard in the distance.

“Alpha 2-1 this is Rampage Actual, I’ve got white/black scopes on a structure due north-west, keep your distance. Gonna’ put some ordnance in there.”

Solomon immediately took cover nearby a shack, waving his marines back into cover as well. Crouching down and propping his short-barrel G4KS on the wall, he studied the structure up ahead. It looked to be a commercial building, two stories with a small restaurant on the ground floor. Staff Sergeant Duncan took position behind him, leaned up against the wall as he waited for Solomon’s confirmation. When the Commander nodded, Duncan pinched the comm-strip wrapped around his throat.




There was a passing quiet moment as the engines thrummed, then followed with the shump-shump of a distant cannon in the air. A pair of 37mm shells slammed into the structure, the first one impacted the sidewalk and spraying dusted concrete, while the second punched through the second story, exploding with a loud crack as it set off a cache of ammunition hidden within.


As the flowering explosion threw bits of rubble and flaming debris onto the street below, the Annihilator passed in a lazy circle overhead, jets screeching. Onboard, Lieutenant Stanford and Commander Lyndon were scoping out the wreckage of their strike, Stanford turning the Annihilator’s high powered sensors down onto the ruined building below. A few moments later, the comms-bead in Solomon’s ear crackled. “This is Actual, nothing’s alive down there. You boys are cleared to move, Alpha 2-1. In overwatch.”

With that, Solomon rallied his marines and struck onward, winding their way up the streets and through the slums. As they neared the outskirts of the city they encountered a roadblock, two sets of parked cars lined across the street while at least a dozen gunmen waited for them. Solomon, Duncan and two other marines had barely made it into cover at another street shop before they opened fire, bullets pockmarking the street and walls as they made it into cover.

“We’ve got contact, we’ve got contact! Roadblock up ahead!” Corporal Matties shouted into his headset, shrinking back into cover as bullets impacted mere inches from his head. Peeling around the corner, he shouldered his G4K1 and let a burst of fire off towards the fortifications.



After the radio squeaked, Solomon threw up a hand and made a long wave. “They’re hitting the roadblock with a swarm, heads down!” He barked, reaching out to pull the Corporal back into cover before the first of the micromissiles slammed into the roadblock. There was a dull foomph when the first microdrone exploded, the small missile exploding in a shower of shrapnel and pressure. In the next few seconds, a dozen more small explosions rang out across the roadblock, Mk. 11 Plumata micro-diameter missiles peppering any targets scoped from the Annihilator above.

When the smoke finally cleared, Solomon sent the Corporal and another marine out first. The two slowly advanced from their cover, weapons at the ready, with Corporal Matties at the rear on the comms. “Holy shit Rampage. Talk about mulching the garden.” Matties remarked into his earpiece, reaching a hand up to the marine’s shoulder before him.



Solomon and the rest of the squad advanced after receiving a brief signal from Matties and the other marine at the roadblock. Picking his way through, Solomon made it a point to ignore the mess. Leveraging his way over the hood of a car though, his arm slipped in a murky puddle of blood that had been sprayed when a micromissile went off directly near a man’s torso. His chest hit the hood with a dull thud and then he slipped off onto the street, knees slamming into what was left of the gunfighter with a sickening crunch.

“God, fuck!” Solomon barked, before he felt the gloved hand of Sergeant Duncan tugging at him. Fortunately Solomon couldn’t see his face, but he imagined the sort of smile the man wore as he pulled his commander up.

“Watch the step there, Commander.” Duncan replied bluntly, stifling the chuckle in his throat as Solomon got onto his feet and through the rest of the barricade. Solomon clambered over the last and dropped onto the street with a huff, promptly bringing his rifle to bear. As he surveyed the road ahead, his eyes narrowed on a small street winding up a hill towards the Governor’s Mansion, a large colonial structure perched above the city below.

“Alright boys, there’s objective Charlie. What’re we looking like on ammo?” Solomon asked, glancing over his shoulder to Corporal Matties and his fireteam, then to Sergeant Duncan’s. The marines all quietly checked their weapons and magazines; seven rifles, two machineguns and two sniper rifles between all of them.

“We’re green, Commander.” Duncan responded, adjusting the wire stock of his own MP-24. Smaller and lighter than the G4 rifles the rest of the marines carried, Duncan had always preferred the more maneuverable machine carbine in 9x20mm to the heavier, 7.9x59mm battle rifles widely issued to the ALIRBAD.

With that, Solomon gave a soft nod before advancing at the head of his squad. As they made their way up the road to the entrance of the mansion, Rampage Actual was still looming overhead, engines roaring when the Annihilator banked a lazy turn over the sprawling structures.



Somewhere on the lawn of the mansion there was another dull crack of a weapon, this time quite a large gun. Solomon could even see the harsh flash-trail of the anti-air cannon as it fired, bright red streaks tearing through the air and past the Annihilator. One of them finally struck the gunship, along the rear of the fuselage, making a sound of rending metal as the Annihilator shuddered and then billowed out a deep, choking black mass of smoke.



As soon as the Annihilator had turned and begun to pulse away, still followed by an angry trail of gunfire, Solomon and the marines broke into a sprint up the road to the front fences of the mansion. Then, just as they reached the fences, Alpha 2-1 was raked with gunfire from the windows and balconies, the lawn a beehive of activity. Solomon and four marines took cover immediately by the front gate, using the large stone pillars as cover from the harsh gunfire.

That wasn’t the only surprise though. Peering over his cover, Solomon realized not everyone running around the lawn or in and out of the mansion was armed. A few of them even seemed to be garbed in lab coats and hazmat suits, hurriedly working back and forth and in between the armed gunfighters that were obviously protecting something.

“Duncan, you seeing this shit?” Solomon hollered out, planting his back against the pillar of stone as he folded back into cover, Matties beside him draining half a magazine into the fighters for covering fire.

“Yeah! You seein’ little blokes in haz gear and lab coats?!” Duncan replied with a shout, several of the other marines calling out while exchanging fire with the fighters.

"Whatever they've got here it's somethin' worth fightin' for! They're dug in with a fuckin' 37 millimeter!" Another marine shouted, ducking down back into cover just as a string of machinegun rounds impacted over his head. Solomon left out a grunt as he pulled his JEMI short-band free from his voice, soon keying into the comms. "Marines! Shoot us a way into that god damn mansion! Pasters, Rattaglio, lay down some fire!" He commanded, and the two marines quickly set about their orders. Positioned on either end of the marine position, their two SAW-429s rattled away in deadly scythes of machinegun fire. After he barked into the radio, Solomon then folded his rifle up into his chest, throwing hand signs with his free arm.

Solomon then smacked Matties on the shoulder, pointing at the locked gate. The Corporal practically read his mind, soon standing up and putting two rounds through the lock with his rifle. Next, he shoved it open, filtering in behind another marine while Duncan and his fireteam simply blew a hole in the fence with a breaching charge.

Routing the gunfighters from the lawn was easy enough, the marines advancing under cover of their machinegunners until a pair of three had reached the front patio. Making their way quickly up the stairs, one of the marines promptly sent a boot into the door while his comrade threw a stun grenade through the opening.

“Staff Sergeant, you keep a fireteam and secure the lawn! I’m going in!” Solomon barked, rapidly following up to stack behind the three marines even as Duncan and the rest of the squad were hoofing their way across the lawn. Duncan was just about to stop the Commander before gunfire erupted from a small fighting pit dug in the lawn, catching one running marine in the leg and dropping him onto the floor.

Duncan spun, dropping to his knee and then bathing the foxhole in a hail of 9mm rounds from his machine carbine. “Sonuvabitch! Stentlon’s hit! Watch your perimeter!” Duncan bellowed, the marines remaining with him soon fanning out into a crescent across the lawn. By the time Duncan got back onto his feet and towards the door, Solomon and the marines had already disappeared into the building, the din of gunfire and screaming erupting from inside as they breached.

Alpha 2-1, and now Duncan, had more problems however. Securing the front lawn was easier said than done, as two other hardened positions sat perched on either wing of the manion’s large foundation. Unlike on the lawn however, these two points were connected with a line of trenches running around the south lawn and connecting one another. Realizing this, Duncan growled as he and the remaining marines bunkered down in their positions at the front of the mansion.


By the time the Aschen had arrived, Duncan and the first fireteam was still at the front of the mansion, trading shots with the gunfighters in their hardened positions while the Aschen marines arrived to drop onto the south lawn. “This is Alpha 2-1, Bravo Fireteam is out front - watch your approaches, we’ve got heavy resistance here up front!” He barked.

Now with their reinforcements though, they could properly roll up the defenses. Peeking out from cover, Duncan was followed by another marine as he charged the position on the left side of the mansion. Running in a crouch, he yanked a frag grenade from his vest and promptly rolled it ahead of him into the trench.

When a man, having spotted the grenade and hauling himself out of the trench to flee, was shot dead by the marine behind him, Duncan flopped onto his stomach at the lip of the trench. “Sorry mate!” The grenade exploded in a flurry of pressure and fragmentation, one blood curdling scream following the bark of Duncan’s machine carbine when he rolled into the trench. Peeking up over the edge of the trench, he spotted one of the squads of Aschen, promptly giving them a bold wave while he hefted the MP-24 with one hand.

"By the gods what have we gotten ourselves into..."

Marine Sergeant Decurion was caught in the thick of it all, the ratta-tat of gunfire, and the sounds of bullets whizzing past him caused his mind to briefly go blank, the disorienting flash of a disruptor muzzle blinded him in his left eye for just a moment. The din of combat enveloped him, washed over him, and brought him into a fugue state from intensive combat that was completely unlike the simulations.

"Sunt tibi bene!?" The Sergeant's radioman called out, before he grabbed the man and pulled him to the ground. "Ex disrumpam!" He screamed, before he smacked the sergeant across the face. In the face of withering incoming fire, the Sergeant couldn't think, before everything came rushing back.

"Veni in, miles ad victoriam, eamus!" The Man shouted, his collar pins denoting his rank as Specialist called out, as a bullet struck the ground right next to them with a loud ping. The Sergeant shook his head violently, before he cried out. "Form up, find cover, take out that frakking machinegun nest!" He called out, gesturing forward at the hardened position on the right, bullets ricocheting all over as the Aschen team went prone, trying to find what little cover they could from the barrage of rounds coming at them.

"Castellanos! Aventus! Form up to the right, swing wide, Kalfkos! Field of fire on that MG." He screamed. The Aschen squad moved to the right, Sergeant Decurion, and Senior Corporal Kalfkos raised their weapons and began firing rapidly into the hardened position, sending streaks of green light searing against the sandbags and the trench that had been dug, spraying the trench, and the positions behind it with molten rock, and superheated slag from the disruptor impacts, one after another until Decurion's muzzle flew open into sections of four, exposing an intricate pattern of red hot coils, and began venting hot green plasma all over his hand causing him to recoil, and drop the disruptor rifle.

"Plas out!" Castellanos cried out, as his hand was suddenly enveloped in green plasma, and he hefted the plasma grenade in a wide arc into the hardened trench, engulfing it in superheated plasma, and molten slag, causing a scarred, and disfigured insurgent to stumble forward, on fire, and smoking until he fell forward, some of his clothes still sizzling, and smoldering.

"Go, go into the trench!" Decurion called out, stooping back down to pick his rifle up, and check the charge. "Let's go, advance!" Stacking up around an overturned SUV, they moved towards the right flank, alternating their weapons fire to maintain a persistent salvo of disruptor fire focused on the remaining points of contact on the mansion, blowing chunks of molten stone, and dirt away from their impacts, and bathing the entire area in a miasma of thick smoke, and ozone.

"Tennoheika, I don't understand why you insisted on coming, you should focus on your own recovery." Shuichi protested as their staff car eased to a stop in front of Government Center.

The man cracked his knuckles, and stretched his arms for a moment, feeling the muscles as they flexed under his skin, he was impressed with what Seno had done. "I'm going to sort this mess out with Keiko, and then I'm going to personally cave Shimizu's face in for what he did to me." He replied, turning his hands over, and looking at them closely before he looked at his face in the mirror.

"Seno's going to get a promotion for this." He added, as the Adjutant stepped out of the car, and opened their door.

The Adjutant offered a soft bow, as Shuichi got out with the younger man, and the two of them took in the visage of Government Center before them for a moment.

"Alright Minamino." Nobuo interjected. "Let's do this." He said as they started to walk towards the front lobby of Government Center, Minamino opened the door, and offered the man a bow, before he followed in behind, and the two of them approached the front desk, Minamino still in his suit from Itpravamar, and the new figure, seemingly in his late twenties, was wearing a simple white hakama worn under a black Kataginu with the Imperial emblem sewn into it, distinctly showing his rank, and station within the Taiyou Empire.

Crossing the threshold, they approached the Receptionist, and Minamino offered a soft smile, and a deep bow. The man next to Shuichi bowed, but not as deeply.

"Hello, I am Minamino Shuichi, I am the Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Taiyou Empire. I've arranged an appointment with the Justice Ministry regarding an urgent matter from Her Majesty the Princess."

Lance Corporal Yiavannis and Corporal Walker had decided on a simple meal, buying some microwave noodles from a vending machine. Left to their own devices while their Sergeant escorted Irina and Kawandi, they returned to the lobby of the government center and were seated in the waiting centers quietly talking amongst themselves and eating.

“So what do you think the whole shit show with the Doc’s about anyway?” Yiavannis inquired, settling into his seat beside Walker as he pulled out a pair of hashi. A staple of the Apparatus field mess kit, the two little sticks weren’t necessarily meant to be used in the way the Taiyou or Tokaigan hashi were, but often found use as chopsticks. He stirred at his steaming cup for a moment, watching the water swirl as Walker produced a set of his own.

“I don’t fuckin’ know man, probably some biology shit we wouldn’t understand.” Walker replied dryly, pulling up a clump of noodles from his own cup before bringing it to his mouth. “We’re just the taxi drivers bud, welcome to the Tauronese Cavalry.” He finished through a mouthful of food.

“Hey, check out these guys.” Yiavannis said, swirling his hashi about in his cup while nodding over to a pair of Taiyou entering the lobby. Walker looked away from a television set briefly as Yiavannis indicated to the two men. “That one guy, in the dress.”

Walker grit his teeth through another mouthful of food, wiping at his mouth with the back of his sleeve before he promptly, but quietly, corrected Yiavannis. “That’s a hakama, Yia.Taiyou clothing … y’know, like the Tokaigans.”

“Yeah yeah sure - I swear he looks familiar though.” Yiavannis replied, shaking off Walker’s correction while the marine put his elbows on his knees and proceeded to study the two men. “What-the-fuck-ever, there’s like trillions of Taiyou anyway.”

“Man, Yia.” Walker tried his best to stifle the laugh, not to indulge the Lance Corporal’s remarks. “Fuckin’ Christ, dude.”

In the West Wing, Monica reached for the proffered cylinder from Irina. "Thank you, Dr. Kawandi," she said with a nod. "I'll make sure it gets to our lab right away," she said, neglecting to mention that the twenty-some odd staff in the Development Ministry's agricultural lab were currently hard at work attempting to develop a set of new rice hybrids for use in Caldonia, Losenji, and Ebouma, a pet project of the deputy minister that she doubted he'd be too eager to sacrifice even if Minister Tesfaye sent the orders himself. She frowned then. "Wait, I'm sorry. You're saying that someone intended to plant the infected specimen here on Terra? But ... why?" She glanced at Tesfaye, who raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Do you have reason to believe this is corporate sabotage?" Tesfaye asked.

"Or - or biological warfare," Monica said, looking back toward their guests. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"No, not biological warfare," said Tesfaye, with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Crops like these would take too long to propagate in sufficient numbers. Too many seasons." He looked to Kawandi with a darkening eye. "Who do you suspect is responsible, and why?"

***

In the main entry hall, Shiya Calusdian had noticed the arrival of the Taiyou immediately. She'd always been able to spot them - especially the ones with imperial pedigrees or connections, even if they came without a full entourage. They always wore something with the imperial crest or one of another half-dozen symbols representing the throne. She busied herself with a stack of mostly outdated message forms behind the desk until they approached. The Justice Ministry. "Of course," responded Calusdian, with a polite, respectful bow. They all had to know protocol, of course. "Weapons in the lockers there, then pass through security. I'll need ID's here, and I'll just call upstairs for you."

This was a formality of course, but had to be done. After all, despite Shiya's well honed eye for Taiyou imperials, anyone could be an impostor. You never knew. She called up, and after a few moments of harried shouting on the other end, forced a smile. "Up on the third floor, Ministers Vilhjálmsdóttir and Dvořák will receive you. Would you like to head upstairs on your own?" Two ministers spelled trouble. All Shiya knew was she wanted nothing to do with it.

Both Taiyou offered another deep bow, the younger of the two offering Shiya a slight smile, or was it a smirk, either way, the man did not resemble any known Imperials, at least on the surface, perhaps a relative? Or perhaps someone with Imperial pedigree one way or another. Shuichi paused for a moment to look over to younger Imperial, who looked back to Shuichi. The man grimaced, and sighed his resignation, before reaching into the Hakama, and rifling through it, he produced a small Tantō, an ornate looking dagger with carefully, hand embroidered gold hilt, imbued with gemstones, and gold leaf. The weapon appeared antique, but honed to a razor's edge. Engraved on the blade itself were Kana symbols inlaid with gold, but this was hidden by the blade's scabbard, which was inlaid with the same gold inlaid kana. It depicted some elaborate artwork of some kind, and tied on the hilt was a brilliant red and gold ribbon, which ended with a tassel on the end.

"This is a family heirloom, guard it with your life." The man insisted as he passed the weapon over to Shiya, which, to anyone with any familiarity with the Taiyou custom, would recognize this antique dagger as the "Tengoku no tantō" A generational family heirloom passed down from an Emperor to his successor, a device of the Emperor himself, along with Tenchi-Ken symbolized the office of the Emperor.

Both of them offered another respectful bow. "Please, if someone could show us up there." Neither one of them seemed to notice the two gardenites, or rather Garden-Aschen standing in the room, but they were noticed, the younger man simply opted not to say anything.

"Yes, of course," Shiya said, receiving the ornate dagger with both hands. It was a gorgeous specimen, clearly aged with time. "I'll make sure that it will be here ready and waiting for your return." She set it carefully under the desk, where it would remain beside her, and then caught sight of one of the junior officers stationed at Government Center. She met his eye, and he made his way to the desk, following suit and bowing politely to the Taiyou. "Lieutenant, can you please escort Minister Shuichi and - " Shiya broke off. "I'm sorry, your highness, sir, I don't believe I caught your name? Do you have your royal passport with you, or with one of your aides?" Shiya glanced toward Lieutenant Wouters. "They have a meeting set with Minister Dvořák upstairs."

Karal Wouters waited respectfully by the desk, hands clasped firmly behind his back, wearing undress grays for the day. Few of the personnel stationed here actually wore their dress whites unless escorting the Prime Minister, but they never wore combat blacks. The idea was simple. Government Center represented the bastion of civilian government, a haven for democracy or at least civil rule, while Fort Veritas represented the TNG's military center.

Shuichi offered a slight smile. "Oh, Shuichi is my given name, Minamino is my family name." Minamino corrected, forgetting that the Terrans didn't follow the custom of using the family name first.

"You may call me Tatsu." The younger man said with a smile. "At least, that seems to be what people have been calling me as of late." He said, turning to Shuichi. "I'm sorry, I seem to have foolishly left my royal passport back with the rest of my personal effects, you see; I've been away for a very long time."

He turned back to Shuichi, and offered a slight bow, to the paling Minister. There was something amiss about those two, though Minamino's ID checked out, and everything was legitimate, the eccentricities of the Taiyou royal family were something to behold.

"Right." Minimano said with a disarming smile. "Shall we? Tenchi." Minamino corrected.

Irina promptly stepped back after handing the container to Doctor Yudell, putting her hands behind her back and taking a silent position alongside Staff Sergeant Stamatios once again. As Monica continued on, Kawandi first looked down to the tablet before him and took a momentary sigh. “Uuh, yes and no - some of the original grain species, I’ve determined to be a hybridization of a common species found in the Garden, beyond the Veil,” He started, then bringing up two similar genetic composition reports and displaying them side by side. “And one found here on Terra - a very common practice to better integrate biomass across colonies. Unfortunately, I’m unable to coordinate with anyone back in the Garden proper to see if they are experiencing any similar genetic degradation as well.”

Kawandi had a nervousness about him as their discussions turned to that dreaded prospect of genetic tampering and an engineered blight. “I believe that the origin is from here, in the Local Region and that, yes, there is a good possibility we’ve discovered some sort of … engineered crop disease. As for just who might be responsible, well, that is more in the field of my colleague here.”

With that, he gave a soft nod back over to Irina. Stepping forward, Irina unfolded her arms from behind her back, then took Kawandi’s place at the table. “I am Senior Warrant Officer Irina Osman, Security Detective of the Exogarden Stellar Police Force. I’m the operations officer of a task force, 515,” Irina introduced herself, using her hand to flick across the tablet and project a series of reports stamped with a lunar crescent and spyglass.

“I believe that Doctor Kawandi here and the Outer Veil research team have uncovered one part of a large terrorist network that has operated across the Local Region at large since the end of the Galactic War.”

Before her, the image of a man appeared, along with a scrolling list of incidents that seemed to stretch back years, decades even. “Several decades ago there was a radical transhumanist group known as the ‘New World’, that used Edenite emancipation to begin a terror campaign in the Garden - and perhaps closer to home for you all, here in the Local Region. Their militant wing is known as the ‘League’ - and we believe their top ranking commander of assets and networks here in the Local Region goes by the name ‘Faust’.”

While Irina prepared her own deposition, Stamatios seemed to narrow his eyes for a moment. He had been completely silent the entire time, but the mere mention of the League finally seemed to earn a rise from the marine. His fists clenched behind his back, jaw setting slightly as his eyes settled on the sparse image of the man.

Even more confusing for others in the room though, was that several different images of the man known as Faust were different faces, bodies entirely. Irina was quick to answer that possible question as it came up. “The person you see in these images is what is known as a ‘capsuleer’ - a downloaded and reuploaded sentience that can be placed into cloned or specially grown bodies. Many of these capsuleers in the New World believe that their gift of immortality makes them gods amongst mortals: Scatterran, Terran, Aschen or otherwise. They have manipulated elections, overthrown or puppeted governments, and instigated civil wars across the Garden.”

If the proposition that a crop disease had been bio-engineered by someone, somewhere in the Local Region was bad, the following explanation as to who might be behind it was even worse.

Pasters and Rattaglio were still back at the fence with their SAW’s, forming the combined team’s base of fire. As the Aschen landed, Pasters then moved directly besides Rattaglio as the two SAW gunners exchanged briefly. “Alright I’ve got eyes on the Aschen.” Rattalgio said, soon pulling his helmet off to give him a better view of the battlefield. He then drew the stock of the SAW into his shoulder, looking through the open sight as they began to move on the second MG position.

“Shit, they’re movin’ up!” Pasters barked as the two machinegunners noticed the Aschen dropping prone. When they did, Pasters began to fire directly over their heads, making sure to fire in short, controlled bursts. “Cover them up to the MG position, don’t let that fucker get a round on them!”


On the other side of the Governor’s Mansion, Staff Sergeant Duncan and Specialist Kjelsson finished dragging the wounded Private Stentlon into the trench. Stentlon held his thigh with two gloved hands, cursing angrily through his teeth when he was dumped into the trench. “Awh, fuck Sergeant!”

“Keep bein’ miffed about it Private, might treat ya’ at the pub later.” Duncan remarked, leaning himself against the trench and pulling free the magazine of his MP-24. Checking the stack of 9x20mm cartridges, he then slammed it back home again and charged the weapon once more. “Don’t bleed out there mate, Kjelsson, make sure he gets a medic for that dinger.”

Just as he finished reloading his weapon, another fireteam of marines jumped down into the trench with them. Taking their positions, the marines laid themselves against the back lip of the trench and popped off with rifle fire onto any surviving militia that still tried to engage them.

“Sergeant, I think the Aschen landed on the other side of the mansion!” Lance Corporal Teofil shouted, then returning to snap off rounds at a pair of gunmen positioned near a great, sprawling tree. Just then, they all heard the distinct bark of disruptor fire and the unmistakable din of a plasma grenade.

“Right lads, I’ll be away for a bit - gonna’ make a trip to the neighbors. Don’t burn the house down boys!” Duncan said, and then sharply hauled himself up and out of the trench onto his stomach. Belly crawling his way across the lawn, he was sure to use the bushes and avoid any stray rifle fire as he neared the other trench.


Approaching the lip of the trench, Duncan coughed through the stench of ozone and carbon before shouting out to the Aschen. “Green, boys! Mind if I come on?” He yelled out, soon prying his head over the charred lip of the trench with a bright grin across his face. “Welcome to the cock-up, lads!” He began, reaching up to pluck a pack of cigarettes from his ballistic vest jacket and then toss it down onto the charred floor of the trench amongst the men.

Slowly, the Aschen fireteam crept through the burned out trench, slowly, the sound of glass crunching under their boots filled their ears, suffocated by the thick smell of ozone, carbon, and burning flesh, Sergeant Decurion switched on his wide-spectrum viewfinder to pierce through the dense smoke.

Out of nowhere, a short burst of small caliber rounds ripped through the smoke, a sharp "rat-atat" followed by a loud 'thwip!' as Senior Corporal Aventus fell to the ground with a sharp cry, Castellano caught the militant down the trench as he opened fire, wincing as rounds impacted the ground rather dangerously close to his head.

"Gods damnit!" Castellano hissed as he fumbled with his disruptor rifle, raising it up and loosing a shot, sending a shimmering green blast of light directly to the insurgent's left, striking the wooden retaining wall behind him, splintering the wood. Immediately after, Castellano loosed another shot, taking advantage of the now dazzled militant to put a disruptor bolt center mass, sending the man careening back with a plume of steam, and flame that erupted from his chest. With the immediate threat neutralized, Castellano turned towards Decurion, and Cpl Kalfkos, as they were now attending to the crying Specialist.

He screamed in Anquietas "Quam mali? Quam mali?" Tears streaming down his face from the searing pain as he screamed the words. "Accipere facile!" While Decurion shouted. "Medicus! Medicus!" In that moment Kalfkos reached into his chest carrier to pull out a small white case, a large red triangular symbol emblazoned on it. "Laxo, Laxo! Me vide." He hissed, putting pressure on the chest, but noticed something peculiar. "Nullus sanguinis." Kalfkos said, keeping his hand on Aventus' chest, fishing around inside the plate carrier, pulling something that had been embedded in the kanvium plate, and holding the mushroomed bullet in front of Aventus' face. "Costas sunt confracta, sed erant 'iens futurus finis." He chuckled, and patted the hyperventilating specialist on the helmet as another voice pierced the miasma.

“Green, boys! Mind if I come on?”

Decurion, and Castellanos peered out from the trench only slightly, hands gripping their weapons firmly before realizing it's a friendly. Both of them turned to their downed comrade, and then back to Duncan. Every one of them were caked in sweat, and filth from their brief run through the trenches.

Castellanos looked to the plasma grenades hanging loosely on his bandolier, before he detached two of them, and held the small green spherical grenades out to Duncan.

"Press here until click, five seconds, ten meters." He said with a thick Aschen accent, turning the grenades over to reveal two indentations where fingers would go to arm the grenade. "Big hurt if caught in blast."

Castellano turned back to Aventus, watching as Kalfkos hefted the young specialist to his feet, as he held his chest, his breathing slightly labored. There was a hole in his plate carrier, and once the team regained their composure, Decurion pointed further into the trench complex leading to the building. "intermissum est finis." He said aloud, and nodded for the team to stack up.

Duncan stretched an arm outward, quickly snagging the two plasma grenades and bringing them back to his chest. Leaning over onto his side, he then snatched a zip-tie from his ballistic vest, wrapping the two together. Looking back to Castellanos with a broadening grin, he held the two daisy-chained grenades together. “Cheers mate, ibi erit … uh, butio. Boom!” Duncan replied with a chuckle, then squabbling down into the trench with the Aschen and taking position beside Decurion.

He held up his forearm, pointing to a holo-display of the Governor’s Mansion, as well as a series of little blue and green tick-marks that represented the marine positions. “Some of my boys say there’s a cellar door on the back quarter of the mansion - want to ring the doorbell with me?” Duncan said, pointing to the objective marker on his forearm and then hefting the daisy-chained grenades before the man. Next, he flicked a foot out to give the Corporal a soft kick in the shin.

“Leave a man with him and we’ll have a medic on that, looks like he just got a kiss on the tit.” Duncan yelled, soon yanking back the charging handle of his MP-24 and turning the rifle over in his hands. “Right, lads, one last little tiff and then we’re done! Paratus ad ire?”

With the marines on their flank encouraging most of the fire, Duncan and the squad of Aschen marines were more or less free to move up, bounding over each other to overwhelm the remaining gunmen as they closed in from the side. Duncan made sure to keep the marines spaced out, crouching by a bush as he took a moment to scan the approach and quickly issue his movements. “Move it, boys, move it! Two at a time, the rest cover fire! Eia igitur, age!.” He shouted, waving a gloved hand forward to the side wall of the mansion before unleashing bursts of fire with his MP-24.

Planets like this were a plethora across the endless chasms of space, lifeless husks of dirt and ice cobbled together, around a dying star or a lonely gas giant, clinging to the orbit in the never-ending cosmic dance. Planets like this one were often forgotten, disregarded, stripped of their resources and left a nearly empty husk to be left alone forever in that crawling blackness. Planets like this were used up and tossed away, cored of their precious metals or priceless crystals or invaluable gases and written away into the lists of dead planets eaten up and returned to that yawning bleakness that was the deep cosmos.

Perhaps in another realm planets like this could have been terraformed, their empty skies injected with atmosphere, their harsh rock ground down and seeded, the core ignited: all spun up into a lush tapestry of greens or browns to benefit all life that sought to escape that boiling darkness. Perhaps if the hubris of man didn’t utilize worlds like these as crypts for its greatest abominations, this one wouldn’t be here.

A lifeless, shivering moon with not such much on it as a fueling station, one tiny automated orbital with a handful of landers and shuttles docked. What betrayed the insignificant speck of rock and ice was what terror the planet held deep beneath its crust.

Thousands of kilometers below the orbital, a single tower jutted from the ground next to an enormous chasm that cleaved deep into the surface of the planet. Even though the station was hundreds of kilometers below the surface of the planet, light somehow reached down from that starry darkness to the great windows of the station’s observation decks. Major Zakiraya Descoteaux admired the way light bounced off a cluster of crystals across the chasm from the observation deck, turning as he heard the soft whoosh of the door and seeing a young man approach him.

Lieutenant Kendal Aziz was small, for a Gardenite, slim shoulders and brown eyes almost hidden by glasses as he clutched a tablet in his hand. Exchanging brief salutes, Lieutenant Aziz then spoke. “Major Descoteaux, good to finally meet you.”

“And you, Lieutenant Aziz - Kendal, was it?” He said, quietly planting his hands behind his back as Aziz nodded. Stepping aside, he threw a hand back towards the lift that had deposited him here, on the observation decks. The Major soon broke into a stride, leaving the Lieutenant in the dust for a moment before he quickly picked up the slack and rushed behind Descoteaux.

“Yes Major, Lieutenant Kendal Aziz. Uuuuh, they’re running a purge through the data in an hour - we’re mass-dumping a whole input core, and the Director specifically requested you … “ Aziz began, as Descoteaux approached the lift and it automatically opened with a short whir. Entering, and turning, Aziz strode into the lift and then turned to be beside the Major.

“Have you ever seen NITEMARE, Lieutenant Aziz?” The Major’s question may have come out of nowhere, as it caused Aziz to stop mid-sentence.

“ - Uh, no Major. I’m on Deck 100.”

“100. Hell, you haven’t even seen the worst of it.” Major Descoteaux said dryly, stifling a soft laugh in his throat as he then took the tablet from the Lieutenant and began to scroll through the information held within. He looked up to a small display above the door of the lift, watching it begin to crawl from 5 and upwards. It was a long ride down, so the Major had plenty of time to study.

One thing that most found surprising was that the broad majority of the Apparatus weren’t soldiers, or marines, or sailors. He’d heard a joke once, somewhere: for every thousand marines, there’s five thousand support staff, everyone from clerks to analysts and intelligence specialists that were often more deadly than the marines themselves.

That was how the Terran Conflict was won, that was how the Incursion was beaten, and as the Apparatus next planned, how an inevitable continuation conflict with their imperial government would be won.

Not with tanks. Not with guns. Not with planes or even ships, though they would indeed be used.

Descoteaux was, himself, a veteran of the “greatest intelligence machine”, the massive network of analysts, consultants and informants that had been the undoing of many an irredentist state back in the Garden during the Insurgencies. After his service in the Outer Garden, he had been offered a deskjob in the secretive, federal intelligence agency known as Counter-Balance.

Rather than end his career at a desk he’d decided to end it here - still at a desk, but at what has become known amongst the intelligence circles as ‘Lighthouse’. He should have been amazed that such a facility had been constructed so quickly, and then promptly abandoned by the Interstellar Nations so quickly after the incursion and subsequent listless years of the Exogarden.

What concerned him more though, was the power contained within the rocky crust of this lifeless planet having been left in the hands of a skeleton crew. At least back during the Insurgencies he had a blank cheque from the Federate, a pool of recruits to draw and train from the Apparatus and Interstellar Civil Service, equipment and hardware to use.

Out here? He had to make do with what were essentially sticks and stones compared to what he had back in the Garden. It was a challenge. His career was made by overcoming challenges like these.

“A lot of you young bloods make the mistake of overestimating what NITEMARE actually is,” Descoteaux began, idly flicking a finger along the tablet as he poured through the day’s parameters of operation. Protocol, doctrine and all the other irrelevant information that made his job as exciting as it was. Marines and sailors fought with guns and planes, Descoteaux fought with data and spreadsheets. He’d debate he was deadlier than the marines and sailors, in many cases.

“I’ve heard some stories, ‘we can spy on anything with a heartbeat’ - that was a rich one - everything from precognition to changing lottery numbers, at another.” The Major said with a bemused smile, tapping on a particularly large info-dump somewhere in the exabytes of raw data. That was a curious one. He pulled a copy from the brief and left a tag for his own device.

“I, uh, heard it was pretty much just a big dragnet. Data mining, deep sightings, that kind.” Aziz responded, his voice flecked with a cautious tone as he noticed the Major simply shake his head.




As the lift trundled along, it passed by deck after deck, everything from data banks to the cosmetic and life support facilities that made existence in this otherwise drab station bearable. Deck 55, easily the largest of the entire station, was the maintenance deck. A yawning, 30 kilometer long track of tunnels and accessways that ran the ring of what seemed to be a hollow sphere deep underneath the planet’s surface.

Wheel’s squealed as maintenance hands sat perched on a small, two-man transporter. It made traversing the top ring all the more easier, and lugging around hundreds of pounds of tools much less consuming on the legs.

Up ahead, the two workers spotted their mission in question. Grating had been shorn free revealing the outer shell of the sarcophagus that enclosed whatever was hidden within. Throwing the transporter into park, the driver draped one arm over the wheel while pointing. “Ah, bet that’s it. Workload mentioned something about possible signal leak.”

Beginning their work, the passenger was quick to pull a toolbox from the back of the transporter. First, a cutting torch was used to break away the chunk of bent metal. As he was working though, his belt caught on a snag of the grating, and as he jolted to free it a small wrench came free to then topple through the hole and disappear into the dark. “Oh, shit.”

The trip for the little piece of hardware was a long, if quiet one. Cartwheeling and tumbling this way and that, it fell for some 30 kilometers before it finally struck something. There was a clang that no one would hear as it impacted the inner shell of the sarcophagus, a massive nano-reactive shell that vaporized the wrench before the small hole it had punctured was repaired in seconds.

This enormous shell wasn’t to keep signals out. It was meant to keep them in. Even in a single nanosecond, the potential for a stray signal to come free was not only a possibility, but inevitable even. By the time the shell had stitched itself back together, that concern may have been abated. No one would know a signal had escaped until well after it had, but it was of little concern amongst the sheer enormity of signals that were contained deep within the sarcophagus.

However, deep within space, there was a hungry screaming that rolled through the emptiness.

Sergeant Decurion raised his eyebrow as he watched Duncan daisy chain the grenades together, and then he offered a shrug. Right they had to advance, so he turned back to the wounded specialist, watching as the Senior Corporal helped the young Aventus move towards them. He still struggled to breathe for a moment, but was otherwise alright, his combat nanites working overtime to repair the cracked bone.

Aventus held up his hand, giving the signal that he was alright, and rejoined the formation of Aschen Marines, while Decurion turned his disruptor rifle over, and ejected the fusion cell held in the stock, the fusion cell arcing wide, and hitting the ground as he slid a fresh one into the reciever, the door snapped shut, and the rifle whined with a fresh charge.

The squad of Aschen Marines formed up, even with being hit, Aventus was still in the fight. After they checked their weapons over, all of them gave a nod to Duncan that they were ready, and moved quickly, coordinated through the trench, gunning down the remaining insurgents that moved from cover.

"Ad Victoriam!" Decurion called out, but stopped short as an insurgent moved from some crates to make a grab at Kalfkos, bringin g them both into the mud as they tussled against each other for a good moment. Kalfkos struck the insurgent on the forehead with the butt of his disruptor, causing a sickening crack to echo through the trench before the Aschen corporal grabbed the Insurgent in some kind of headlock, a Pankration move, and with both of them screaming, Kalfkos screamed as well, and there was a crack before the insurgent went limp. Kalfkos threw the now limp body off of him, before he rejoined his comrades, moving under cover around towards the side of the mansion, as instructed they moved two at a time, as the ones who remained behind laid down cover fire, alternating their disruptor fire to provide a steady stream of energy weapons fire.

It was only interrupted by a pop as one of the Aschen Marine's disruptor rifles overheated, and he had to exchange a red hot fusion cell for a fresh one, after a brief lull, he was back into the fight.

"Stack up, put strobes on when they blow the door!" Decurion called out, before calling over to Duncan. "We're going to use strobes, try not to look directly at the light!" He shouted, as the Marines set up their disorienting pulse laser strobers, which were affixed to the underside of their disruptor rifles, which were a fast strobing blinding high power laser light. Those unfortunate to look at them would risk severe retinal burns.

With the strobes affixed, the Aschen waited for Duncan to give the insurgents their welcoming gift.

Somewhere beyond the red line
Hastati Class Cruiser 'Scourgebane'

Deep in the blackness of space beyond the furthest reaches of Imperial Defenses, a single Hastati class cruiser winked into existence from nothing.

"Jump Complete." The Tactical officer reported, as the FTL displays synchronized back to Zero, the CIC of the Scourgebane buzz with activity, data began pouring in on displays, and the Commander, a young man in his mid thirties was having a conversation with EVE. All throughout the CIC, one lone figure stood in silence, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the large display in front of him.

He took a step forward, and the plush purple robes followed his movements as he moved towards a display.

"What are we out here to do again?" The commander asked, peering up from the flickering holographic display. "We've recieved reports of Scatterran privateers harassing civilian ships moving in and out of the defensive zone." Kesslee replied, his gaze hardened as he focused his attention on the display. "His Majesty has dispatched me on a special assignment, that's all you need to know, Commander." Kesslee replied, as he approached the main command console.

"I'll want to enter the next set of FTL Coordinates personally." Kesslee replied, as the Commander nodded, and a tactical officer spoke up.

"Spin-Sync generators are at fifty percent, we'll be able to jump again in about half a millicenton." The officer reported, returning quickly to his station as the Commander quietly wondered to himself why the Emperor would dispatch a confessor on some classified mission.

"Are you going to do anything about the settlers encroaching on our border space, Grand Confessor?" The Commander inquired. The Confessor simply nodded in the affirmative.

"All in due time, Commander, let me know the moment the FTL drives are spooled up again."

In a distant orbit from a lonely station, spun up and rolling through the emptiness of interplanetary space, the prow of a single Ploesti class heavy frigate loomed amongst the wreckage of a smuggling ship. The cargo liner had fallen for the oldest trick in the book, a bait and switch that had left it at the mercy of the CNS Rocheaux well before it could penetrate the ALIRBADs cordon around imperial space.

One had been caught, but the patrol squadron of frigates and destroyers like the Rocheaux couldn’t be anywhere. Commander Fearghas Volodya was a maverick even by frigate commander’s standards: he anticipated some choice words from the rest of the patrol squadron, as doing a bait op so close to the Aschen Cluster was sure to spook his counterparts of the imperial navy.

“Commander, our monitor-drones’ scanned the wreckage, no life-signs. It was dead after the first Halberd impacted.”An Ensign reported from the pits below, and Volodya stretched his arms out against the railings of the crows’ nest.

“Think that’s a record, ladies and gentlemen - must’ve hard-decomped and voided the bowels.” Volodya remarked succinctly, then standing up as he studied a sweep of the various cargo blocks and containers that had been spewed from the hull of the vessel after the Mk. 18 Halberd Naval Interdiction Missile had impacted the ship. “They must’ve had quite a haul for someone in the Cluster. Wonder who in the Quorum got their fingers in a pie so far from Langara.

“Shit.” The Ensign in sensors remarked quietly, her eyes narrowing as she then leaned forward in her cockpit and began tapping hurriedly at a series of holographic keys. Volodya’s focus was broken for a minute, as he looked down to a pair of Lieutenants gathering at the edge of the sensor pit.

“What’ve we got, another runner?” Volodya inquired, his voice carrying down into the pits below. One of the Lieutenants shook his head, and turned up to look at his commander.

“Negative Commander, it’s another Aschen vessel - just beyond interdiction-range.” The Lieutenant remarked, but Volodya pursed his lips in confusion then. This last ship he’d just splashed was Aschen itself.

“So they were paired?” He inquired abruptly.

The Ensign in the sensor pit then shook her head, reaching up to pull one of the headphones off from over her ears. “Negative sir, I’m reading a military signature.”

After that, Volodya stared forward at the massive airscreen at the head of the bridge, a rudimentary sensor sweep showing what appeared to be a rather large vessel on approach just beyond the limits of the Rocheaux’s interdiction missiles. That said nothing of the nuclear-capable Mk. 20 Reflex anti-ship torpedoes. “Well I’ll be damned. Guess they don’t want the lid getting blown off their little smuggling group.”

Volodya let a soft grin ply across his face, reaching a hand down to the rails lining the crows nest. “Spin up a Reflex, kilotonnage and ready the Mk. V/IIIs.” He barked, the crew of the ship all going quiet for a moment. Volodya clicked his tongue. “Did I stutter, sailors? Beam a line to the DVSB, tell them we’ve got one more fish to fr - “

“Uhh, ‘scuse me Commander.” The Lieutenant interrupted quietly, and Volodya narrowed his eyes down to the Lieutenant. “We’re already receiving a beam-message from the Deep Station.”

There was a single message broadcast to both the Rocheaux and the imperial vessel that had arrived. Uncoded and widely transmitted, the heavy frigate sat between both the Scourgebane and DVSB-117.

As Aschen stacked up to prepare the breach with Duncan, he was pulling up the rear of the squad and barking into his comms-bead. “This is Duncan, I’m with the HN’s at the back of the Mansion. We’re breaching the cellar, lads!” He shouted to the rest of Alpha 2-1, who were busy preventing any approach by whatever was left of the insurgents fighting on the south lawn.

It appeared that most had either been killed or fled, a few seen tossing their weapons down as they disappeared into a dense tree line of forest that ran along the outskirts of the port city. There was the occasional snap of gunfire from the Exogarden marines, another bark of returning fire or the occasional scream of a man being hit somewhere deep within the woods as they retreated.

Across the lawn of the Governor’s Mansion, Alpha platoon had gathered and concentrated on the seized trench, giving covering fire to the Aschen and Duncan. Pasters and Rattaglio had moved up with their SAW-429s, both in the trench beside one another as the marines lay strewn throughout. “Anyone seen the fuckin’ commander?” Pasters finally asked, turning his chest on the lip of the trench. Rattaglio lay down the trench with a radio pack draped on a post of the trench next to him.

“I ain’t seen him since we railed this line - did Staff Sergeant say he’s with fucking hosties?” Rattaglio barked down to the trench. Private Yechezkel was beside him, holding his rifle up against his chest while pressed against the trench.

“What the fuck’s Sarge doing jumping around with fucking Aschen - are they up to something?” The Private barked, adjusting the brim of his helmet as a Specialist down the line racked the pump of his spent grenade launcher before holding up a 42mm shell.

“Bro, if we just invaded Aschen space I’m going to fucking laugh.” Specialist Sergej remarked, kneeling down in the trench as he began to feed a shell into the launcher. “How do you say ‘stay on the fucking ground’ in anquietas?”

“We didn’t fucking invade Aschen space, Indy - “ Pasters grunted as he hauled the SAW-429 and adjusted it against the trench. “Or at least, I’m pretty sure we didn’t.”


Duncan dropped his machine carbine into his sling and reached up to take his helmet free of his head. As the Aschen put their strobes together, the Staff Sergeant pulled free a pair of goggles from his helmet and drew them over his face, covering his head with a fabric cowl in his uniform. “Mind all the lights, boys. Remember, green is friendly this time aye?” Duncan remarked, drawing the daisy chained grenades together and giving them a spin before sticking down onto the door as it activated.

Ducking off to the side, Duncan grabbed his MP-24 and readied for the entry. When the grenades blasted with a wave of heat, it peeled through the metal door with a fizzle of of hot white and blue that burned a sizeable hole into the cellar. Duncan stepped down first into staircase it dropped down into, giving the Aschen a driving hand forward as he did.

The cellar stepped down into a deep complex underneath the mansion that Duncan and the Aschen had just blown their way into, on a corner where a marine was found behind a sandbag position.

Lance Corporal Patrick Madrolus laid the G4 down on the sandbags, pointing down the long hall of the bunker. “Holy shit! Where the fuck have you guys been? The Commander’s down in the comms bunk!” Just as he did, the insurgents strung out in a few last positions let of a snap of gunfire that made Duncan crawl into a nook of the bunker wall before unleashing a shower of fire from his machine carbine for the Aschen and Madrolus to attack. Down the tunnel, another sandbag position snapped off rifle fire, another marine firing off his G4K1 battle rifle into the insurgents.

Slowly, the Scourgebane moved through the blackness of space, the Commander was quietly watching the skirmish, or what was left of it play out across a large holographic projection. Kesslee stood in silence besides the man with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, eyes fixated on the large projection before them.

Kesslee didn’t say much, hardly a word to anyone aboard the cruiser for the duration of the trip, likewise he was met with mostly awkward silence from the crew, no one wanted to say the wrong thing in front of a confessor, let along the Grand Confessor, it was as if the Emperor himself was aboard this ship. It played out, and the air of tension was quite palpable.

Quietly the commander read the deep beam message as the text scrolled across his display, before he turned his attention to the helms crew.

“Bring engine power to fifteen percent, and engage deceleration drivers to twenty percent, bring our velocity to five point two five, and maintain present course.” The Commander ordered, and the two helm operators nodded.

“Aye sir.” They said in unison, before reaching out to manipulate large console levers, drawing them back to slow the massive vessel.

“Transmit a reply on the frequency, transmit authentication codes.” The Commander ordered.

”Attention Exogarden Command, this is Scourgebane Actual, I have the Grand Confessor on board with diplomatic mission priority, we are formally requesting priority access to diplomatic, and command channels. How copy?”

Terminating his broadcast, he turned to Kesslee, as the older man craned his neck to look at the Commander.

“Prepare my entourage, I must prepare myself.” The Grand Confessor added, as he turned to leave the CIC.

As the broadcasts streamed to and fro the Scourgebane and the Void Station, the Rocheaux remained still, using its own powerful arrays to boost the transmission speed and up/down rate to streamline the effort. As the Aschen request for diplomatic channels were received, a tight-beam link was established with the ship as the automated systems of the Void Station went into action.



The custodian AI of the Void Station displayed a series of visiting identificators, as well as a special broadcast IFF-tagging the Scourgebane as a friendly, diplomatic vessel. The identifiers could be printed by even the most rudimentary of a molecular printing drive, while the IFF-tags soon ‘auto-dated’ to update the positions of almost five other Exogarden ships in the near AU.



The Rocheaux and another manned destroyer, the Lombardia, were then to give a wide berth to the Scourgebane on its approach to the Deep Void Station, which itself had become a hive of activity as the umbilical was prepared for the Scourgebane.

The Deep Void Stations were constructed in a similar manner to the millions of other void stations that dotted the Garden and some parts of the Local Region. Composed of a main, six hundred meter habitat module that was ringed with a rotating drive that provided the station with both power and artificial gravity, a few transiting ships were passing by a large, separate transmitting buoy as they made room for the Scourgebane.

Onboard the station, Chief Artifex Behar Dimiter stood in his office, watching an airscreen display of the approaching imperial ship. He drew a cautious hand up to his bearded chin, while the other held a rocks glass with a brown, honeyish liquid. Raising the glass of scotch to his mouth, he took a slow drink, before turning back to his desk and setting the glass down.

“Virgil, can I get an ETA on their arrival?” He asked, a soft chime coming from the ceiling as the hologram of a man draped in ancient robes materialized in the center of the room.

“I estimate within the hour, Artifex. I have taken the liberty of scheduling the summit in an observation deck of Section A, not far from their umbilical.”

The custodian remarked, adjusting his tunic only briefly as Behar ran a hand down his chin to straight out the well groomed beard he sported. “Thank you Virgil - uh, make sure the marines stay back, I don’t intend to give them an opportunity to muscle.”

“Very well sir, I will inform Lieutenant Colonel Dalton of his parameters.” With that, the Artifex pulled his coat jacket from the back of his chair and soon tossed it over his broad shoulders. Looking to a holo mirror, he made sure to adjust the tie sitting draped down his blouse before then readying the left down to Section Alpha.

While the Scourgebane docked, the first thing they’d see entering the umbilical wasn’t another human being, but a pair of automatons. One of them stood slightly taller than the other, mechanical limbs draped over what appeared to be an energy rifle. The second, smaller one was unarmed, and its head shaped to be more humanoid than the blocky optical module atop the armed droid.

“Greetings, I am Plato-473, a protocol droid in service of the Aschen Local International Regional Bureau, and this is Deep Void Bureau Station 1-1-7.” The droid’s automated voice informed, before offering a three-fingered hand back towards the bulkhead of the airlock. “The Chief Artifex will host you in a chamber on this very same deck, please follow me.”

Behar quietly set his glass down beside a tall, and most importantly unopened, bottle of bourbon as he followed in a pair of protocol droids that were busy putting the final touches on catering. With a soft snap of his fingers, he pointed one of the droids to place a platter of minor foodstuffs on the table. The droid promptly set the plate down at the far end of the table prepared for the Confessor and his entourage, but Behar was left to gawk a moment as another droid entered, this time carrying a plate of what appeared to be an entire, cooked hog.

"Virgil, I'll be sure to call the kitchen if they want a four course fucking meal." The Artifex remarked, promptly unscrewing the lid of his bottle. "What you could do, is get me some more glasses though." He requested, waiting until a small set had been delivered before setting a gracious amount of the bourbon in each. With that, he treated himself to a deep drink of his own before all the protocol droids but one left, which took place standing silently in the corner as the Aschen were escorted to the chamber. Behar stood with his feet together, hands at his side at the head of the table and ushered the imperials in with a single wave of his hand.

The group of Aschen Marines stacked up near the door, but behind some cover so they wouldn't be burned by the heat from the daisy chained plasma grenades. The grenade detonated in a bloom of superheated plasma, and a concussive thermal shockwave that announced their arrival. Aventus, with his wound took point as Decurion gestured he move in after Duncan, the two Senior Corporals immediately followed, with the sergeant immediately behind them, into the hole, their strobes flashing and illuminating the dark cellar interior.

The rattle of gunfire startled Specialist Aventus, as several rounds struck the concrete next to his head. He ducked suddenly, before he started to run back the way he came.

"Frak this, i'm out of here!" The Specialist called out, but was abruptly stopped as the sergeant grabbed him by his plate carrier, and swung him around behind some sandbags.

"Too soon to run, get your shit together and concentrate on that position!" Decurion shouted, raising his disruptor rifle and firing a dozen shots down the tunnel at the insurgent, one bolt struck the concrete wall, splattering the insurgent with molten concrete, the Sergeant took the brief moment of disorientation to loose two more green streaks downrange, illuminating the hallway in green light, and peppering the insurgent's position as Kalfkos took position behind a support pillar.

"Delta Team, this is Actual." Admiral Genna's voice chimed in Decurion's earpiece, causing him to pause abruptly and press himself against the hallway. "Be advised, I've got technicals approaching your position, there's at least a dozen coming up the main road, your new friends are fixing to get overwhelmed."

Decurion frowned, and then turned to Duncan. "They're coming up the main road with reinforcements! Whatever we're here to do, we gotta do it quick!" The Aschen Sergeant called out, ducking from a few rounds striking the concrete while tapping his earpiece.

"Can you slow them down?" He called out.

"I'll see what I can do, Actual out." Genna replied, and Decurion grimaced for a moment. "Tell your boys to hunker down and cover their ears, I don't like where this is going."

Aboard the Far Sight Lost...

Admiral Genna watched quietly as a column of crude armored vehicles, and technicals moved up the battered road, under cover of destroyed buildings, and bombed out overpasses. She noted they seemed to be heading up towards the Governor's mansion, and highlighted the interface.

"Right, EVE, Salvo fire, one third charge."

"Acknowledged, Admiral." EVE replied.

High in the sky, the Reverence II looming over the city slowly began to yaw to the left, turning on it's axis to orient itself somewhat facing the Governor's mansion, a trio of turbodisruptor batteries on the ventral side of the ship's bulbous prow swiveled to life.

It fired roughly eight times, sending hot plasma down along the main road where the Technicals were advancing, the impacts of each bolt shook the city, and caused flames to plume high into the sky, sending debris, molten shrapnel, and destroyed cars flying in all directions, and forcing the insurgent caravan to scatter.

Inside the bunker, the ground shook six times, almost like a powerful earthquake that rocked the mansion, causing dirt, and debris to fall from the ceiling, and Decurion to hold his helmet.

"Shit... that frakking Reverence!" He called out.

"How deep's this thing go? Because I think it's about to heat up topside."