//OOC: This is not set in the Discovery Freelancer Universe as it will feature plots and devices not seen in Discovery, as such it is not the precursor for any factions, characters or indeed anything that could be used in game. If you want to chime in with ideas and such, or if you want one of your existing characters to make a cameo, feel free to PM me.
The ship emerged into the void, the last traces of the jumphole vanishing behind it. Extending sensor probes it took stock of the surrounding space. Gathering the data it slowly increased its speed, all the better to see and learn. This configuration hadnt been seen for millennia in this space, when last this vessel had been here there was no sentient life. That had changed. Its sensors picked up an artificial structure, something was here. Engaging its FTL drives, the ship moved in for a closer look, taking care to use its stealth capabilities to avoid detection. Unnoticed and unheeded it continued its data gathering. When it was convinced that this structure was inhabited it sent a transmission back to the fleet.
Dont question me child, get in the shelter. Phillipe pushed his son into the doorway, the general alert had come something was in system, something headed straight for the base. The base Commander had issued a general alert. Phillipe had no time to question it.
We have to move, you must go to safety and I must head to the dock. I may be called upon to defend you yet. The boy started to cry, his tears making visible marks down his dirty face. Dont cry I will be back, I will not let you face this life alone.
With his son safely in the care of the shelters guardians, Phillipe headed for the lifts that would take him to the bay where his Titan was parked.
All pilots report to docking bays, repeat all pilots report to docking bays. Phillipe rushed as fast as he could down the corridor, stopping only to change into his flight suit, he jumped into the cockpit and began pre-flight checks.
Base this is Zeta 3, ready for takeoff. Phillipe waited for a response.
Roger that Zeta 3, good luck out there.
Noted, Base, see you on the flipside. Zeta 3 out Phillipe hit the controls and the docking clamps released funnelling him into the launch bay, his take off was effortless and painless.
Zeta 3, this is Zeta Leader, form up. Weve been assigned recon duty; we need to know whats out there. Phillipe thumbed the controls, locking into formation with the squadron leader. He hoped that it was just some larger than normal debris, but then you could fill the void with the hopes of many and still achieve nothing.
5K and closing. Zeta squadron were now in range of whatever it was, visually the thing was immense, easily bigger than the station they had only recently undocked from. Dear lord, what is that thing? Phillipe gasped into his comms.
I wish I knew. Wait. Somethings happening. All units break formation, we have multiple fighters inbound! Phillipe obeyed his commanders orders; thumbing the controls once again he grabbed the joystick and manoeuvred his vessel into a more combat ready position. Then it all went wrong, at 3K from the main ship, laser fire began to erupt from turrets concealed within the hull of the vessel, tearing apart one of his wingmen, who didnt even have time to reach for the escape pod. Phillipe fly wildly avoiding the fire to get within range of one of the fighters.
Zeta Squadron, engage fighters, Base, evacuate all non combatants well hold them off as long as we can. Godspeed and good luck, Zeta Leader out. Phillipe muttered a short prayer, this was going to be rough. His targeting array was having trouble locking on to the fighters and he was having to do it all manually. Something about those ships was throwing off any attempt to scan or do anything. Shots rattled of his shield. Shield Failed Phillipe tried to dodge. Hull failure Imminent Phillipe hit the escape pod button enclosing his seat in a vacuum proof bubble, as his Titan became nothing more than scrap metal. Floating in space he reconciled himself to death. Shedding a single tear as the laser fire ruptured the seal and killed him.
The destruction of Cadiz Base has been claimed by Bretonian forces to be: An excellent victory over Corsair forces, but something about that claim rings false. LSF Senior Detective Dillon addressed the meeting of high level Liberty leaders. Zoner investigations report there to be no Bretonian debris, which is at odds with what might be expected in a full scale engagement of the type implied. However this claim will lead to increased Corsair activity in the Omegas and may well drive the Outcasts to step up their campaign against the Corsairs elsewhere, the Corsairs cannot fight a full scale war on two fronts, should they lose, the edgeworlds will fall to the Outcasts. This we cannot allow.
The meeting room was sombrely lit, the shadows seeming to be alive, a fitting place for the LSF to conduct their meetings but hardly fitting for a fleet admiral of the Liberty Navy, at least according to Admiral Lewis. What do you suggest Detective, we can hardly be seen to aid the Corsairs, the Bretonians would eat us alive, at least diplomatically.
Dillon smiled, it was a simple task to get the Admiralty to do as he wished, simply a matter of the right words at the right time, a trail of breadcrumbs as it were, leading all to Dillons intended destination. Of course Admiral, but we cannot stand by and do nothing whilst the Outcasts gain dominion over the entire edgeworlds, we must take great care to be totally invisible whatever we decide to do.
What do you suggest? It doesnt sit well, the thought of supplying these filth with anything Lewis wondered if this was the right course of action, even if the Outcast could secure the edgeworlds, would it mean the end of the houses? Kusari would be the main house to suffer, perhaps Rheinland, but Liberty, sandwiched in the middle could most likely win any war the Outcasts wished to press. Besides it would not be too difficult to openly support either House should the Outcasts invade. It was doubtful the other leaders would see it like this, Dillon was doing a masterful job, it seemed unlikely that he would not get his way.
Simple, in return for access to certain technologies we would provide the blueprints for terraformers and biodomes, allowing the Corsairs to turn Crete into a garden of paradise. This would ease their food problems and allow them to concentrate on defending their home, the longer they hold against the Outcasts the less likely the Outcasts are to press any form of war. Also I would suggest we loan them some of our pilots and enough materiel to produce more vessels, we can provide all such pilots with training in the Corsair ship of choice, the Titan.
If we are to help these Hispanic scum, then merely sending them the blueprints for biodomes isnt enough, theyll need food now, not in two years time, Id suggest sending convoys of food for a while, maybe send them to Rheinland as if to feed Baden Baden or something, then they can cut into the Omegas and Omicrons from there,. Lewis looked across the table at the Interspace representative, a young woman barely out of her thirties, she looked the least comfortable here amongst the likes of Admirals and such.
I wondered why Id been called to this meeting, truth be told I thought wed done something very wrong.
Thought youd been caught more like. This came from another representative sat round the table; it elicited a small chuckle from the assembled members, which was soon cut short by Dillon.
Ah yes, Interspace Commerce, perfect tools for this. Ariene, can you facilitate this for us? Dillon looked at the young woman, Ariene, pointedly. She looked discomfited for a moment, clearly more used to being in charge as opposed to being someones underling
Blackness, pockmarked with points of light, the traditional view of space. Inaccurate; space is not empty, nebulas, galaxies, asteroid fields, and more, all serve to muck up the view. Travelling through the space between dimensions the vessel sees none of this, just the blue energies that underlie all that the sentients hold dear.
The infestation is strong here and more of these vessels have been called to deal with the threat, but they would be a long time coming, and the way must be cleared. It would start with the least populated systems, the less well defended. Long range scans had discovered possible links to the ancient enemy. This too would have to be investigated.
Choosing its point of entry into normal space, the vessel sends out an advanced scout, whilst it does not doubt that this place will be as undefended as the last, this mission relies on stealth, it will not do to be seen before it is too late.
Staggering out of The Rusty Nail at 5 am in the morning was hardly doing any good for Russell Johnsons image. But then nothing Russell did was good for his image, if he could, in fact, be said to have any image left. He was most definitely drunk, a situation he did not see any downside to, truth be told. He preferred drunk to sober on most occasions, that had been the chief reason for his being fired, well that and the train full of Corsair artefacts being found by the LPI, whilst his brief from Interspace had not said anything about being fired for illegal acts, brazen stupidity seemed to be something they frowned upon.
He stumbled back to his apartment, making little headway owing to his rather wayward manner of walking. Eventually he arrived, placing his Ident card onto the reader, pausing momentarily to turn it the right way up, he opened the door into his apartment.
Drink this. The voice was recognisable, but Russell put it down to an auditory trick, there was no way shed be here not after the things she had said when theyd last parted ways. Drunken fool and other much less pleasant words had been bandied about, feelings had been hurt and Russell had been left to drink the last of his money away. He grabbed the proffered glass and drank the contents, it hit him quickly, his vision becoming less blurred and his movements more in keeping with sobriety.
He looked at the woman and groaned.
Oh god, why you? What have I done wrong now? It was her, Ariene De Vite, head of Interspace Commerces shipping division and his former paymaster.
I have work for you, something your rather unique talents will be eminently useful for. Ariene despised this man, but his contacts within the Corsairs were unparalleled, if anyone could pull of aiding the Corsairs undetected it was, unfortunately, him.
It seems your connections are required. Senior figures wish to aid the Corsairs against a possible threat from the Outcasts. You are going to be the fellow who sorts it out.
Yeah right. Why would I help you? I mean whats in it for me? Russell was not impressed, his evenings efforts to get thoroughly wasted had been in vain, all because she wanted something.
Michelle Garibaldi looked at the reports flung across her desk, Bretonian attack my foot, she thought, there was no way any of the fleets had been engaged in that action, they simply would never have got close enough even if theyd mustered every fleet they had, and to claim no loss of Bretonian life, well that was just preposterous. This left only one option, and that option left a bad taste in her mouth, there was something out there with the power to destroy an entire base without taking losses, it wasnt the Nomads, Cadiz was hardly undefended. After the Nomad war developments in weapons tech had advanced far enough to mean that some of the squids would be destroyed in any attempt to destroy a base.
Get me the Intelligence Division, now talking into her communicator, she began to realise the responsibilities being an Admiral of one of the Queens fleets heralded, if she was right then something was coming that would threaten everything. She had to be certain.
Admiral, you called? I dont appreciate being hollered out of my bed, even if it is for a Fleet Admiral Director General Finlay appeared to have just woken up, the video linked showed a man in his sixties, looking rather dishevelled
Yes, I apologise, if it wasnt as important as I believe this is I wouldnt have disturbed you. However, I want you to investigate the destruction of Cadiz.
Cadiz? Well youve read the official release I presume, what more is there to say?
Admiral Garibaldi gave him a withering look, in her 40 years of military service it had never failed to get the right response. Director General, you know as well as I do that even were the entire BAF to mobilise wed never get that close to Cadiz, and even if we did we would take losses, the BAF is not all powerful. Much as we both wish it was.
The Director General looked put out for a moment, it passed and he began to talk once more. Admiral, we recovered a recording device from the wreckage, but at this stage we are still analysing the data recovered from it, rest assured that when we have, if you are considered need to know, then you will be told. That is all. With that the Director General cut the connection.
The room is dark, what little illumination there is seems to serve only as an indicator of how dark the darkness truly is. One light does stand out as it tracks the motions of a human walking through the room, as it approachs the centre it stops.
What news from our Lords? A rasping voice, difficult to tell where it is coming from, but the listener does not need to know where, just that the owner of said voice is there.
The ancient enemy returns to Sirius. It seeks to eradicate all sentient life. It is believed that it will also seek us out, with a view to destroying our foothold here.
Well then we had best do something about it, send a transmission to our Outcast friends on Malta, be wary of the data you send. A rush of air signals the owner of the rasping voices disappearance. The man turns and walks back the way he has come.
This system had two nests of life, both a credible distance from each other; the vessel had probed them nearly two hours ago and now moved into sensor range of the asteroid base. Feeble communications were directed towards it, but it felt no need to respond, all would be purged, it mattered not if they didnt know the reason why.
It detected the engine trails of these human vessels, slightly different from the last it had encountered, but still much the same. The vessel doubted the difficulty of this minor purge. Again communications were aimed at it.
Unknown vessel this is Barrow Base, state your intentions. The vessel ignored them, ordering its semi autonomous fighters to attack the vessels that approached, it exulted in the death of life. As each enemy ship died in the cold void, the vessel heard their screams and rejoiced. Soon this sector would be cleaned and it would be able to return to another few millennia of sleep.
All vessels stow what you can and defend the perimeter. This puny life would try to defend what it had, but it would be to no avail, all would fall. After the destruction of more of these ships it was finally in range, powering up its full complement of weapons it turned them on the asteroid base. Within seconds the giant rock cracked and crumbled, opening its interior to the cold vacuum of space, yet more death, yet more exultation from the inhuman vessel. With the destruction of this base, the vessel turned its focus towards the other base in this system. Cutting its way back into the energies between dimensions it began its approach.
David Chambers scanned the wreckage of the Barrow, every inch looking for survivors, knowing full well there were none; he had arrived just too late. He had seen the monstrous vessel and its horde of smaller fighters depart into jumpspace without so much as a jumphole, just carving their way into it. He was lucky, he thought, to have survived this. Equally, though, he was unlucky not to have died with his brothers and sisters, defending his home.
Something caught his eyes; the signal was weak, very weak. But there was still life here, one pod, scarred but not destroyed. Chambers tractored it in, setting course for the Texas jumphole, he went into his ships cargo hold to check the passenger.
The pod was blackened as if a shot had passed close by, clearly it had done some damage to the pod but not enough to destroy it outright, this meant the person inside would be alive, but for how long? David had no knowledge in first aid, but he knew a man who did.
He didnt dare enter New York, the chances of being spotted were too high, especially given the data he had on board and so he headed for California there to reach Colorado via Ontario. All the while he was checking the pod, it was degrading at a fast rate, and David only hoped that he could get to Ouray in time.
Almost as important was the data his flight recorder had gathered, clear visual shots of whatever these things were, what little data he could gather from there movements, and most importantly of all, the moment when they had slipped into jumpspace without aid. That was probably the most frightening thing of all, that they could come and go as the pleased, without using standard methods.
Nearly 2 hours later, David finally received clearance to land, radioing a message directly to MedBay. He was met at the hangar by a trauma team who opened the pod. David watched as they gently brought the occupant out, clearly already wounded when he got in, he was suffering more so now. David turned away, in his hand the datachip his own ship had created, he needed to speak to the boss about this.
Stalking through the night, the hunter seeks his prey, it is these moments he lives for, tracking his prey, hunting them until they tire and then he moves in for the kill. He has extensively modified his own body, all the better to hunt, and all the better to kill. Using these enhancements he climbs a wall, taking care not to be spotted he creeps into an abandoned building. Ignoring the vagrants using this as accommodation, he smells the air for that telltale scent, finding it he moves across the ground, more like an animal than anything human. His quarry is close, running away from that which he fears. Syn.
Syn leaps onto the roof supports and begins to climb, faster than any thing should climb. He finds his way onto the roof and begins to run, leaping from building to building, he gains ground on his prey. Uttering one sibilant hiss he drops onto his quarry and begins the nights work. There will be one more grisly trophy for his collection.
It was not going to work, Russell could see that and he didnt exactly rate his powers of perception that highly. Years of drink had done a number on his grey matter. This plan was flawed. Even if the Corsairs didnt just send Liberty back Russells head, he hoped after so many years of contact with them that this would not be the case, he knew them well enough to know they wouldnt go for liberty pilots piloting Corsair ships. It just wasnt going to happen. At least he wasnt carrying the information. No he was just brokering the deal. If he got that far that is.
Russell had petitioned for his old crew to be reinstated for this job, all were treated well by the Corsairs, if not outwardly trusted. It would be easier to broker this deal if all faces at the table were known to each other.
Russell looked around the sparse interior of the transports cockpit. Nothing added since last hed flown the damn thing. Seems no-one had flown it since him. This suited Russell just fine, he didnt like people messing with his things and this was still his as far as he was concerned. The only thing theyd taken away was the booze supply, which was annoying to say the least.
Russell was in the Trade Lane headed for the Omega 11 Jumpgate, it was easier than navigating his way to the jumphole and would still give him that all important access into O-41 and from there a short hop to Gamma. Hed have to watch out for Hessians, but Russell knew this ship like the back of his hand. Hed never been caught by Hessians yet he was damn sure there wasnt going to be a first time. He arrived at the gate and punched the code for gate release. Bracing for the leap to jump space, Russell once again reflected how this wasnt going to work.
Saint Del is considered a holy healer of diseases of children, but also as a protector of cattle.
![[Image: Del1.png]](http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a344/Spiderjerusalem1979/Del1.png)