Destiny

[jammi]

I paced anxiously around for a while, adrenaline making my blood feel cold and my stomach lurch at the slightest movement. My last foray into space had nearly killed me and much to my annoyance, this was effecting me negatively. I vowed I would learn how to curb these annoying subconscious actions as soon as possible.

There was a slight tug as a trade lane was activated and the ship launched forward like a speeding bullet; faster than a speeding bullet actually. I resumed my pacing near the door, occasionally looking at one of the monitors. The screens with the statistics on them appeared to be measuring reactor outputs and engine efficiency, while seven blank screens were dotted around the perimeter of the cabin, each surrounded by a small forest of buttons with a joystick protruding from the panelling to the lower left.

Notices advising caution on top of and below each of these screens labelled these as turret controls. The detective watched me closely, noting my unease. Uncomfortable I sat down on one of the many vacant seats. The ship jerked as we exited the lane, only to repeat the motion as we re-entered another lane. We were now headed to Bonn Station where the rest of the crew would be picked up.

Halfway to the destination there was a premature lane deactivation. A small red light popped on over Smiths head, who glanced worriedly at the Detective. I peered at the scanners anxiously. They were showing four hostile contacts closing at impulse speed. The detective seated himself behind one of the blank screens and activated the turret. Smith pressed a few other buttons which activated the remaining turrets, probably on autopilot.

Then a wing of Valkaries streaked past, heavy Rhienlandic tones echoing over a local comm-net. I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched the fighters decimate one of the pirates in a salvo of bright lasers, the resulting explosion bright and startling against the black backdrop. The rest of the fighters, routed, turned and fled.

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[jammi]

Sorry for the delay Herr Smith, there was a slight holdup some Hessians were attempting to hold up a convoy just south of New Berlin. We came as soon as possible, you understand, ja? I could see the Valkaries had combed the debris before falling back to enter formation around the transport. I was silently grateful for a little extra protection.

Well its good to have you gentlemen with us, I can tell you. Well be pulling in to Bonn to take on crew and supplies. Smith cut the transmission and lined up with the newly reactivated lane. With the acceleration fields back online, we were propelled forward towards the bulk of the station and its guardian battleship.

As we entered the stations holding area, a burst of chatter erupted over the comms, part of it human to ratify our docking codes, and part machine language - trinary - talking to the ships processors. Once the feed was cut, there was a grating noise as mooring clamps were engaged and the transport latched itself to the stations side.

Once the seal on the boarding tube was complete a green light appeared on the command consol, indicating it was safe to disembark. Here I walked out, the detective scurrying after me. I was halfway down the corridor when the door hissed open again and Smith walked out, no doubt to meet the embarking crew.

As I walked out through the tunnel, several men pushed past, all of them talking in loud Bretonian voices. I glad to be back among my own people, but angry that these people were unruly louts that could not recognise a social superior when one presented itself to them.

Inside, the station appeared clean and well kept. That was one thing at least. With the detective in pursuit, I found my way to the recreation decks were I decided to wait. The loading of cargo would take a while anyway.

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[jammi]

I was seated in a booth in the corner of the room, which was filling up with cigar and cigarette smoke from a group of dock workers that had just entered. The detective was keeping an eye on me from the bar.

There was a large TV screen placed strategically behind the bar in order to draw the eye to the multitude of drinks there were on offer. There was a obscure sport that I presumed and hoped, was confined solely to Rhienland, playing.

One of the dockworkers, a large bald man of about six foot, probably about twenty-five, peeled away from his group and walked to the bar. As he looked away from me, to order something off a blackboard placed on the bar surface I noticed a tattoo on his neck. It was the same symbol that Hans had been wearing on a chain around his neck.

This time I was spooked. I had definitely seen the symbol previously. This time I took my communicator out and brought up the drawing feature and sketched a quick copy of the rune for later reference.

What was the chance of two individuals wearing an identical symbol, of intricate detail, when it was highly probably that neither had met in their lives, added to the fact that each resided half way across a solar system from the other?

Much alike my sighting of Eloni, the chances of such a thing occurring were tiny, if not seemingly impossible. I promised myself that I would look into this mysterious symbol as soon as I had the time. Maybe a cross reference on one of Cambridges databases?

I pocketed the communicator and watched the man carefully.

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[jammi]

The tattooed man had rejoined his group after collecting his drinks, where I had lost sight of him. Suddenly it dawned on me where I had seen the icon prior to my meeting with Hans. An Artefact I had purchased from one of my Junker contacts, one which had no doubt been lost with my estate, was covered in such symbols.

This filled me with excitement. There was a simpleton dockworker with a Dom Kavosh icon burnt onto his neck there was no chance he could have discovered the true meaning of such an image by himself, leading me to imply there were exterior forces in action. The fact Hans had the very same icon hanging around his neck only served to reinforce this concept.

Try as I might however, I could not place its meaning. At the very least I had pin-pointed its origin which would make deciphering its meaning all the easier. Even so, hundreds of thousands of different runes of combinations of characters had been recorded, many bearing strong resemblances to others, which made for poor odds when it came to a rapid discovery.

I would seek a meeting with Dean Harman of Cambridge University for guidance. After all, of all the facultys incompetent apes, he was undoubtedly the most qualified in the fields of xeno-archaeology.

The detective approached. Mr Aldridge, the Eastbourne has finished loading on supplies and is ready to depart. I suggest we re-embark. I nodded my head in acknowledgment and walked out, retracing my steps to the mooring fixture that would take me back to the awaiting transport.

My head was buzzing at the thoughts of discovering alien sigils in the possession of two completely separate people. Maybe both were linked to the Artefact trade? That would make sense the dockworker for the subtle unloading of transports or freighters and Hans for the distribution among the Universitys rich and influential. Perhaps.

Perhaps there was something far more sinister afoot. Perhaps something wonderful...

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[jammi]

Omega 7... This was the location those blasted Corsairs had attacked me before. I paced the bridge once more, watching the flare generated by our escort ships speed as they plied the trade lanes alongside us.

So far all was well, then something happened. Something seemed to brush against my very mind, seeming to disconnect me from my body, whispering and murmuring. I lurched, caught mentally off balance by the sudden intrusion, then emotions that were not my own overpowered me.

Hunger and anger, then... Uncertainty and confusion. A white hot probe struck at me, sending me reeling, my mind seemingly cracking open from the sheer mental force of the assault.

I screamed, doubled over by the incredible pain, the voices still whickering and transmitting, running rampant through my subconscious. Blood erupted from my nose and began to pool around my face as I lay writhing. I was dully aware of shouts from crew members, as if through a thick pane of glass, or deep water. Through blurred vision I could see the detective shaking my shoulder, trying to provoke some sort of response.

The pain levelled off, still present, but seeming to phase away and become inconsequent. The voices solidified, the whispers and murmurings rushing backwards though my mind, to erupt into my consciousness as a blanket of images and emotions, depicting a fierce burning light, and a sense of... oneness belonging. There were too many images, concepts, emotions, thoughts, minds! I began to spasm uncontrollably, until new emotions surged over me shock, astonishment.

The mental probe suddenly withdrew, leaving an echoing silence in my mind, an empty loneliness. I had sensed community. My vision was cleared of clouds, the detective still kneeling beside me, the others; crew members and captain stood staring at the view screen, their faces a twisted image of horror.

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[jammi]

Screams erupted over all comms channels simultaneously as the last Rhienland Military pilots ship was burnt from the inside out by the deadly weaponry assailing it, purple pulses smashing through its armour plates like a stone being smashed through paper. The reactor exploded destroying the life pod and ending the screams.

Suddenly the bridge erupted into activity, with crew members diving for turret controls and the captain shifting the Eastbourne into evasive action. On the view screen I could see our attackers - three Wraths hung suspended in front of us.

The ships had an ethereal sense of wrongness radiating from them, as if they were not meant to exist on this plane of reality, as if they were something higher. I gazed at them in wonder; for these were the things my own and Rhienlands government feared so completely Das Wilden.

Yet they did not attack merely glided alongside, dipping and weaving around us. Then the turrets spoke with one fiery word, spitting death towards the aliens. I gasped, fearing the worst for the gods-among-men that floated alongside us. Each ship nimbly jinked out the way of each clumsy blast, infuriating the crew and evoking wonder and awe in me.

I felt their minds once more brushing against my own, this time only the fringes of their consciousness, rather than the white hot spike of their previous mental assault. I grasped the concepts of dreams, the blueprints of emotions a mere echo of their previous might.

I wondered though why were they sparing me? I had no doubt they could kill me through the mental agony they had inflicted on me but a moment ago any more pressure and my psyche could have cracked like an eggshell under a boot. Then there was the fact this was a uprotected civilian transport that was completely unable to harm them, yet they did not attack? Why? They could tear the ship in half in seconds.

Then there were sighs of relief as the Wilde ships peeled away and took off, disappearing into the orange clouds; returning to where-ever they had come from.

I watched them go. This was Destiny unfolding...

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[jammi]

I wiped away the blood that was drying on my face, peering warily out at the cloud of orange dust that surrounded us. Smith had been scanning the debris fields that had previously been our escorts, searching for life signs, but grim-faced reported nothing had been found. We were at risk, sitting still at a disrupted trade lane. We could be attacked from any direction by Hessian or Corsair.

Smith confirmed as much when he declared that he was going to make a run for Omega 3 as soon as the lane had recalibrated, rather than wait for military reinforcements. The detective was still squatting near me. Sir, are you alright? What happened? I rubbed my temples, trying to put off a dull headache that was starting to throb.

I have no idea... A cryptogenic stroke perhaps? Nothing feels wrong now though. Im fine. He still looked concerned, but backed off to a respectable distance. Still, of course I knew what had happened - those Wilde had shared mind with me. But what would happen if I openly admitted that? A witch-hunt more than likely.

Several of the crew were glaring at me, as if there was something profoundly wrong with me, or a black mark visible to all except me had been laid on me. First the Corsair attack on the Dauntless, then Wilde on the Eastbourne... They must believe I was cursed, an omen of impending doom. I pushed the thought from my mind.

Suddenly the radio squawked into life, heavy Rhienlandic accents grating on the ears. The bridge fell silent once more as all present concentrated on the sounds, praying the lane would reengage before the voices' sources arrived. One gunner who was fluent in Rhienlandic confirmed the chatter to be from a Hessian wing.

Suddenly the voices were cut off, replaced by screams and explosions, horrific sounds of battle, of death and debilitating injury. From our location we could not see the battle itself, but the lighting flashes of weapon fire and exploding ships glinted maliciously through the shifting clouds. The battle seemed horrificly one sided, with the raiders being torn asunder by an unidentified enemy that was as silent as the grave and deadly to match. Then the acceleration fields on the lane then realigned themselves, allowing the unnerved captain to dart into the lanes welcoming maw and escape.

Codes bounced back and forth between us and the gate before it swung open and engaged. The crew, muttering prayers of thanks and deliverance gave a collective sigh as we jumped, thankful to have made it home to Bretonia once more.

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[jammi]

This is Bretonian Armed Forces, Papa-Bravo 12. We have you on scanners Eastbourne, its good to see you. Escort leader took up a flanking position to our left, while the other Templar formed up on the right.

I watched the ships glide through the void from the view screen. The ships of Bretonias military had a grace and elegance that Rhienlandic ships lacked, which focused on purpose over form. We engaged trade lanes again, Smith opening a comm channel with escort leader.

Escort leader, this is Paul Smith Im the captain of the Eastbourne. I just wanted to warn you that we spotted three Wild ships during transit. Our escorts were destroyed, so I advice caution when proceeding through the system. The wing leader acknowledged him, and spaced out away from the transport, probably to be able to intercept attacking ships quicker. Wing leaders voice crackled over the speakers again.

Copy that Eastbourne, weve forwarded your warning onto the Battleship Norfolk. Our patrols will be extra vigilant. Smith flipped the channel off and proceeded to initiate the trade lane to Freeport One. Some Corsairs were lurking in the ice fields on the edges of our scanners, but held their distance because of the guard-Templars.

We made it to the Cambridge jump gate unhindered, where Papa-Bravo wing peeled off and cruised away into the ice fields. Well be leaving you here. On the other side, some BPA ships will be waiting for you. Over and out Eastbourne.

Without much hesitation we jumped through.

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[jammi]

The other side of the jump gate was a war-scene. Wreckage littered the space around the jump gate, floating and twirling through the void. The Hussars the BPA had sent to protect us were little more than burnt out wrecks, with several Corsair ships having shared the same fate a little below the trade lane.

There was an assortment of gasps and groans from the crew as they surveyed the devastation. Smith had opened an emergency channel to the Norfolk and a rescue team was already being scrambled. Smith remained hunched over the local scanners regardless, searching for survivors, life pod beacons anything!

There were mutters flowing back and forth among the deck crew, but I blocked them out. It was the Wilde. I knew it was. Suddenly a claxon began to blare as a pod beacon was detected. Smith dived on the retrieve button, pulling the pod into an air lock.

Several crew members jumped out of their seats and sprinted for the door, to see if they could do anything for the downed Constable they had rescued. After a few moments, the intercom crackled open, the source being from the cargo bay. Captain, hes alive, but spouting gibberish. Hes talking about demons from Rhienland. You dont think it was the... The man let the sentence trail.

I sat down again, wondering why the Wilde were following us, and specifically why they had contacted me earlier. At that point the rescue crew came rocketing out of the lane a small group of retrofitted Clydesdales. Smith informed them of the rescued pilot and that he was going to get him to a hospital on Cambridge.

As we engaged the lane, they touched my mind again, a red flare of disjointed and disorientated thought filling my mind and sending me reeling.

***PAIN!!***

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[jammi]

I collapse again, the cold metal jarring my cheek as they crashed into each other. My consciousness wavered and faded, to be replaced by ghost like images.



A wreck blazed among ice asteroids, a Wrath. The alien within the ship screamed again, bellowing in agony as fire consumed its host. There was a rush of pneumatic gasses as a pod blasted away from the debris, mental anguish radiating from the metal capsule, filling the void like electricity through water.

I was hit by a storm of sheer fury and hate, my own mind being battered in the eddies of a psychic typhoon, as another Wrath darted past, picking up its downed comrade from under the nose of a huge *matterbeing*. Matterbeing? That thought had not been my own.

The new ships seemed to roar through the void, attacking and burning the ships around it with a vengeance. Titan after Titan fell, their pilots being sucked screaming into emptiness.

***HATE***

Mental chains extended from the Wilde, snaring the mind of one of the remaining Corsairs, tearing savagely at his mind, bearing no concern to the invaders mental state. The mans mind collapsed, blood pouring from his eyes and nose, as he spasmed in his cockpit. My vision gained a new dimension as I began to see through the eyes of two. Purple tendrils of energy bound the pilots arms, forcing them to clumsily manoeuvre the ship behind the hulking *mattership* that had inflicted such pain on *community*.

With a keening roar, the Wilde drove the pilot forward, crashing its ship into the gunboats engines, destroying the pilots body in an instant the reactors soon following suite. Explosions rippled up and down the ship before a catastrophic detonation tore it in half.

***Vengeance...***



The image wavered and faded away, leaving me back on the deck floor, with blood pooling out of my nose.

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