Hey Kaolian!Follow

Ok, teh story:

Prologue:
The Sol Republic Navy Scimitar class Heavy scoutship Orion II made its way through its assigned patrol route. Sleek, nimble, and packing enough firepower to outgun anything she couldn’t outrun, the Orion II and her sisterships were tasked with monitoring the critical hyperlight jump paths leading deep into the heart of the Aerchon nebula, where the last remnants of the fleet were slowly gathering for one final stand against the Ganymeade Imperial Space force.

As the ship glided silently through endless night, A grim faced officer stood at parade rest on the dimly lit deck, staring intently at the central holotank where a growing number of green “friendly” dots floated gently in space. 5th fleet, 8th fleet and the home guard fleets from three murdered core worlds, it was the largest battle fleet Earth’s children had ever assembled.

Captain Joel Schroder sighed and turned away from the holo plot to the man at the navigation station beside him. “It’s about time we get a chance to pay those Ganymeade bastards back for Earth, Mars, and Venus” he said, the chill in his voice deep enough to cool even the vacuum of space.
Executive officer Carrol nodded his agreement, never looking up from the critical jump coordinate readout, then added “Who would have thought they would be crazy enough to shoot a gravetic warhead directly into the sun?” He shook his head “Captain, my wife, my children, my whole family was on Mars when the main shockwave hit. They didn’t even have a chance. I need to see ganymeade pay for that!” He practically spat out the last sentence, his hands gripping the control console hard enough for his neuroenhanced fingers to leave marks in the battle steel frame.
Captain Schroder turned back to the glowing holodisplay, where over a thousand dreadnaughts, superdreadnaughts, and command carriers were assembling. “This much is for certain, Those who decided to attack the Sol Republic aren’t going to live long enough to regret it.” He said with finality.

A short time passed, then Second officer Alex Layton noticed something on his display. “Captain, I’m showing a large number of ships incoming on a hyperspace vector. Something’s wrong though. They aren’t answering my hails.”
The Captain paused to look at the hyperspace plot, then replied “Alright, inform CentCom and let them know we have possible hostiles on the way.”
After a brief pause, officer Layton looked up in alarm “No response! It’s like every communicator in the fleet just went dead. There’s no com traffic at all.” He finished with a hint of panic.
The captain looked grim. “Are we being jammed?” he inquired.
“No sir, everything is just… dead.” He paused to adjust a control on his console. “Stand by. I am picking up one video only transmission from the engine room of the Mare Imbreium command carrier. It’s faint, but I think I can boost the signal”. “Onscreen” ordered the XO. A brief flury of activity on the communications console ensued, the video screen flickered, and then the picture resolved itself into the engine room of a Yorktown class command carrier, only something was horribly, horribly wrong. The Engineering crew lay scattered across the floor of their control room like so many broken dolls tossed carelessly aside. The blue faces and hands clasped to the throats of many of the engineers would have been enough to guess the cause of death, but the white hazy mist filling the engineering compartment made it a certainty. Somehow, the inconceivable had occurred. Someone had one had poisoned the atmosphere of nearly every ship in the fleet. The tidy array of green dots in the holotank onboard the Orion II began to tumble out of formation in disarray as ships berift of controlling hands began to drift out of control.
The Captain slammed the intercom switch open to shipwide broadcast mode. “All hands, this is the captain. Get suited up immediately, and check the oxygen supply in your suit for contamination. We will be venting atmosphere in 1 minute.” He finished, keyeing the switch off.
Ensign tormigaucho, the junior computer and AI tech on watch thrust a plasfilm printout into the hands of the Captain. He blurted out “They got to the main computers. I don’t know how they did it, but they changed the atmosphereic requirements table to force the air scrubber units to introduce a huge amount of Lithium into the air stream. They couldn’t have done that, those tables are locked down tight. There’s no way… yet somehow…” he faltered and trailed away as the full enormity of the attack finally hit him. “They’re all dead, aren’t they.” He asked. The wavering question in his voice echoing the sentiments of the rest of the bridge crew. The Captain nodded, then turned his attention back to the oncoming battle. There would be time to grieve afterwards, if anyone was left alive.
“What’s the status of those incoming bogeys?” the Captain asked XO Carrol.
“They are about to translate into realspace, right in the middle of the minefield!” Carrol gestured towards the approaching contact on the display. “The computer is designating the approaching fleet as 420 Superdreadnaughts and supporting units of Ganymeade origin.”
The captain swore. The numbers were in favor of the Sol fleet, but there was no way a fleet without a crew would be able to handle the oncoming ships. There was only one thing to do. With a deep breath and a sigh of trepidation, he spoke. “Computer. Execute solution Omega. Authorization: Schroder Pi Alpha 13452. Tango Tango Tango. Execute.”. The computer paused for a second, then the screen blanked for a moment, and the AI spoke. “Solution Omega activated. AI network recognizes Officer Joel Schroder as senior surviving fleet officer in combat status. Command and control functions for surviving fleet elements transferred to the bridge. Gravetic warheads armed and tracking” the AI finished in its soothing modulated voice.
Beside him, Captain Schroder heard Officer Carrol gasp. Solution Omega was something that every command track officer heard rumors about, but nothing could prepare you for the shock of seeing enough firepower to annihilate a galactic cluster under the control of a single human.
At that moment, the Ganymeade fleet completed their hyperlight translation back to normal space. Right in the middle of a minefield. Hundreds of thousands of simple, expendable targeting computers looked at the sensor readouts in their memory banks, determined that the craft in their midst were not on their list of acceptable craft, and as one the selfless computers annihilated themselves in an explosion of nuclear and gravetic fury. The enemy fleet writhed in agony as the huge release of energy tore into their flank. Wave after wave of cascading detonations reduced shields and armor plating to dust.
Seconds later, the entire Sol republic fleet went into rapid fire mode. With no regard for target or strategy, millions of the most destructive weapons ever devised sped towards a central point, bent on destruction of the oncoming force. The Ganymeade fleet was no more, but in the brief second before their demise though, they were far from inactive. Scores of missiles raced out at relativistic velocities towards the crewless Sol fleet. The Orion II was the target of several of these missiles.
The captain spotted the oncoming warheads, and knew that at the short ranges the missiles had come from, that they were not going to miss. There was only one chance of making it out of this firestorm alive. “Initiate crash hyperspace transition”. He screamed, as he shoved the emergency boost throttle all the way home. With no destinations to use as a guide, the hyperspace generators simply created a hyperspace rift with a random vector. The Orion II was almost safely into the rift when the first missile hit, sending the ship tumbling off into the void venting atmosphere and engine plasma.
The remnants of the two fleets continued their mutual dance of destruction as fusion plant after fusion plant detonated, adding to the violence. When it was over, not a single object identifiable as a ship remained amongst the wreckage. The war was finally over, but at a horrific cost.

1000 years would pass.
Chapter one :

Captain Jonathan Ridley, master of the starship Orion II, wondered for the fifth time this cycle how the hell he managed to get into this mess. The communications panel beeped again, no doubt another overly polite request for his ship to be boarded. The huge star cruiser floating in the middle of the main holo tank display provided him with very few options other than to comply. He snapped over the vidcom-
“What’s the status on those repairs?”
The screen crackled with static for a second, and then a huge man covered in grease and hydraulic fluid lunged into the viewframe.
“The null signature field generator on the #2 cargo hold is completely shot,” the big man said. “I told you a thousand times not to take these second hand transshipments without inspection. We’re lucky it was just the one canister that opened. Next time we’ll be walking home” he growled. “I’ve got the #3 generator working, but it’s iffy at best.” he paused to duck as a molecular circuit board annihilated itself in a shower of sparks and flame, then sighed with resignation. “And it looks like the shield generator is going to be out for a while longer too.” He winced as he surveyed the fresh damage. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I know more”.
Captain Ridley smiled. “I know you’ll do your best chief. Ask Harry if he would begin transferring our guests into hold #3, and then see if you can’t get us some shields. I have a feeling were going to need them soon.”
Chief Engineer Robert “Spanner” Maxwell grunted assent and then moved out of range of the vid pickup. As he moved out of range, John could hear him muttering “Bloody furballs…” John chuckled as he killed the vid link. If anyone could get the shields up and running in time, it would be Bob. Now all they had to do was bluff his way past a battlecruiser with murderous intent, slip through the planetary defense net, and then bribe their way past one of the most straight-laced bureaucracies in the entire quadrant. All this to deliver a litter of cat’s to a lonely (albeit rich) women on the planet below. He hoped the chief had enough time to finish the repairs on the shields. That battle cruiser wasn’t going to wait much longer. He turned towards the main screen and thumbed the comm switch to open a channel.

* * *

“Now let me get this straight. You want us to pick up a load of Cats, smuggle them in to Coramyr, and deliver them to your employer?” The petite women sitting on the bench opposite his own paused to take a sip of her drink, and then nodded.
She continued with her sales pitch “of course we will be willing to pay 500,000 galcreds” she paused to let that sink in. “per animal”.
Capitan John Ridley stared at the primly dressed representative of his newest client. 500,00 galcreds was an enormous sum of money, one usually reserved for runs involving certain death, and yet here he was being offered enough money to buy a small battle Squadron, all to deliver a few walking moustraps to some planet he had never even heard of until a few minutes ago. John excused himself from the booth and made his way over to the bar. He turned to the attractive readhead sitting in the corner stool. “What do you think Tanya?”
She looked thoughtful for a few seconds, and then slowly, almost hesitantly replied “well, for that much money, I think we have to risk it. You know that we need it after that last run. If we don’t get something soon, they’ll foreclose on the base”.
Ah yes, the last run. It had been an unmitigated disaster. It seemed like a simple job, a guild sanctioned milk run. All they had to do was drop off some Tritanium ore to a backwater planet in the Sol cluster, get paid, and get out. And it would have worked too if their client, a slimy hadronian gang lord named Stims, hadn’t gotten greedy and decided that payment was optional. When the ore was being transferred into the runabout for transshipment to the surface, a very large and very well armed frigate had materialized and attempted to hijack the valuable cargo. John still wondered how the hell the little slimeball had managed to find a frigate with a working stealth system. It was at that moment that Stims chose to reveal his involvement in the whole plot. Those Hadronians do like to gloat. The end result of that misadventure was a boatload of very expensive Tritanium lost, a damaged ship, and a frigate shaped hole in the surface of the planet below. The only consolation to the whole affair was the look on Stims face as the 400,000 ton frigate came crashing down into his operation. The bad news was that the tritanium ore had been bought on credit, and the kind of creditors that smugglers frequented did not take kindly to failure. If they couldn’t come up with 750,000 galcreds soon, the creditors would foreclose on their hidden base, the only home other than the ship his crew had known for years. John paused for a second, then spoke. “alright, we’ll do it”. He walked back over to the corner booth. “Tell your employer she’ll have her cats by the end of the week. But first, let’s discuss payment…”

* * *

The comm. system crackled for a second, and then the stern visage of an imperial Sorensian captain snapped into focus. “Isn’t it customary to fire a warning shot across the bow of a ship, and not through it?” inquired Captain Ridley. That seemed to get a fleeting rise out of the captain of the battlecruiser, but it was quickly suppressed.
“Ah, yes Mon seuir (SP), an unfortunate accident. One of my subordinate officers got a bit carried away. He has been dealt with. We will of course make reparations once we have a chance to inspect the damage. I’m sure you have no objection?”
So that’s how they are going to play it. John pondered the strategic ramifications of this latest development. “Sure, feel free to send an inspection crew over. I’ll have my supply officer meet you at the lock.”
* * *
Supply officer Harry “Gunner” Thompson was having a bad day. After months of careful preparations and cultivation, his latest batch of starshine, the intergalactic equivalent of moonshine, was almost ready. The cryogenic still’s internal sensors had cheerfully informed him that the latest batch had reached the consistency of engine degreaser, and would be “fit” for drinking at the end of his shift. Or at least it would have been if that ******* starcruiser hadn’t decided to blow a hole straight through the storeroom that had until recently housed his modest operation. Now he would be stuck drinking that pisswater synthahol the ship’s bar produced. Once again he renewed his resolve to reprogram the damn thing at the first opportunity. Gunner made his way to the aft airlock, to babysit the waffleheaded morons that the battlecruiser was sending over.
“Damage inspection party”, he scoffed mentally. “Why can’t they just call it a contraband search and get it over with” And contraband they would find. All over the ship, the rest of the crew was busy haphazardly unpacking carefully stored items, and mixing in a few minor proscribed items. Hopefully the inspectors would not be dense enough to miss the planted items. If they found the plants easily enough, they would be more likely to assume that the Orion II was just a simple tramp freighter trying to make some extra money on the side. That would probably result in a fine, but that was still preferable to the prison sentences that could result from the other items they were carrying. As he made his way down the main corridor, Gunner paused occasionally to kick a few of the heaps of trade goods that were a little bit too tidy. He came to a stop next to the #3 aft airlock. The proximity sensors were picking up the assault shuttle from the battlecruiser, still a good minute out. The bloody wogs probably got lost getting out of their hanger, he mused. He adjusted the wide gun belt strapped to his waist so that his two large caliber chrome plated gauss pistols were resting easily on his hips. Gunner had won the pistols in a poker match on Selas Prime. The former owner of the pistols was not too pleased about loosing them, so Gunner had to shoot his way out. First Officer Chou-Lynn had taken to calling him Gunner after that, and the name just stuck. Besides, Harry was not exactly the kind of name to strike fear into the competition.
The Airlock control panel flashed yellow as the massive assault shuttle made contact with the outer hull. A few seconds passed, and then the panel flashed green in the universal sign that the airlock was pressurized. Moments later, the two sensor techs and their armed escort stepped out of the lock. The sensor techs were both wearing the ridiculous uniforms that seemed to be the trademark of the local navy. Huge, high collars, gold braid dripping from every possible location, and to top it all off, an old fashioned neck tie. Gunner sniffed contemptuously. They didn’t even have the sense to wear a skinsuit onto a possibly hostile vessel. His estimate of their competency dropped by another notch. The marines on the other hand, they at least looked the part. Gleaming, jet black powered armor and equally impressive pulse rifles projected an image of cool competency, and the matching jet black combat helmets made it even harder to read them. Gunner idly wondered how calm they would be if they were aware of the extensive anti-intruder weapons array that was currently tracking their every move. He suppressed a chuckle at the mental image that produced, and then strode forward to greet his guests.
“Gentlemen, welcome aboard our humble ship. My name is supply officer Thompson, and I’m here to give you the 5 credit tour. I’d show you to our wardroom, but your ship over there blew a big hole through it.” The scanning crew shifted uncomfortably. “If you will follow me down this here corridor” he motioned to the left. The scanning crew and their escort conferred for a second, and then obediently followed along behind him. Gunner mentally crossed his fingers. This was either going to work or it wouldn’t, in which case things were about to get very interesting.
The scanning crew scanned the bulkheads and floor plates. They were so intent on their instruments that one of them actually tripped over a case of proscribed Andelorian brandy without even bothering to check the label. Gunner stifled a sigh. This was going to be harder than he though. Up ahead, Gunner spied a large orange refrigerator carton peeking out from around a corner. “Perfect” he thought to himself. Gunner maneuvered to “accidentally” release the locking mechanism. The orange case hummed for a second, and with a puff of frost opened up directly into the path of the startled scanner technicians. Their marine escort started to swing their pulse rifles down to vaporize the offending carton, but the squad leader barked an order that made them stop.
The lead scanner tech, 2nd lieutenant Dimitri Courvasour. was staring intently down at rows upon rows of stasis sealed Porterhouse steaks, every one a prime cut. For some unknown reason cows did not survive well on the planet below, so steak was a rare and valuable commodity. And as the scan officer in charge, Dimitri was entitled to a percentage of anything seized. He straightened his diminutive frame up to it’s full 5’2” and turned to face the clumsy supply officer. “This container was not on your cargo manifest. I’m afraid we will have to impound the contents” he said with a sneer.
Gunner suppressed a smile. The little worm had gone for the bait. Now it was time to set the hook.
“And I suppose there will be a fine as well?” Gunner replied “My captain won’t be pleased about that. Unless…“ Gunner paused and gave 2nd lieutenant Dimitri Courvasour a conspiratorial look. “Unless your Captain would be willing to make… Other arrangements” Gunner picked up one of the steaks. I’m sure we could make it worth your while to find out.”
Dimitri’s sneer slowly changed to a grin as Gunner pulled a second orange crate out from behind a pile of hydraulic fittings. “Er, yes, let me contact my superiors.” Dimitri replied as he fumbled with his wristcom.

* * *
A short while later, Gunner and Captain Ridley found themselves in the opulent private dining room aboard the battle cruiser Sultana. The walls were paneled in real wood, complete with brass fittings. The floor was covered in deep blue pile carpet, with the insignia of the (Planet name here) navy prominently displayed in the entryway. There was even a real crystal chandelier hanging from the mirror polished bulkhead. He broke away from his inspection of the luxurious dining area as the Captain of the battle cruiser spoke. “My lieutenant here informs me that you have a proposal you wish to discuss” said Captain Alios St. Paul III, motioning to where scan tech Dimitri was seated at the inlaid mahogany dining table. “Now that we have had a chance to sample those wonderful steaks you were kind enough to supply, why don’t you tell me why I shouldn’t simply seize your cargo, throw you in the brig, and be done with it? That would most certainly look good in my report.”
John paused a moment before replying, as if carefully choosing his response. “Well, you certainly could do that now, couldn’t you. But I think there are a few things you might want to consider. First, we have certain friends that could be very useful to a man of your stature. For example, I know a delightful Nebrian Merchant who specializes in Alponzo silk, and is always willing to give us a bargain. If I remember correctly Alponzo silk is all the rage down on your planet right now. The problem is, there are very high tariffs on silk in this sector, and because of the bioscient properties of Alponzo silk, it is very hard to import without being detected by even rudimentary sensor scans.” Which were a good sight better than the scans they used in this system, John mused to himself. He continued, “Now, if we had someone who could help us minimize the red tape, well, we would be very grateful to say the least.”
Captain St. Paul considered what the smuggler was saying. His wife would surely love to get her hands on some of the extremely expensive material, and on his captain’s salary it didn’t seem likely that he would be able to afford any in the near future. He took a sip from his brandy. “How Grateful?” he enquired. John smiled. “Well I’m not exactly sure, but I think we could probably spare a hundred yards and still come out ahead. What do you think Gunner?” He asked.
Gunner looked up from the remains of his meal. “ Oh, I’d say at least that much” of course that’s assuming we’re able to sell the rest of the lot down below. And if Silk isn’t to the Captain’s fancy, well, I’m sure we could find something else.” With the last sentence, gunner reached into his skinsuit vest and pulled out a silk wrapped package, which he then tossed to Captain St. Paul. “Consider this a sample.” He said as he leaned back into the overstuffed dining chair. Captain St. Paul carefully unwrapped the silk form the package. The silk in turn tried to wrap itself around his arm, clinging to every contour of his hand. He shook it off and set it to the side, then turned his attention back to the unwrapped package. Inside was a literal mini treasure trove. Real coffee, some Chocolate from Cappa III, a disk containing the latest tri-D releases from the movieworld Suzia, and a bottle of 3032 Sol brandy. Gunner suppressed a wince as he saw the last item. He turned to glare at Captain Ridly, who shrugged apologetically. Of all the injustices in the world, the captain had to go and give away the last of his stock. It seems he was doomed to synthahol for the time being. He sighed, then continued. “Of course, if you do throw us in your brig, we wont be able to provide anything. And there is also the small matter of the hole you blew through the side of our ship. A ship that was stopped dead in space, with no defenses up.” He felt his anger starting to come to the surface, then quickly pushed it back down. The goal was to guilt the captain of the battlecruiser into letting them land, not to start a fight in the middle of hostile territory.
Captain St. Paul Shifted uncomfortably. “That truly was an accident, for which I apologize. The son of one of our high council members is serving aboard with us, and he felt that normal procedure did not apply to him. Instead of a warning shot across the bow, he changed the firing solution so that he could claim his first kill. You will be happy to know that he is currently scrubbing the entire gun deck with a very small brush, and I will personally see to it that he never sets foot inside of a warship again. For that kind of arrogance, even his father will not interfere” As he finished, Captain St. Paul was nearly shaking with rage. He almost seemed more angry about the whole situation then Gunner. After a brief but awkward silence, Captain St. Paul seemed ready to speak again. “gentlemen, I have considered your offer, and I think we can do business. Now about that silk…”


More later.

Here I thought this was going to be a "dear Penthouse I never thought this would happen to me" letter ... bah

Is this all your work, Kaolian? If so bravo.

Well it's great. You could probably make a book out of it you dragged it out.

Wheee! still more story!

The scene in the small clearing outside the Orion II was one of controlled confusion. Gunner and chief Maxwell were busy wrestling the adaptive camo netting into place above the ship. The camo netting used the sensors on the bottom of the Orion II’s hull to generate a matching texture and heat signature, effectively making the ship invisible. Dr. Jones had succeeded in rounding up most of the felines, but one seemed to be eluding him. Off in the distance, a small hovercar was making it’s way towards the landing site. Captain Ridley lowered the holographic imaging scope. “Looks like our client is on time for once. Let’s look sharp people” He gestured towards the approaching aircar. “We’ve got company”.
A few uneventful minutes passed and the aircar arrived , settling down onto it’s standby repulser field. An elderly, but stately lady stepped out of the passenger compartment, along with the aide from the initial meeting and several well armed guards.
“Ah, Captain, as good as your word. I honestly didn’t expect you to get through the planetary defense perimeter so easily. You simply must tell me all about it.” intoned the 14th Hereditary Viscount-Dutchess of Corymar.
“Somehow I don’t think we’ll be around here long enough for me to do the tale justice. As it is, I am on a tight schedule, so if it is all right with you, I would like to get on with this transaction before this place is swarming with customs agents. Besides, I think your new pets are eager to explore their new home.” Captian Ridley pointed to the box where the kittens were busy climbing over one another to escape the plasboard box they were currently residing in.
The duchess shot a cursory, almost dismissive glance at the kittens, and then smiled a feral, evil grin in the direction of the Orion II’s crew. “You are certainly right that we must depart this place as soon as possible, but I’m afraid your schedule is a moot point right now. Do you see that small purple flower over there?” She gestured towards an attractive Pointsetta style flower. Seconds later, a high powered laser rifle beam reduced the flower to a smoldering crater. “I have snipers in position around the area. If you would please throw down your weapons and surrender to my house guard, we can be on our way.”
Gunner threw down his gunbelt, and then advanced menacingly towards the duchess. “Why you aristocratic hag! When I get through with you your Urrp!” he cut off his tirade as another large crater appeared right in front of his feet.
“Do as she says.” Ordered Captain Ridley. “We’ve lost this round” Tanya and Maxwell slowly lowered their weapons to the ground, followed by Dr. Jones’s tiny holdout pistol. Captain Ridley slowly drew his own grav pistol and handed it, hilt first, to the Duchess. “It appears madam, that we are your guests for the moment.” Said John, the anger in his voice making the words sound like acid.
The prisoners were then escorted to the rear compartment of the aircar, and placed in restraints. Minutes later the unwilling captives and their jailors were speeding off to the east.
* * *
After a few minutes of heated comm. calls and shouted orders, 3 assault shuttles with full complements of the emperor’s royal guard were speeding towards the last known position of the Orion II. The pilot of the lead shuttle, a stocky Captain named Britt Olander keyed open his comm. link to the commander of the Guard detachments. “Sir, I’m picking up readings of what could be a ship under camouflage, and an aircar departing the site from the east. Instructions?”
The Guard Commander considered his options, and then responded. “Shuttle two, you investigate the landing site. The emperor wants the crew alive and the ship intact for evidence, but you are authorized to use any means necessary to ensure they do not leave the planet. Shuttle one and three will intercept the aircar. Maintain radio silence until you have secured the objective.”
“Roger, shuttle two inbound.” replied shuttle two’s pilot. Shuttle’s one and three adjusted their course to intercept the fleeing aircar. In a matter of moments, the hypersonic craft were in position. Shuttle one fired an Electromagnetic pulse cannon towards the aircar, and it suddenly lurched to the side and plowed into the rough ground as it lost all power. Immediately the Duchess’s private guard bailed out and started to return fire on the shuttles, but they only got off a few rounds before being neutralized. Both combat shuttles made low altitude passes with their rear hatches open, and the royal guard units jumped out, their powered battle armor protecting them from injury. Immediately they surrounded the aircar.
Captain Ridley slowly came out of unconsciousness induced by the 400 Mph crash of the aircar, only to watch as the butt of a pulse rifle came down on his face, turning the universe black once more.
“Shuttle two this is Shuttle one” stated the lead shuttle’s pilot. “We have recovered the aircar. What is your status?”
“Shuttle two here. We found the ship, but nobody’s home.” There was a pause, then Shuttle two’s pilot continued. “We have a heavy lift unit inbound to take it to the palace.”
“Roger that Shuttle two, Shuttle lead out.”
* * *


15 years ago

1101001. 0100110111011001. <beep beep>. A small readout display on the starship Orian II stuttered to life after 900 plus years of inactivity.
“Power source detected. Attempting system regeneration. Error code 01x. All primary systems damaged. AIopsys 5^2.41 entering protect mode. System regeneration on standby pending resource availability for nanocircuit production. All command and control functions offline. Nannite reserve stores at 25%. End system update.” Read the readout. Centuries of weather, erosion, and tectonic drift had resulted in a minor mudslide on a hill that had in a previous existence been the bottom of a swamp, exposing a 2 meter slash of battered but gleaming white hull metal, and more importantly two reserve solar energy collectors. Added as almost an afterthought by ship designers long dead, the reserve solar collectors provided only a pittance of energy compared to the Ship’s main fusion reactor, but with that reactor out of commission entirely, that trickle of energy was just enough for the ship to continue it’s repair work. Simple rocks and mud laying outside gashes in the hull was slowly converted into patch material as the simple repair subroutine followed it’s preprogrammed mandate. To anyone watching, it would have appeared that the cracked egg patchwork of the hull was slowly growing closed.
Given enough resources and enough time, the nannites would have eventually repaired the whole ship by themselves. Unfortunately the ganymeade warheads had destroyed massive portions of the ship, much of it containing rare isotopes and elements simply not available in the surrounding cocoon of earth. After 7 more years of agonizingly slow building, the ship had simply ran out of materials to work with. Once more a complete hull, it lay still partially buried. Things likely would have continued in exactly this state for another 1,000 years was it not for a curious apprentice ship engineer amongst a starship contingent reestablishing contact with the long lost colony world. A young ensign Ridley looked at the partially covered lettering on the exposed hull, and ran his hand over the embossed gold lettering proudly proclaiming the ship’s name and registry.


* * *
Captain John Ridley jerked upright with a groan. He was chained to a chair in a small stone room, lit by a single intense white light hanging from the ceiling. In front of him was a small table, with a small chair, and seated on the chair was an immense man, decked out in Royal purple and gold braid, and flanked by two equally enormous guards. Oh great. John thought to himself. Now I’m in for it. The big man in purple spoke “Good evening. I see that you have decided to rejoin us. I’m sorry about the treatment you received earlier, but my guards can be a tad bit overprotective.” The big man did not look all that sorry, at least as far as John could tell, but then he continued. “You are probably wondering who I am, and why you are here. First, I am Emperor Kael Djarnsford IIX, Ruler of Corymar. And you my friend, are charged with High Treason and Sedition.”
“High Treason? Sedition? How? Why?” the flurry of questions left John’s mouth so quickly he almost bit his tongue. “All we did was land on your planet to deliver some pets to a harmless old lady. Although I might be wrong about the harmless part.” John pondered the events of the day for a moment. “the last thing I remember is we were getting ready to exchange the merchandise for our fee, when the old women went crazy and locked us in her car. She had snipers in the hills for god’s sake.”
The Emperor stared at John. “So you admit that you delivered Felines to the Duchess?” he enquired.
“Well, yes. Look, I know we didn’t pay the Tariff’s on them, but they must have been pretty high tariffs if the Duchess was willing to pay so much to get them. I’m sure there is some way we can straighten this whole mess out.” John Shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
The Emperor looked dumbstruck. “you mean, you really didn’t know? Your crew claimed ignorance, but I would have thought you at least would have known what you were getting into.” The emperor laughed. “You, my ignorant Captain, are smack dab in the middle of a regicide attempt, and that “harmless” old lady is quite possibly the most dangerous women on the planet. I should know. She’s my aunt”
Now it was John’s turn to look dumbstruck. “an assassination attempt?’ How? We weren’t smuggling any weapons, and the only thing the Duchess got from us were those cats.”
The Emperor smiled. “yes, but you didn’t know one important thing. I am deathly allergic to Terran housecats. That is why cats are on our proscribed import list, right after Weapons grade fusionables.“
“WHAT? We checked the proscribed lists and there was no mention of cats.” John replied, still in shock over the whole turn of events.
“Well, we couldn’t give such an obvious clue to my enemies. Our scanner crews are supposed to detect any trace of them in orbit, and then quietly but firmly turn away any violators. All in all it was a good plan, but it seems to have backfired on us in this instance though. I do wonder how you managed to sneak them past our scanner crews though. Their equipment is supposedly top of the line”
John looked up at the emperor with incredulity. “Someone sold you those pieces of crap as top of the line? Geeze, their the ones you need to lock up for Treason. Listen, if you decide not to shoot me after all this is done, I’ll give you the name of a scientist on Verde Valenchio. He’s the one that came up with the null signature units that allowed us to bypass your security. I’m sure he could whip up a sophisticated cat detector for you for a decent price. That, and you may want to train your scanning crews a little bit better. A few items of well placed contraband easily diverted their attention.”
The Emperor nodded. “Alright. Guards, I’ve heard enough. Take him to the holding cell with his crew, and I will attend to them shortly.” The Guards Saluted and snapped to attention. “ We’ll talk more about this scientist of yours later, Captain Ridley.” And with that, the emperor swept out of the cell.
* * *
With a thump, the Orion II as lowered onto the Palace landing platform by the Heavy lift shuttle. Inside, a small black cat was jolted out of his nap. The cat, who’s name translated would be something like “he who pounces on the gold shiny thing ferociously”, was somewhat annoyed to find that his nice warm spot under the Cargo hold #3 null signature generator, had gone cold. He stood up, arched his spine in a huge stretch, then wandered off towards the open cargo ramp. It didn’t take long for him to discover that the area was crawling with the two legged giants. Remembering how the other two legs had tried to stop him from reaching his warm nap spot, he resolved to avoid these new two legs and find a new nap spot.
After wandering the corridors of the big two leg lair, he finally spied a nice, sun warmed ledge. He could also smell his two legs nearby, so he resolved to stay in the area in case he got hungry. Leaping up onto the warm ledge, he surveyed his new domain. Suddenly, he spied a mostly purple two leg. It’s upper body was being attacked by the dreaded gold shiny things! With not a moment to spare, the tiny cat began the hunt.
* * *
John was escorted to a much larger holding cell. Inside, the crew of the Orion II looked up from the trays of gourmet prison fare they were happily reducing to scraps. Tanya was the first to notice the pulse rifle stack shaped bruise across his face
“John! My god, what did they do to you” she cried in alarm.
“Relax, it looks worse than it actually is. Our hosts decided an unconscious prisoner would be easier to deal with, although I must say that knockout gas would have been less painfull” He winced as he fingered the bruised side of his face. “The important thing is that I don’t think they are going to execute us.”
Gunner leaned back on the prison bench. “So what’s the plan now then?” he asked, picking at a morter joint with the back half of a spoon.
John was quiet in thought for a moment, then replied. “We wait. I think the emperor intends to use us as evidence in this family squabble. If we play our cards right we should be off this rock in no time.” To himself he thought, It’s not like we really have a choice at the moment. We’re right in the middle of the most heavily defended structure on the entire planet. He reached down to his left boot, and felt the reassuring bulk of his holdout pistol. Apparently the contraband scanners weren’t the only ones that needed upgrading.
* * *