War among the Stars (a sci-fi war game) IC

Irish Wolf · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Irish Wolf** on Thu Jul 24, 2008 10:15 pm

Captain Gearth rested in his command chair, the rest of the bridge was abandoned, the running lights making pools of red and green lights. Most of the overhead lights were turned off to conserve a little power. Soft beeps and clicks issued from the different terminals and stations, making clear to the old captain that the ship was in perfect running order. A soft, content smile rested on his lips, life was good despite the war.

In his youth, Gearth had dreamed of commanding one of the Imperial Navy’s mighty warships and had attended the Naval Academy, only to be place in command of a brand new heavy freighter as a merchant marine captain, over forty years ago. Gearth had remained on that freighter for his whole carrier, both the ship and crew growing old together. Most of the original crew was still aboard with their captain, keeping their home running smoothly and getting cargo to where the navy needed it. They were forged together during the last great war to torn the void of space apart, just a little over thirty years ago, normally called the Birth War, as the Confederacy rose from the ashes of burnt planets and space wreckage then.

Suddenly a red started flashing urgently and an alarm sounded. Captain Gearth was started from his dreams of his youth, jumped to his feet and ran over to the scanner array. A small blip was flashing on the screen, closing rapidly. The missile warning light flashing like his panicking heart. There was no ship or station with in millions of kms of the ship to have lunched it and certainly not with in a few thousand.

Gearth lunged towards the comm unit as a missile impacted with the middle starboard cargo pod, which was filled with fuel rods for the Imperial fleet now waging war deep in Protectorate space. The heavy freighter was ripped apart in fractions of a second by the massive explosion. The sleeping crew never knew what happened, only their captain new terror in his last seconds in this life.

The newest type of Protectorate warship, a stealth sub, continued through the void of space with its first kill.

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Several months and missing merchant marines later, the Imperial Admiralty chose to send a convoy of heavy freighters to resupply the fleet, along with one of the Imperial newest warships, an Imperial Super Dreadnought, HIMS Conqueror and its escorts. It was hoped that whatever light raiding force the harried the fleet and shipping would not dare to attack a convoy protected by a Dreadnought, never mind a new class of the largest and most powerful ship to travel space.

The Super Dreadnought was placed under the command of a Frigate captain named William Doyle, who had commanded the HIMS Brazen for four years. During his first year as a captain, he managed to win a border skirmish with a Confederate Light Cruiser. His frigate managed to damage the light cruiser so badly that the Confederate crew had to scuttle her.

For the past nine weeks the convoy had been traveling through Imperial space, growing closer and closer to the old Protectorate border. William Doyle sat comfortably in his command chair, with in seconds the HIMS Conqueror would slide into newly acquired Imperial space, won through making the weaker Protectorate navy flee for their lives from the might of the Empire.

The lead elements of the convoy passed over the old border, not knowing that they were now entering a deadly hunting ground, where they were the prey. A small undetectable prob began to transmit a signal through out space, relaying the position of the convoy to all Protectorate ships in the sector.

(Want to know more and/or join up? click the link. war-among-the-stars-sci-war-game-ooc-t8305.html )

Taedis · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Taedis** on Fri Jul 25, 2008 10:55 pm

Joshua sat up in his acceleration couch, he flight bag falling onto its side from the g forces. He could have scrapped the Lady Macbeth and bought an entirely new ship for less than the upgrades, but the was something about this ship. It didn't just fly. It soared.

The exterior thermo-dump panels retracted smoothly along their rails, folding ontop of each other in layers. The ship smoothly manuvered ahead, crossing the invisible line that marked the edge of the Empire's control. Joshua relaxed. He had not felt safe in the shadow of the Super Deadnought since he saw it. He almost regretted joining up at the last minute. He closed his eyes, the flight vectors appearing in complicated curves in his mind. His nural nanonics alerted him that several system components were malfunctioning. He sighed, and got up from his comfortable couch, and walked out of the bridge.

His ship still wasn't flawless despite all the modifications. He was going to have a chat with the mechanics about this one. Call it the last straw. He should have done it after half of his CPU blocks went offline while trying to plot jump coordinates weeks earlier.

What's wrong now? He datavised to his mechanic. There was a pause. He could always judge how bad a problem was by the length of time it took for a response. 15 seconds passed. "Oh shit." He muttered, leaning on the hard unfinished metal panels. It shouldnt be a problem, but it appears that the computer has armed all of our combat wasps.

He nearly dropped the memory block in his hand. He quickly glanced at the AV projection pillar. Shit. She was right.

Joshua stared out the window, scanning through the sensor data in his head. He tried to look past the plumes of radioactive exaust put out by the Lady Macbeth. He looked up at the Super Dreadnought. They had to notice all the blips that just appeared on their radar.

Shut them down, quick! He datavised quickly. He knew it was already too late. He calmly walked over the the acceleration couch, waiting for the huge volumes of questions to start pouring in through the communications block, and how best to explain himself.

Ottoman · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Ottoman** on Sun Jul 27, 2008 9:32 pm

Varik strode barepaw through the Sunrider's sections, making his way towards the bridge. The sight of a Turun was not unusual, but the fact that this Xeno was the highest ranking officer on-ship upset some of the more racist members of the crew. Though, some of the crew that did not know of their Captain's Race or didn't like the fact gave him long stares, but most of the original members only responded with a quick salute and return to their duties. As he was walking along he took out his dark, cherry-wood pipe, as well as a patch of human tobacco, which he inserted into the pipe. The habit of smoking the drug proved both unhealthy and, in some cases, lethal to humans, but to the Turun, it was both a mental stimulant and life-extending drug. He quickly lit the pipe, and inhaled the sweet smoke deeply, he loved the taste, the drug proved to still retain the high addiction rate it had among humans with the Turun as well. He eventually made it to the bridge, which was a bustiling hive of activity, and Varik strode over to his command chair, but did not sit. He instead readjusted the Commander's Hat which sat now squarely upon his head, of which his ears stuck out of, made sure he had polished all of his decorations last night, which he had done every since he was awarded his first, and, after a hefty puff from the pipe, took it out of his mouth and hailed the Captain of the Super Dreadnaught they were escorting. He immediatly stood a rigid stance of attention, though the two retained the same rank, he held Captain Doyle in high standards, due to the many debts he owed him,

"Good morning, captain, any news from the admiralty?"

Irish Wolf · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Irish Wolf** on Sun Jul 27, 2008 10:27 pm

"Hail from the Sunrider Captain" said the young warrant officer manning the comm, "Its a video communication."

"On screen" said William Doyle, standing up from his command chair. He adjusted the dark blue wedge cap sitting on his head, the silver insignia of the Imperial Navy now resting in line with the middle of his face. The large screen in front of him switched from the image of passing space to the bridge of the Sunrider. There stood Captain Varik Mord'en, the Turun in command of the aging Corvette. It was still a little strange seeing a Turun in uniform and a captain's uniform at that. Most Turun that get freed and find themselves in Imperial space ship out to border colonies to escape either the racists or the pestering abolitionists looking for spokespersons to end slavery.

"Good morning, captain, any news from the admiralty?" said Varik, after several seconds of being on the screen. There was still a lag between the ship, as the information was relayed through the void of space. The larger the distance between the ships, the longer the lag.

"Not much more then our original orders Captain" said William, a small smile creeping over his face, "Get the new Super Dreadnought to the fleet at the fastest speed possible but keep the convoy together. You know, go fast but slow enough to keep everyone with you. Plus a few reports from the lost shipping. The attacks started deep in the conquered zone and slow have moved towards the old border. I doubt any raiders will dare show themselves to us, even of we left the merchants to fend for themselves."

An alarm went off behind William. "Sir!" called the Lieutenant at the scanner terminal, "We've detected the Lady Macbeth has gone to full combat status. I've got nothing other then the convoy on the scanner here, Sir."

"Damn it" muttered William, "I'll get back to you Varik. Cut communication." The warrant officer nodded and ended the transmission to the Sunrider. "Open a channel to the Lady Macbeth" growled William, sitting in his command chair, "Audio only."

"Aye Sir" said the warrant officer, taping a few command keys, "Channel open."

"Lady Macbeth" said William, "What seems to be the trouble? We have detected that your on full combat status, can you explain?" A frown replaced the smile, most likely some computer trouble. The Lady Macbeth was on older tub and had not been kept in good repair like the old Sunrider, that had been lunched over three hundred years ago.

Fang_Wolf_Assassin · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Fang_Wolf_Assassin** on Sun Jul 27, 2008 10:29 pm

"It's not good enough boys, if you were looking for a deal on plasma you have to meet my requirments." Fang said as we watched two devilish looking creatures answer back with fury on the monitor. "Fool!! This is a supreme deal! Only an idiot would not take it. Maybe we should just take it from you!!" They snapped. Fang laughed. "I would'nt do that if I were you, your messing with the wrong assassin."

They mearly snickered. "And who are you to hold yourself in such high esteem? The assassin guild as long been extincted." He smiled as he grabbed his left throttle and pressed a red button, arming 2 Gaiga Missles. "Im Fang..." He then fired. The missles streaked through space at the now enemy ship, blasting it back to hell. Fang then slowly lit one of the last of his Cigarettes and took a long drag. He turned port and sent his baby, "Hell-Singer" to the Space station colony, E-652, or as the underground liked to call it, Trolls Market.

Fang set the sand-colored fighter on auto-piolt and scanned for any admiral ships. He would be dead before he was caught by those bastards. Just to be sure, He put on his cloaking, only to find out it wouldnt turn on for him. "Damnit! why the hell don't you work!!!" He slammed his fist on the console, instantly turning it on, blending the ship with space. "There we go baby.." He smiled as he closed his eyes, falling slowly asleep.

King Silvran · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **King Silvran** on Wed Jul 30, 2008 2:55 pm

OOC: Will join soon

Taedis · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Taedis** on Sun Aug 03, 2008 3:37 pm

Joshua sat down in his chair, keeeping an eye on the situation. What the hell is taking them so long to deactivate the combat wasps? He relaxed from the latest dosage of tranquilizers from his nural nanonics.

His communications black blinked. His nural nanonics notified him of an incoming transmission. He ignored it. What was he going to tell them? What, that he had several illegal sub-nuclear smart missiles? That would probably result in him getting screwed. Again.

He had picked them up from one of the boarder worlds. After delivering antimatter coils, he stuck a deal for a large quantity of combat wasps. He did ask where they came from, but they probably were looted off a destroyed mility ship. Best not to think about it.

Combat wasps run off the idea that if the missiles have an AI onboard, they are more effective. They are used offensively and defensively. The offensive portion is that the cpu will perform evasive manuvers on the way to the target, making them harder to hit. The CPU also coordinates attacks with other combat wasps. Missiles that work as a team. The defensive part comes in mostly during a battle between 2 ships equiped with combat wasps. The combat wasps will detonate to destroy incoming combat wasps. In a typical battle, this results in neither side being able to land a hit. A side effect of the many explosions is a cloud of radioactive and elecromagnetic hash. This blocks standard lock on and targeting. Defense is so important because frigate sized ships are usually the ones fitted with combat wasps, and a single hit will usually mean victory. Luckly, the military inspectors were too busy with the other outdated illegal components aboard. He had the proper paperwork for those. They mistakenly identified the combat wasp battery as a standard frigate class missile launcher.

Finnally, he looked back down at the communications block. He accepted the transmission, instinctivly trying to fix his tie. Damn military types. That captain guy or whatever doesnt know what the real world is like. He probably had everything he did handed to him. His ship was probably given to him because he came from the right family. Same thing with his rank. This war caused him to loose his lifestyle. He abandoned his tie where it was.

"Lady Macbeth" the communications block said. "What seems to be the trouble? We have detected that your on full combat status, can you explain?"

He signaled the communications block. "Sir, we are experiencing a small malfunction. It is being sorted out right now."

Joshua was optimistic. It seemed like they havnt noticed that these are not missiles they are picking up. Hey, hurry the hell up! He datavised. He waited. We located the problem, but the cpu block has locked up. We are getting another one up here. The engineer replied.

Saint Michel · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Saint Michel** on Wed Aug 06, 2008 6:22 pm

Douglas Layton jumped as a cool, mechanical voice -- dubbed "Penny" by the crew -- suddenly echoed between the painted metal walls of the hallway.

"Captain to the bridge, Captain to bridge."

Doug sighed, walking faster. Even Penny couldn't couldn't keep a straight face these days. Luckily he'd already been on the way to the bridge, so it was only a three or four minute walk. Even if he'd been standing in the aft loading control station at the very stern of the ship when the call went out, it would have taken no longer than twenty minutes to reach the bridge. The Penelope wasn't a small ship, but she wasn't a large one either.

Doug smiled at the thought. Not small, not large. The surplus Navy C49s for her powerplant meant she wasn't slow, but not terribly fast either. He loved her though, everything from the noxious orange paint that coated every surface to the cramped rack he slept in every night. She was an unremarkable ship, and yet he loved her because she was essentially his.

There was a big difference between his and essentially his however, a fact driven home when he stepped through the bridge hatchway and Warren Hill, the Chief Petty Officer on bridge duty, turned and asked, "Where's the captain?"

It wasn't a real question; both Doug and Warren knew the answer. But the crew seemed to find needling their X.O. on his limbo status a source of endless enjoyment.

"He's dealing with some paperwork," replied Doug, "on the invoice tallies for pods fifteen through twenty-eight." In point of fact the invoice tallies were sitting completed on the captain's desk, done up in Layton's hand, while the great man himself was dead to the world in his rack sleeping it off.

A long look from the CPO said that he understood, and with a slight shrug he returned his attention to making sure the ship's computers were all doing their jobs. Since they always were, the CPO was currently engaged in the demanding task of browsing through a small pile of weeks-old periodicals and girlie magazines, while a hip flask and coffee cup sat perched precariously atop a computer system worth more than a year of the man's salary.

"What's the to-do?" Doug asked, "Why was ... the captain called up?"

Hill nodded towards the com block. "Lot of chatter going out in the convoy. One of the ships in Coffin Corner is letting go a lot of something. The glow stick has been flashing for two or three minutes now," he added, pointing to the radiological alarm.

Doug leaned forward and began interfacing with the sensor array. "Maybe they've got a fuel leak."

"Or maybe they've been torpedoed," offered the CPO, sounding ridiculously cheerful at the prospect.

"You'll be laughing out of the other side of your mouth if we get hit," replied Doug, scrolling through the green wire representation of space on the AV screen.

"I think I'll be too dead to care, with all respect sir," replied Hill.

Doug couldn't very well argue with his CPO. Back home he'd lost a coin toss with Gabe Ndinga of the Robert K. Turner, and now the Penelope was loaded to the brim with ammunition while Ndinga's ship sailed merrily alongside with its cargo of boots and uniform hats. If the Penelope was hit by a torpedo her crew would be gone before they knew what had happened.

"Ah here we are." Doug had located the offending vessel in Coffin Corner, the upper rear section of the convoy usually attacked by merchant raiders. "That's the Lady Macbeth, and it doesn't look like she's been hit," he said, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He turned back to the com block. "I'll try to find out."

He hailed the Conqueror, figuring if anyone knew what was going on, the convoy commodore would. "HIMS Conqueror, this is Penelope. What's the sit rep?"

Irish Wolf · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Irish Wolf** on Wed Aug 06, 2008 7:04 pm

"Sir, we are experiencing a small malfunction. It is being sorted out right now." rang out over the bridge of the HIMS Conqueror.

William Doyle frowned. Some malfunction had caused him an annoyance and now a headache and stress. With the state his ship was in, any one picking up an enemy and going to full combat mode made the captain nervous. All but the two missile pods in the bow of the HIMS Conqueror were locked out of their combat systems and useless. Oh, they had plenty of ammunition and all the gun crews but the targeting controls, reloaders and power relays were all locked out with cods sitting in Admiral Ori Wrenn's desk.

Of course they had the escorts to protect the convoy until they reached the third fleet but that didn't make William any less stressed. All he could think of was of how much he could do in battle, which was less then even a frigate could do. He could always block incoming attacks though, as the Conqueror did have the newly developed shield generators all over her hull.

"Understood Lady Macbeth" said William slowly, trying to keep his annoyance to himself, "Lets get that fixed before the other captains start getting jumpy." He then slid the pointer finger on his right hand across his throat. The bridge crew grinned and the transmission was cut.

"Incoming hail from the Penelope Captain" called out the warrant officer at the comm, "Audio transmission."

"Send it through" said William, sighing.

"HIMS Conqueror, this is Penelope. What's the sit rep?"

"A malfunction aboard the Lady Macbeth" said William, in a bored voice, "That leaky old tub jumped to combat status for some reason. Its nothing to worry about." He stood and walked over the the scanner terminal and frowned even more. The Lady Macbeth was leaking a nice clear trail of radioactive exhaust for all to see. It would lead anyone right to the convoy, even if they were two days behind them and the convoy had some slow moving heavy freighters that could be over taken by the slowest warship in the Confederate navy.

Saint Michel · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Saint Michel** on Wed Aug 06, 2008 7:53 pm

"Roger that, Conqueror," Douglas said, "Out."

He turned to find Warren Hill was chuckling to himself. "What?"

"Oh sir, it's just that the names for these Navy ships always tickle me funny." The CPO spread his hands. "HIMS Conqueror, HIMS Vanquisher, HIMS Kick in the Fucking Nuts."

Douglas laughed at that.

"They're always these angry strong-ass names," Hill went on, "And what are we named after? Some crazy bitch from Ancient Greece."

Douglas raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised that the Chief Petty Officer knew who the original Penelope was. Hill must have seen the look, for he shrugged and said, "It gets mighty boring sometimes, especially on the long runs. About a year before you signed on we had to take a load of solar generators and drillbits out to Topaz, and that place makes the Middle of Nowhere look conveniently nearby, you know what I'm saying? Well, the old man has a nice collection of books in his rack -- the good old-fashioned kind, with real binding and everything -- and he let me borrow them when I got bored."

Douglas had seen the shelf of books in the captain's quarters, but had never paid much attention. For a moment he wondered just what kind of man the captain was.

Hill had, however, returned to his original thesis. "But yea, that Penelope was one crazy bitch. I mean, she waiting twenty years for her man to get home. Twenty fucking years! Goddamn! My first girl, I hadn't been gone three months before she shacked up with some pipefitter from New Rotterdam." He upended the flask into his coffee cup and took a large sip, making Doug wonder how many cups Hill had before he had turned up. "Plumb loco, if you ask me."

"Maybe it was love," Doug mused. He thought of Diana back home in New Cairo and wondered if she'd wait twenty years for him. He liked to think so.

The CPO was of a different mind, however. "Love?" He snorted. "Ain't no such thing. That gal Penelope, she was just funny in the head."

That was when the alarms started going off.

Taedis · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Taedis** on Wed Aug 06, 2008 8:21 pm

"Understood Lady Macbeth" The communications block droned. Joshua was really starting to hate this guy. "Lets get that fixed before the other captains start getting jumpy." No shit, he thought to himself. He opened his mouth the say one of the military formalities, but the com was shut. Thanks.

Joshua got up from his chair. Done yet? he datavised. He started towards the door. No was the reply. He decided it was not worth asking again. He would just have to wait. He nodded at his pilot, Ashly, and stode out of the bridge. He had always had a 4 man crew. Himself, the pilot, the systems specialist, Sarha, and the engineer, "Furay".

The Lady Macbeth was a tiny ship compared to other ships. Probably because it really was only designed for cargo transport and independent trading. Joshua liked the design. This ship didnt bother with the odd curves and flat shapes that it seemed every other ship did. His ship was a sphere. It made sense too. A circular ship has the most volume. With cargo in mind this is very inportant. With no need for aerodynamics, this fitted his needs perfectly. He could unload whatever he needed into the shuttle. The interior was small too. The diameter of the ship was the length of the main hallway. Much of the ship was inaccessible from the inside due to 50% of the ship being engines. Then, 35% of what was left was cargo space. Many repairs had to be done from a station or the outside, although there are numerous crawl spaces for maintenance.

He stopped in front of an AV projection pillar in the hallway. It seemed like the majority were shut down. He turned back towards the bridge. It was only down the rest of the hallway, and up a ladder. On the way, he passed his quaters, the showers, and his crew's quaters. At least the thermo dump panels stopped getting stuck he thought. When that had happened, he had to go outside and get them to move, all the while getting blasted with exaust. He grabbed a bottle of Tears, and took a huge sip. It burned all the way down. It was bliss. He shouldnt even have the stuff. The price was so ridiculously high that he couldnt dream of having some now. The planet where it came from deiberatly employed methods to raise the price. It was the entire planet's economy. The bottle was left over from the party he had when he hit the motherload. Those were the days.

He looked out the side widows and shivered. The lumbering beast of ship floated above.

Irish Wolf · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Irish Wolf** on Wed Aug 06, 2008 9:32 pm

Red lights flashed and alarms blared on the HIMS Conqueror, just as Captain William was sitting back into his command chair and trying to relax. Blue eyes that had been closing to try and relieve pressure around his brain snapped open, as he sat up right.

"Report" demanded William, looking at the Lieutenant manning the scanner terminal.

"Inbound" said the Lieutenant, checking the scanner screen, "I count ten contacts at fifty clicks*, one hundred and seventy-eight degrees starboard, thirty degrees up bubble."

"Get me a visual" said William, turning to look at the main screen. One of the cameras on the last railgun battery tilted slight to the left and up. A large expanse of space was displayed on the screen, slowly focusing on ten moving objects. Coming straight at the convoy was a single frigate and nine destroyers. "ID" said William, the general looks of warships hadn't changed in three hundred years, which made it critical to have computers pick out the slight differences.

"Their a crusader class frigate and nine templar class destroyers." said the Lieutenant. William almost laughed, those were outdated in the Protectorate Navy by four generations for each ship type. These was not some diabolical attack but the Protectorate Navy, just some local militia or raiders.

"Open a general channel to the fleet" said William, still looking at the incoming ships. They, like all military vessels looked like some mad modeler had taken a model of a world war 2 surface ship and a sub and merged them together.

"Channel open Captain" said the warrant officer.

"All ships" said William, "We have incoming warships from the rear of the convoy at fifty clicks. The HIMS Sunrider, Brazen, Mjolnir, Baldr and Hringhorni will turn and engage them when in range." he had named one of the Corvettes and four of the frigates escorting the convoy, including his old ship.

*special note. One click is equal to 1,000 kilometers. The heaviest railguns had a range of 41,000km but are only accurate at 15,000. The average missile has a accurate range of 7,000km.

Saint Michel · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Saint Michel** on Thu Aug 07, 2008 10:18 pm

The screeching of the alarm made Douglas jump and Warren drop his cup, which crashed to the floor and spattered the toes of Doug's neatly polished shoes. The CPO cursed and snapped up the offending cup.

"What now?" moaned Doug, frantically interfacing with the control unit. "The Conqueror set off our alarms."

At that moment the com block stirred to life. ""All ships," came a calm male voice, "We have incoming warships from the rear of the convoy at fifty clicks. The HIMS Sunrider, Brazen, Mjolnir, Baldr and Hringhorni will turn and engage them when in range."

"Goddamn!" said Hill, working through the AV scan. "There they are," he said at last, his face grim. "Coffin corner, all right. I'd hate-"

Whatever he said next was lost as the ship's bridge suddenly exploded with life as people flooded in from the main hatch and the gangway that led to the crew's quarters. Muhammed, the warrant officer who was the Penelope's Systems Specialist, slid into his seat while his partner Karim stared in deep focus at their console, his face still lathered up from a shave interrupted. Several blinking and confused-looking ratings were in deep conversation with the CPO, while Doug was backed up against the command console by the cargo engineer and ship's cook.

"What's happening?" asked the cook, a tubby man with an untamed black beard named Mahmud. The Penelope's home port was New Cairo, and most of the crew were descendants of settlers from the namesake city.

"Is the convoy under attack?" pressed the cargo engineer, an older married man named Harvey Weaver.

"We've got raiders inbound," replied Doug, "Fifty clicks and closing."

The engineer's face drained of color. "But, but the cargo!" he managed to gasp out. He understood more than anyone the nature of the ship's cargo, and what would happen if it were hit.

"What the hell is going on here?"

A gravelly voice made the entire bridge turn and stare toward the main hatch, where standing there and clinging onto the bulkhead was the Captain. The Old Man looked like Death, and as he walked slowly on unsure legs to the command console the entire crew stared in startled silence, for it was the first time most of them had seen him in weeks. "Now then," he said, turning to Doug and fixing him with a bloodshot glare. "What's going on Layton?"

Doug blinked once as the Old Man's breath, sour with old whiskey and vermouth, washed over him. "Well, sir, we've got raiders-"

"I know that, Layton," the Old Man snapped. "I mean what are we doing about it?" He looked ready collapse at any moment, but seemed otherwise lucid and sober, or at least sober enough.

"I presumed we would maintain station in the convoy and let the escorts take care of the raiders," Doug replied stiffly.

The Old Man scowled, turning to Muhammed. "Specialist al-Qahari, warm up the engines for a jump. We can't always rely on escorts."

The Penelope could jump like a hippopotamus could sprint, but it was better than nothing. Muhammed nodded. "The gun crew reports all ready for duty, Captain." The ship mounted a 150mm rail gun topside.

But the Old Man just snorted. "Tell them they might as well go down to the galley and enjoy a nice cup of coffee. If those raiders get close enough to shoot at, our little gun isn't going to stop them." He turned back to Doug. "Layton, I want you to gather all non-essential personnel and-" he paused a moment, his face contorting in pain as his legs seemed ready to give way. "And send them to their assigned places on the escape pods. If we do get hit, maybe some of us will get out. Understood, Lieutenant?"

"Yes Captain," replied Doug. As he walked off the bridge he caught a glance from Hill, who shrugged as if to say, well it is his ship. Doug nodded sadly, then stepped through the hatch.

Ottoman · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Ottoman** on Sat Aug 09, 2008 3:02 pm

Varik managed to salute before the image flicked off, and he turned to look over the bridge, everyone going about their duties. It pleased him. He plopped himself into his command chair, and, after placing his pipe aside momentarily, stretched greatly, flexing all his muscles, and, emitting a deep yawn, took his pipe back up and began to slowly puff out smoke. Suddenly alarm lights illuminated the bridge in a bath of an eerie red, and filled the air with whooping sirens. Quickly, almost without thinking of it, Varik called out with a growl to his voice,

"Report!"

The communication came through quickly, and Varik listened to it with grim attentiveness,

"All ships. We have incoming warships from the rear of the convoy at fifty clicks. The HIMS Sunrider, Brazen, Mjolnir, Baldr and Hringhorni will turn and engage them when in range."

Varik quickly ordered the helmsman to get them into position, swinging the Sunrider about, and the engines flared a bright crimson as the ship spproached the hostiles...

Irish Wolf · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Irish Wolf** on Sat Aug 09, 2008 7:56 pm

The ten Protectorate raiders continued to race towards the fleet. Now it might seem suicidal for ten small and out dated ships to attack a convoy containing one of the largest capital ships in any fleet and her escorts but the raiders couldn't see them just yet. What they could find with their scanners was a trail of radioactive exhaust, most likely from a supply convoy. Their scanners were some of the most outdated pieces of junk to be found floating in space. The ten ships were given to the local militia in the hopes of making their planetary leaders pipe down about being left defenseless not to be used in actions against a real enemy.

The HIMS Brazen and Hringhorni turned away from the convoy and formed up on the port side of HIMS Sunrider. The Hringhorni's sister ships, a pair of Norse class frigates, the HIMS Mjolnir and HIMS Baldr formed up on the starboard side of Sunrider. All over the four frigates, their sailors readied themselves, all but a few in the sickbay at their stations. Each of the four missile batteries on each ship, armed their Hell Lance missiles. Twenty batteries in total, each having ten missile slots, making it a total of two hundred missiles ready.

When the Protectorate vessels got within thirty clicks of the Imperial Rear guard, they finial could see the five vessel that had turned to face them. It was plain to even the militia sailors that those five ship had not mall this trail all by themselves, their was still a fat convoy somewhere nearby and they only had to defeat five ships, most of them frigates.

The ten Protectorate captain smiled to themselves, a two to one battle in their favor, an easy win even if all their ships didn't carry missile countermeasures. Too bad those countermeasure were as outdated as their ships.

Ottoman · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Ottoman** on Sat Aug 09, 2008 8:18 pm

Varik sat immoble in his chair, watching the viewscreen in front of him, readying himself for the coming conflict... Before he knew it, the weapons officer was demanding orders. Varik shook away all of his thoughts and commanded in a matter-of-fact tone,

"Aim for the integral ships. Outriggers too."

"Both Rail and Coil?"

"Make it so."

The Sunrider's weapons belched out munition, sending it to the hostiles. The weapons sped towards the enemy, though few would hit them, it was not a pleasant sight to see death hurtiling towards you, and tended to disturb many people...

Taedis · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Taedis** on Sat Aug 09, 2008 8:31 pm

Heat spilled out of the Lady Macbeth into the void of space, increasing its infared fingerprint twicefold. Joshua sat back down in his acceleration couch, subconsiously sifting through the Lady Macbeth's sensor data. He streched his genetically boosted muscles and watched the bubbles float up in the bottle of Tears. He probably had enough credits at the time to buy himself a Voidhawk.

The Voidhawk, in Joshua's mind, was the next step in space flight. Voidhawks are sentient spaceships that are germinated in the ring around his home planet. A living spaceship's potential maneuverability and speed is totally off the charts. With no need for maintenance, repairs, or computers, they are very reliable. They were created years after the discovery of the affinity gene.

The affinity gene is the form of communication that pilots use to talk to sentient spaceships. For lack of a better word, affinity is telepathic communications. He did not have the affinity gene, but he could have probably been able to afford the geneeering.

Joshua stiffened. His nural nanonics notified him that something just warped in. There was too much electromagnetic hash given off from the increased exaust output for the flight computer to identify the ships. He fed the coordinates of the ships directly into the long range scanner. His ship identification program shifted into primary mode. The ships were incredibly outdated. Then again, so was his, in a way. He at least was fitted with modern equipment.

His communications block buzzed, blinked, then buzzed again. "All ships," the communications block relayed, "We have incoming warships from the rear of the convoy at fifty clicks. The HIMS Sunrider, Brazen, Mjolnir, Baldr and Hringhorni will turn and engage them when in range."

Joshua sighed. Good thing they dont want me to do anything about it. He relaxed in the acceleration couch, overriding the flight computer's evasive manuvers. "10 ships? They don't stand a chance."

Irish Wolf · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Irish Wolf** on Fri Aug 15, 2008 10:46 pm

The incoming Protectorate fleet split apart, their scanners good enough to tell them of the weapon fire from the Imperial Corvette. One Destroyer, trying hard not to collide with the others was forced to say in the path of oncoming raingun rounds. The light armor of the destroyer could of held up against one round of the light railgun battery but the vessel took all four rounds across the bow. The explosive shells ripped through the nano-steel of the armor and hull, the heat setting the atmosphere inside the forward compartments in fire, hot flash fires ripping down the passageways towards the stern. The stores of shells had been left open by the slightly trained crew and the fires set them off.

As the gunners of the Destroyer burned alive, the exploding shells ripped off the forward battery. The vessel started to drifted down, fires burning along the leaking trails of atmosphere. The remaining crew tried desperately to right the wounded ship and put out the fires, alarms blaring nonstop. The other eight destroyers raced away.

The HIMS Brazen, Jolnir, Baldr and Hringhorni race forwards, unleashing all two hundred of their Hell Lance missiles, just as the Protectorate frigate charged towards the HIMS Sunrider, firing off her own batteries of older Viper missiles. Missile counter measures fired off from seven of the remaining Protectorate destroyers, frying some of the missile's tracing computers.

The eighth destroyer's missile countermeasures didn't even launch and the full fury of a single Imperial Frigate's batteries struck her. Fifty Hell Lances ripped into the light armor, explosions tearing the small warship into space fragments. What few sailors that were not killed by flames or ripped apart, were sucked into the void of space, only to burst apart.

The other seven destroyers took a battering but continued on, into firing range of their guns. Three pointed their bows downwards and increased their speed. They shot under the Imperial ships and raced towards the convoy.

Taedis · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Taedis** on Sat Aug 16, 2008 12:13 am

An alert appeared in Joshua's head. One of the Protectorate ships managed to get itself hit by the railguns. Joshua tried not to pay the battle too much attention, but after nine weeks of more or less uneventful flight, he decided that he couldn't not watch what was happening. He dismissed the alert, then focused the ship's sensors on the battle, just in time to see one of the ships catch a couple missiles. From the distance his sensors had a hard time picking up what was going on. Sensors was one of the areas that he didnt upgrade. He closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the sensor data. That ship caught more than a few.

The stars bent unnaturally in an artifical shockwave. His sensors had distorted not only from the cloud of debris and flames where the spaceship had been seconds earlier, but also from the plume of radioactive hash being vented into space by the Lady Macbeth. "Dammit," Joshua said out loud. He loaded a defensive manuver directly into the flight computer, and was pushed back into the acceleration couch from the 3 gees of acceleration. He was more interested in clearing the sensor's scan by putting distance between the Lady Macbeth and the electromagnetic jumble trailing behind the ship, rather than defending the convoy as a whole.

It seemed clear that the Protectorate fleet would be destroied. Why hadnt they left yet? He sighed. Perhaps they didnt realize that the convoy contained a the largest ship he had ever seen. Okay, maybe not.

Joshua sat upright. As the sensor image came back into focus, he noticed the ships had managed to get past the 4 defenders. He quickly loaded an agressive manuver into the flight comupter, but kept it on standby, just in case. The new flight vector blinked in his head, waiting for him to switch it into primary mode. As soon as he got the order, he would be able to engage the enemy.

Watch out, we may have incoming, He datavised.

Saint Michel · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Saint Michel** on Sat Aug 16, 2008 12:27 am

The cook's wife was a large and formidable creature, clad in a tan hijjab and wielding her purse like a flail. "I don't want to sit in that tiny little space, and I won't!"

"Ma'am," Douglas replied in a tired voice, "It's for your own safety." He turned to her husband, who had been labelled non-essential personnel by the captain and so was to report to his escape pod. "Can you explain this to her?"

The man nodded, then rattled off something sharp and quick in the New Cairene dialect. Doug didn't catch what he had said, but it seemed to do the trick for the woman grudgingly clambered into the pod. Her husband followed, and the couple took their assigned seats. The only other non-essential personnel on this pod was the cargo engineer, who didn't seem eager to enter.

"I'm claustrophobic, you see," the man explained Doug, who raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "It's only very small spaces," the engineer explained, "Very small, very cramped spaces." He shivered at the thought, then leaned in close so as to be unheard by the cook or his wife. "I'd rather stay here if it's all right with you. I know what'll happen if this ship gets hit, and I don't want to waste my time on one of those... things."

Doug looked thoughtful, then shrugged. He could theoretically order the man onto the pod, but what was the point? "Have it your way then." He returned his attention to the two occupants of the escape pod. "I'm closing the doors now," he explained, "The pod is set to deploy automatically if the hull is breached. It'll-"

"Holy shit," said the engineer, "Would you get a load of that?"

Doug turned and followed the man's gaze out through the 3-inch glass of the portside view window into the blackness of space. Except the space wasn't black anymore. Somewhere far away a ship was on fire, a white trail of air leaking out behind her. Something else was burning too, though Doug couldn't tell what. The AV screen would most likely present a clear picture, but that was up at the bridge.

But he certainly didn't need an AV screen to see the three enemy vessels bearing down on the convoy. The engineer's mouth moved in silent prayer. Doug wasn't a particularly religious man, but he sure felt like begging the higher ups for help at this moment. He thought of Diana; and where were the goddam escorts?

War among the Stars (a sci-fi war game) IC

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