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Quoted

Forgotten Seed

Imperial Administration Complex #07, Department of Intelligence
Koriander Prime City
Capital District #01, Theta Meta-Region
Kore, Nexus System
GST: 10 Heptember 538 IC [~3671 AD]


Sub-Commander Gurt’s office was a dimly-lit expanse of luxurious appointments. He leaned back in his massive chair with a sort of stoic contentment. To his left, half the wall glistened with a sheet of water cascading over a slab of imported marble. The quiet bubbling of water calmed his nerves. Presently a melodious chime sounded.
Furrowing his brows and emitting a small sigh of irritation, Gurt shifted his bulky frame forward, activating his com. The glowing holo blurred into a crisp field of light hovering over his desk, itself an ornate working of exotic woods that had cost a fortune. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the iridescent glow. Somebody had sent a message to him:

RECIPIENT: Sub-Commander N. Gurt, Class 4 Supervisor, TacIntel, IAC
PRIORITY: IMMEDIATE
RESPONSE: CoordVerify

SOURCE FILE IS CLASSIFIED – DELETE UPON RESPONSE VERIFICATION

Gurt’s widened slightly with mild interest, skimming over the rest of the message briefly. A classified CoVe was usually a military target. Gurt scoffed. Well, there was technically a war still in progress, after all. It had been going on for literally decades at this point, although the Empire had all but obliterated most of the serious separatist threats. But when Humanity managed to control a good bit of the galaxy, with a population numbering in the trillions, there was always going to be fighting somewhere. There wasn’t much to worry about on the capital world, of course, or anywhere near the core systems for that matter, but the seps were still making noise along the Rim. Well, it was probably some rusty outpost ready to be put out of its misery. He ran the attached file through his decryption algorithms and forwarded it to one of his techs, with a reminder to conceal the trail. Although technically he was supposed to verify anything sent directly to him, he rarely did these days.
Shrugging inwardly, Sub-Commander Gurt leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, thinking of what his mistress might be wearing for him tonight.

~

Technician Second-Class Albrem was hunched forward close to his holo, cramped as usual in his cubespace. His plain office was little more than a box with a desk and a door, and in the corridor past that door were countless other boxes harboring bored technicians and overworked clerks engaged in their endless mundane tasks. All for the glorious empire. Albrem saw a message pop up for him and smirked. It was another assignment from his boss, who was probably shirking his responsibilities again. Ever since he had uncovered some sensitive information about Commander Stonsin a few months ago, he could sit in that huge office all day and hardly do anything except bully his subordinates. Not that he ever physically came down here to Sub-Level 8. Albrem smiled as he imagined fat old Gurt huffing around the hot cramped corridors adorned with endless doors, lost and frustrated. Sighing, he returned to his holo and opened the message. Another co-vee, terrific. Verifying coordinates, particularly for remote targets, was tedious work, but it’s how he got his creds.
Quelling a sudden pang of loneliness, Albrem studied the dense string of coordinates and began loading his charts. It was going to be a long evening.

~

Classified Rally Point, Deep Space
Alpha-Beta Divide Approximate
GSL: gSector 04.???? [A13-01.04/04.??/??.??]
GSD: 34 Novinder 538 IC

Aboard the overbridge, Admiral Xymson waited. On the outside, he appeared calm and collected as he stood rigidly, unmoving, hands clasped behind his back. Tall, immobile, authoritative. Exactly as he needed to be. Surrounding him on the spacious bridge, various officers waited at their posts, tensely silent. The vast viewscreen to which Xymson directed his intense gaze remained blank. Without moving, he spoke crisply:

“Where is that visual, Lieutenant?” Xymson spat the rank out nearly as an insult, and channeled all of his impatience and agitation into it. The young officer addressed appeared visibly shaken, dancing his fingers over his controls.

“Sir, feedback confirms scuttle deployment, but there’s some ionic interference, which I’m currently compensating for by recalibrating the har-“ The Admiral waved his hand, cutting the officer short.

“Don’t tell me about it, just do it. Rattrell, how long since they jumped?” Another officer hastily checked a readout.

“One hour seventeen minits, Sir.” The Admiral nodded. He had decided that at two standard hours they were going to jump in with Beta Assembly, communication or not. Apparently they had engaged almost directly after the jump, and the resistance had to be considerable, but that was understandable. Xymson allowed himself a tight smile. No matter. It simply meant that many seps were going to die today.

“Get the core hot. We’re jumping in 30 minits. And make sure we jump in close, I want them to get a good look at us.”

~

Unidentified Planet [ref. sChart 2845.155mClass/Possible Separatist Colony]
Alpha-Beta Divide Approximate
GSL: gSector 04.???? [A13-01.04/04.??/??.??]
GSD: 34 Novinder 538 IC

The expansive vacuum of space above the milky blue planet was alight with silent fire. The Imperial fleet designated as Assembly B was bearing down upon the relatively tightly-knit cluster of ships defending the world, but it was no easy advance. Literally thousands of fighters darted in and out of the massive capital ships; countless bursts of light and plasma explosions springing in and out of existence with each passing moment of the intense battle.
Admiral Lunn lurched in his command chair as a small group of suicide fighters slammed into their shields, flaring the vast wall of energy. Lunn’s face was creased with worry. Although relatively safe in his flagship, the Destroyer-class vessel “Nox,” it was apparent that the defenders were all willing to give their lives. He looked at the viewscreen, which was a busy mess of fighters dogfighting around the nearest ship, an old N-10 bomber.

“Tactical, I want the bombers to pull back, they aren’t doing any good here. Commander Yulna, we need Deel’s cruisers in the hot zone now! And where’s our comm?”
The comm station accommodated three exhausted-looking men, one of whom replied without looking up:

“Sir, comm with Alpha is still down. Our scuttles are active and recording visual data, but I don’t think they’re broadcasting properly. There’s some interference somewhere between here and the rally point that intel didn’t tell us about.”

Admiral Lunn cursed as he looked down at a sensor report on his holo, indicating 47 more ships coming around the planet. That put the defenders at around 120 ships. He now had 79 at his command, and although the seps didn’t have as many fighters, they were putting up a hellish fight with regular reinforcements. He wasn’t sure what else this planet might launch at them, but so far it was certainly a surprise to find this sort of resistance out in the middle of nowhere. He spoke aloud then, almost to himself:

“Sok, we’ve really stirred a nest of theetles.” He opened a channel on the BattNet. “Sub-Admiral Deel? Push those cruisers forward and blanket them with Squadrons…Red, Black, Yellow. Set up a stop-web at the coords I’m sending you, and watch out for…that group of battlecruisers there, I’m marking it as group 4G on your tacmap. Lunn out.” A slightly distorted voice responded affirmatively and he leaned back into his chair, praying for that arrogant Xymson to jump in with his behemoth.

~

SkyStation #27, “Ikarius”
Geosynchronous Orbit, Unidentified Planet

“Commander, Blukron Armada is entering Zone 5, ETA 200 sekonds.” Commander Foxley nodded curtly, glancing out the viewport. Unlike the detached comfort one appreciated while looking at a simscreen, this was an actual window to the outside void, and the picture it framed was frighteningly violent. He never imagined it would come to this, an actual invasion here at their home. The Lathan Empire’s ruthless efficiency was infuriating, but there was nothing to be done about that now. All they could do was retaliate and deal out death until death was dealt. He smiled grimly as he recalled the couplet written by the great Aelderen:
“For death the time is always nigh – but Death itself shall never die.”

“Acknowledged, Ensign. We’re bleeding fighters too quickly, call Central for reinforcements in this sector. Contact whoever the local squad CO is and issue a general defend redirect, cross-shift cluster formation. The officer nodded and turned to his controls, working quickly. Outside the viewport, the pinpoints of light grew brighter. Foxley knew that the core of the battle raged many kilometers away, but already waves of fighters and a few cruisers had jumped ahead, presumably to test the defensive capabilities of the orbital stations and planetary defense arrays. They had been dispatched, but still the Empire closed in, like a giant steel fist full of lasers clenching slowly, inexorably. Around their home. He leaned back and sighed in his chair, fighting against an overwhelming despair at the madness of it all.
“If only they knew what they were doing.” If any of the officers around heard him, they gave no sign.

~

Carrier Station 593
Primary Orbital Defense Fleet Assemblies

The sixteen H-4 Heavy Fighters composing the Black Wind squad swarmed out of one of the dozen or so carrier stations, or buckets, nearest to the defense fleet. Lieutenant Mander was young, cocky, and sometimes reckless. But he was brilliant at making things blow up, and he had fifteen elite pilots to help him do just that. He opened a channel to his squad:

“Alright, everybody’s green status. Form on me and let’s give them some reinforcements. Primary target is battleship designated BS-35 on your canopy displays. Distance is 5000 and closing fast. Heads up.”The cluster of fighters darted across space, the massive battleship looming directly ahead, attempting to skirt around a battlegroup in order to engage a relatively defenseless SkyStation. Mander refreshed his canopy with data uploaded from the FleetNet’s servers and a series of green blips began popping up around the battleship – friendly fighters already engaged with the ship. A single red blip hovered over the center of the capital, meaning…

“Squad, let’s get in there! There are no escorts, I repeat – no fighters…thrust it!” He ignited his burstdrive and sped forward, veering along the length of the ship as it fired wildly in all directions, desperately attacking the crippling swarm. Mander quickly assessed the damage and re-opened the channel:

“Tob, take your wing along starboard, I’ll handle port.”

“Acknowledged, Black One. Black Eleven through Sixteen, on me.” Half the squadron broke off and dove under the belly of the vessel, which even now was listing to one side, its auxiliary engines failing. Mander gripped his sticks and pulled up, setting his reticle on the bridge tower and immediately spitting out twin blasts with practiced aim. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Black Seven, one of his best, barrel out of a volley of plasma tracers, eluding the battleship’s lock and releasing his own bright blue streams of destruction on the shields, which flared and flickered almost constantly under the aggressive barrage.

“Black One, this is Black 10…port engines are disable-“ A burst of static cut him off as the aft of the vessel erupted in a massive explosion, his canopy immediately dimming to compensate for the influx of light. He smiled grimly, looping tightly around for another run on the tower. It wasn’t much of a ‘tower’ really, and was intentionally given a low profile, but he knew that’s where the bridge was. He saw a number of explosions erupting on the hull surface itself now, indicating that the shields had finally suffered a general failure. Sighting the tower once more, he bore down and nearly overheated his blasters as he slammed the luminescent bolts into the superstructure. Moments later, the ship went micronova, and the fighters darted away quickly like agitated insects as the battleship became a blinding ball of light for an instant, just as quickly fading out into a slowly drifting network of faintly burning debris punctuated by brightly spewing oxy-fires.

“Good work, Blacks. Standby for further instruction, contacting Fleet Com-“ He stopped short as he squinted at his canopy, which had just registered a new unidentified blip, far off to moonside, away from the invading fleet. There was no visual, as it was still too far off, but it looked like reinforcements had just arrived, and…

“...oh my god,” the normally crisp and cocky Lieutenant uttered, forgetting that his channel was still open.

~

Admiral Xymson frowned at the stream of intel being fed to his com amidst the bustling overbridge. So much information to digest in such a short time, and as brilliant as Xymson was, it was time to simplify the equation a bit. It looked as if the battle was more or less a stalemate of complicated fleet movements and subgroups dancing around each other, fighters swarming around everywhere like tiny asteroids with guns. It was messy. And he was here to clean things up. He tapped his pad dexterously, unlocking the Fire Authorization Codes, and then sent them to Captain Sela, posted on the Secondary Bridge. It was time to put an end to this. He opened up a channel to Sela, speaking quickly.

“Captain, I am giving you the Final Authorize. Codes are being transmitted. I want realtime fire data fed to my team up here. Do not fail. And dismiss our escorts, I want them out of burst range and engaging anything that comes near us. Understood?”

“Yes, Admiral.” Xymson closed the channel and exhaled a long breath, inaudible to all around him. It would finally be done, and the gravity of the decision – not really his but High Command’s, admittedly – weighed heavily on his conscience. Nobody out here really knew what they were doing, except Xymson himself and a few extremely loyal intel officers. The normally cold and calculating Xymson closed his eyes and prayed for forgiveness, despite himself.

~

SkyStation #27, “Ikarius”
Geosynchronous Orbit, Unidentified Planet

Commander Foxley stared in the frightened silence of the bridge, but couldn’t believe it. No, he wouldn’t believe it. But there it was. The sensor data was still streaming in to confirm it, and an enhanced magnification rendered it beautifully to behold with his own eyes. A Rimsky Industries Platform. A RIP. Manufactured by the vast Rimsky shipyards, these enormous firing platforms were capable of producing a beam of such intensity that it was rumored to be able to destroy moons, and even some planets. As this horrifying realization sunk in, a few people moaned quietly to themselves, immobile with shock. A young officer spoke aloud in tremulous tones, fighting back emotion:

“Commander, Central is notified. It’s all over the FleetNet. They are scrambling evacs, but….but…” The man trailed off, unable to speak any more, but everybody in the room already knew that it was pointless to attempt to evac the entire planet. And whoever did manage to get off and survive the initial blast would be eradicated by the imperial fleet. Including them. In fact, Foxley considered with an almost detached amusement, they’d probably be lucky to die in the blastwave. At any rate, the SkyStations were not built to mobilize very well. There was nothing they could do except sit there and wait.

Which is exactly what they did.

~

Master Gunnery Sergeant Oppen walked past the various stations of his officers with approval, as one by one they confirmed ready status. He had a good firing team. They had ignited the gun fourteen times in the past, and fourteen targets had been eliminated. They had trained with countless simulations, and they were hand picked from literally thousands of applicants. They were severely professional, and utterly detached.

“Sergeant Malford, general status?” The heavyset man leaned back slightly from his holo, crowded with data, and replied crisply:

“Tributaries one through thirty-six all optimal, Sir. Stabilizing field optimal. Focusing array optimal. Coordinates locked.”

“Excellent. Where are we, anyway?” Oppen always liked to know what he was destroying, out of some morbid curiosity.

“Class M, Sir. Population approximately 17 billion.” The officer skimmed through the data file. “Looks like a very old colony, but I don’t see anything on the dBase, just internal data. Overrun by separatists, naturally.” Malford continued to scan quickly, scrolling the text along his holo.

“Here’s a name, Sir – ‘Sol III, Earth’.” At that moment, a chime sounded from somewhere, and his comm spoke up.

“Sir, we’re getting the final authorization codes for firing sequence.” Oppen raised an arm, suddenly rooted to the spot where he stood. Where had he heard that name before? Irth? No…that didn’t look right in his mind’s eye. He swayed a bit, nearly overcome by the power of a very distant memory, summoned by such a simple word. It slipped away from his direct recall, but there was something very familiar about that name.

“Sir? Shall I enter the codes?” Oppen looked up at the visual of the target on the viewscreen, a beautiful blue planet blanketed with clouds and obscured by thousands of ships and stations, tiny explosions of light blinking in and out of existence. Irth? The word hung there in Oppen’s head, but the insistence of the chime broke him from his contemplative reverie.

“Ah…yes. Yes, put the codes in and initiate the pre-fire sequence.” There was a coordinated response in the affirmative as his team went to work, powering up the massive array of tributary cannons which would coalesce in the stasis field and accelerate a superfocused beam of unimaginable power to its unfortunate target. Already, the fragment of a memory was fading from Oppen’s mind, as his imperial implant subtly modified his mnemonics with a tiny mixture of soothing chemicals. He smiled with satisfaction as the tracer beams punctured the planet’s cloudy shell, already vaporizing the upper atmosphere and preparing the ground site for the primary beam.

Soon it would be fifteen targets.

Quoted

Martyrdom

“I have no war stories for you soldier, I do however know a grabbing tragic romance if it tickles your interest.” “War is a tragic romance my Lord, I am eager to listen.”

One hundred good drop ships landed upon the iced world. The landscape a mighty tundra of bleak hail and uniforms, winter had fallen early this year. Lead by Lord Joe of the templar order, a booming could be heard across the snow from the military columns march. “The scout drones have picked up considerable heat pockets to the northern caves. We will set camp surrounding the region and strike the enemy down come dawn! Let them drink for now…” commanded Joe. The accompanying machinery was covered as best could be within the snow as nightfall approached. A few rouge saiyan warriors had joined Joe’s march braving the arctic, seeking vengeance on their foes. The night was good, as stories began to fill the air.

Ossah, a man, a soldier of stocky build, and loyal servant to his Lord, awaited in anticipation to Joes words.. “haha very well Ossah, throw another battery pack onto the fire, and I will start my story.”

It was the black ages between our two races, saiyan and imperial blood pour daily needlessly.. as our ministers and diplomats gathered at an orbital station near sigmars capital to reach an alternative. I was there, of course, times were uneasy. The mission was of the highest importance; my failure however had more then one consequence for my life. That is when I met, her.

As Joe waited for the cabinet meeting to begin lying against the metal rafters a young attitude caught his attention. The little saiyan was clad in light flack armour, coloured with yellow stripes. Her tail lapped carelessly around the hallway.. firm wholesome bust, scrumptious lips and the cutest nose this side of the universe. Finally, a real woman. Joe taking the fever no longer stormed towards the saiyan to introduce himself. She watched the man approach as her tongue started wetting. His definite pose and elaborate battle armour was simply to die for! Her mind rushed. “HI, I am Lord Joseph De Burg.” His eyes glazed with ambition. The power and attraction of the mans gaze.. Dominika’s entire body began to quake in scorching submission to her emotions. “… hello darling, I am DustPunk, but, you may call me Dominika.. my birth name.” slurred Domi. “How suggestive of you, are you always this familiar with men.” “Not always.” Her heart in mouth. Conversation stood still, their interest in being close was awkwardly obvious as the pair shared careful breathing and eye contact. “I must go now Dominika, will you be at the canteen later?” invited Joe. “But of course, Joseph.” Domi lewd. “Please, call me Joe.” “ohh hmmm what a strange name.. ok, Joe.” she smiled. Spilling the moment Joe stormed off to the cabinet room, doors and a cute ass trailing behind him. Dominika stood closely to the security doors, feeling affection for Joe’s words as he bolstered around the chamber. Such passionate words, her spirit lost between his emotion and the halls, for what seemed like a lifetime until hunger slowly baited Dominika to the canteen facility. She had built quite an appetite this evening.

Dominika’s heated thoughts stayed with the man as she went for her meal. While trying to sit down and relax herself, Dominika jiggled her bottom and tail anxiously, fidgeting like a spoilt child in hope she won’t be long waiting. Ignoring those around her, a hand crossed the back of her bright armour, sending a warm sensation down her spine and tingling toes. The feeling was electrifying, addicting even. She knew. “Joe, I was not sure if you were coming.” “It’s a small station, I just followed by instinct, and my instinct said food.” As they begin eating together Dominika starts attacking her food as it dribbles down the side of her lip. “No eating manners in this one..” Joe stares in disbelief, never had he seen such basic crudeness. “I am typical saiyan girl, do not worry about me.” She gobbled. “I like aggression at the diner table, but let me finish my meal first.” He jests, increasing intensity. Bursting with excitement and laughter she is unsure if she should hit Joe, kiss him, or both! For that last remark… “I don’t know what you’re laughing about, I was being completely serious.” Joe just smiled back and continued eating; she was enjoying this arrangement and didn’t know why. A haze of pleasure ran through every morsel of her mind. Fogged her memory, confusion was growing hot. “Hey..” Joe remarks, “what is that hidden between your bosom?” Exposure gripping her chest and around her throat she speaks in a shrilled voice. “It is an amulet my mother gave me when I was younger, before I entered the military. It is my family, I wear it with pride…” She begins to go into unnecessary detail, her dark sensual voice playing at Joes heart strings and fantasies. Joe remains his composure and takes in as much pleasure as possible from this experience. As he moves to leave the table he feels his inner thigh being caressed, by Dominika’s foot. You are a good listener, are you sure you are not staying for dessert? I can’t figure you out, I want you, but I am afraid. This is the only language I know to say it. Invigorated, Joe starts to play with strands of her hair in retaliation. “If you moved your leg a few inches higher, I may of invited you back to my quarters. Although I am still hungry for your offer I have work to do, put your boot back on little girl, we will finish this another time.” Sprung Joe in a sinister tone.

Concerned with lateness, Joe gathers his things and heads for the doorway. Her mind elsewhere Dominika carelessly collects the plates in one hand, slipping through her sweaty fingers. Smash! “Your quite clumsy aren’t you.” Are the last words she remembers. Surrounded by foreign men, such embarrassment.. she was fully clothed and yet felt so naked at these prying eyes. Joe looks around the room to force away people’s interest, and helps this creature pick up the delicate parts of her social status. They leave in heat of the situation together. “Are you trying to hold me up?? What the hell is wrong with you!” demanded Joe. “Hey I made my advances already, why are you holding back from me?!! No guy treats me like that!” “I was trying to be romantic dammit, obviously a concept too intense for your simple mind.” “How.. how dare you!” slap! Joe grins. “You’ve earnt yourself a spankin for that last tantrum, now excuse me, I can see the chamber doors closing, I really must GO.” Joe charges from the scene, crashing across the velvet hallway in his heavy armour. “Hey you can’t just leave! I’m not done with you! Heyy!!” Domi beams.. thoughts in his own.. her eyes blazed with fury, and love.

As I the valorous space marine knight stare loving into your eyes, I will never forget, you will always be my saiyan warrioress. Two different worlds but both holding the same values of pride, stubbornness and competition at their hearts core.

Joe leaves the chamber three hours later, his expression clear, pulling out his comms device. “Ready my battleship, were leaving this station. We have more important matters to attend to..” he snarled. Dominika standing where they meet before, with an angry frown and arms on her hips. The similarity to a housewife was frightening, as Joe went to bask in her wild temperament.

As the quiet pair stands in silence for the last time, the sunlight gleams on Joes armour through the chambers bay window as he leans forward, bestowing the young warrior a tender kiss to her right cheek. Her face now awash of raw colour and excitement Dominika’s tail tightens around her waist, as her body begins to tremble at this sudden predicament. Joe leans forward once more, closer this time. His breath felt on her lips, heart pounding, Dominika closes her eyes, ready to touch, accepting destiny. Just before their lips press Joe leans back and pauses, looks deep into her mystified eyes and smiles. Oh just do it! Stop playing these games and take me now!! With tension rising, his sun beaten gauntlet gently reaches out and strokes her left cheek, the warmth tickling Dominika’s parched skin. The air is crisp and heated with contemplation as Joe turns and walks away. He does not look back; only she feels a mixture of indecisiveness and hesitation. Slowly watching the knight walk away, perhaps for good and no doubt to her mind into the arms of another women, Dominika’s animalistic nature and warrior blood frustrated, insulted at the knight’s refusal poises herself for action…

…

“…And?” Ossah queried short on breath. “And that’s the end of my story.” “Whaatt?!! What happened to Dominika?? I must know!” “hmph, If we are to meet again old friend I will finish my story, for now our fire grows weary and the eve of battle is upon us. I must rest my eyes.” Joe sniggered. As the knight lies to rest Ossah notices an ornate contraband item just visible under Joe’s armour. The design unfamiliar to him, most likely foreign in nature, intrigues his curiosity.. but he dare not speak out of place, disturbing the ethereal silence of snowflakes and sleep.