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[Asimovwasalright]

The bartender on Cethlenn stood dour eyed as they absently polished dishware, gaze fixed to a point on the prefab wall where a subsidiary logo meets a holoscreen describing the most recent atrocities involving piracy in the Zagan system. A scrolling bar of text helpfully highlights the few choice commodity futures of an uninspiring mining operation near the spaceport. Business is slow as usual, good for people trying to hide and those that go to find them. One such man sat across the polyplastic table from Ganymede, sporting the perfect hair and pale complexion of a Company vampire.

"Again, I am working as an independent contractor. My Company days have set." He replied patiently, with an excruciated smile of a predator being made to wait. Fat lie, obvious as a slipstream ambush. "You came all this way on your own dime, like I came here 'cause of my good choice of company". Ganymede was in Zagan, they both knew he commanded one of the ruined armadas the League navy was in the middle of routing. "Your boys are the real crooks let me tell ya, lost my first Venture to Company repo". He paused a moment, thoughtful. "They flagged themselves a Nomios charter. Hah. Didn't even get it from Nomios". Ganymede took a long swig of the concoction on his table, the kind mixed with things you'd need a good word and some extra credits to acquire. "So of course I blew them up." He almost looked sheepish as the agent across from him raised an eyebrow. "Well nearly alright, I gave em a tough run for it". He turned and signalled vaguely for the bartender to fetch another, as special agent Surya took the moment to pull out a dossier on a shielded tripad.

On it was the kind of carefully worded gibberish Ganymede spent more time avoiding than system patrols, he huffed while pretending to read as the bartender lazily slapped his glass onto the table. He however, stopped pretending when he saw the portrait. "This guy, this slagging no good son of a weasel!" Surya smirked, his more polite company said an analogue of the same. Ganymede belched his windpipe clear "Why you want me to find 'im? Can't you just strip the paint o'er shiny company ships and-" he makes a hand gesture resembling a gun to his temple "ya know."  Surya carefully plucked his tripad back from the interesting character, "I have been asked to track him down on account of a finding of his that he was not allowed to find, and uh, my employers cannot do it due to the nature of said discovery". Surya shrugged, a practiced look of modest sheepishness he affected when mingling with the executive suite. Ganymede furrowed his brow, he knew the bloodless ghouls of the Tri-Tachyon corporation spoke double meanings out of his reach, but he also knew when he was being led into something he wanted no part of.

He shrugs too, mocking the agent's affect. "Moneys good friend, but this job smells bad". Picking up his glass he added with a gesture, "Like spent too long out the cooler bad". He mocks a wave as if the smell was with them in that very room. "You've smelled worse with the holes you've been in, stint on Culann was it?" reposited the agent smoothly as an executive handshake. "And Cibola yer" he admitted, "prison you cut deals, get pushed around, push back". He shudders, as if returning to Cibola. "But at least you get out." He grins again "One way or another". Ganymede takes a small sip, miraculously gaining manners. "Space with no spaceship, that's an execution. I would know, I did more than a few of them". He leans back, "And I know a little what you do out there, seen some of my own get caught by your 'findings'". Ganymede fixes Surya a hard stare. "Whatever it is he got, he got away with alive, and it's something he can use against me".

A pirate admitting his limits, a trait only shared by those who managed to live as long as he did. Unfortunate then as Surya also had his arrest warrant, which he calmly placed on the table between them. Glowing red words of urgency spilled across the photo of Ganymede, words that mentioned Tri-Tachyon commitments to shared League security. The wretched ghoul fixed Ganymede back with a toothy smile, his teeth gleaned unnaturally as if polished and lacquered. "You wouldn't be getting out this time, do you accept the terms 'Bloodsport' Ganymede?"

'Bloodsport' Ganymede all too late realised why the Company sent an unflagged operative to meet with him. It was very probable a taskforce was in orbit of Cethlenn at this moment for if he chose to decline the suicide mission. He admitted to himself he had overplayed his hand in Zagan, Tri-Tachyon was cleaning up a sloppy operator.

"Yeah," he grunted "and Ludd damn you, the fanatics have a point". The agent made a faux serious prayer "I'll be sure to take it up with him".

[Asimovwasalright]

Ganymede had done little in the way of legitimate work, and that little was an entire grey area of law when it came to salvage rights and self-defence. Things turn bad, it doesn't work out, or whatever the case is. Ganymede found himself at the helm of an overdriven Eradicator ramming through a burning Starliner yet again. Life was simpler then, before that sit down with the Tri-Tach salariat in a dark hole on Culann. His run went bad, Opis kicks the bucket and everyone was buying enough guns to turn trade convoys into warfleets. The Company goon explained it very simply, maybe due to his line of work, that 'Bloodsport' Ganymede was looking at a fat commission if he could raise five armadas out of thin air. Ships for armadas didn't come outta air, they were built, or stolen, and both took a lot of effort. So Ganymede, with his too many ships and hungry crew, listened to this pruned monkey explain a rad addled plan to hit and salvage supply convoys belonging to the Hegemony of all things. Sounded like the worst plan ever, but the money was good, and his crew wouldn't have to break him out. Such was the beginning of a series of terrible deals that unfortunately made Ganymede very wealthy, not to mention the prestige for having such an illustrious employer.

Now Ganymede felt like the pruned monkey, back on Culann as they ripped his perfectly good fleet apart to apply "mission appropriate refits". His fleet was fine enough, but he knew they were too self-important and stupid to appreciate a simple operation. They probably made a game of it, he mused from his vantage point over the company workshop. His crew boss coughed behind him, clearly sick of waiting while he daydreamed. "Bluebloods wanna talk, 'bout our new gig". She looked askance at some imaginary bystander before adding "and a riot on level 3". He nods, he didn't really care, they wanted all the leverage they could get to avoid getting their feet wet. He would say no, he was doing the job and that would have to be enough. "Thanks Ayamne, how many fingers did you break?" She smirks at this, flexing her hand "Came out clean this time, shoulda seen that cyborg they had at the door though. Never been in a proper scrap I reckon". They both chuckle at this, Company bookies needed to be taught how to have fun once in a while. "Try not to kill the fitters when you get back to the Innocent Bystander, or they won't pay us". Ganymede was serious about this, losing a job to a technicality like manslaughter was not professional. Crew boss Ayamne waves a hand dismissively. "They should learn to stay out of my way, don't know any respect at all. Especially when they're ripping up my favourite flyer". Ganymede fixes her with that look of his, the kind before he kills a man in cold blood. Message is clear, not this time.

The operations team that requested to meet with Ganymede were even more insufferable than expected. They were late by half an hour and ignored him for another ten minutes before deigning to notice his existence. Ganymede at this point had reclined on the sofa that was clearly set aside for company staff in these settings, at least they figured out he was there when they wanted to sit down. "You must be thee... operator, is that so?" intoned the pallid ginger of the trio, probably the lowest rank among them. Flitting through a series of synthetic leaflets bound together on an almost authentic looking pad, "oh's" and "ah's" following his journey through the absolutely riveting document. "Yes, you have quite the portfolio from our outsourcing division. Special recommendation from the AI war". That line had the attention of the other two, Ganymede was more interested in the grime under his nails. "Survived the cleanup after it too". Ganymede responded dryly, "from both sides". He added, finally casting an eye their way. The two senior staffers elected to sit in the smaller chairs across from him, while the pallid one remained standing. "Mhm, I think such zealotry can be put behind us, no?" Finally putting the lengthy dossier on the table as he too sat down for what looked like would be an agonizingly long chat.

Orlon Wells was a nervous man, always in debt, always in trouble with something or someone. Or so he always thought. When the opportunity came up to make a hefty payment for a long cryosleep, Orlon pounced on it. "To hells with this ruinous Domain" he cried "I'll live in a place that's far and free from their grip". He since learned that was nearly 700 cycles ago, as he mused his cup in a bar on Chlorrense. A proto-hive metropolis atop a water world populated almost entirely by other cryosleepers. A great irony it was, that he came out in debt to the nation that woke him. That the Domain was truly gone from this place, and monsters roamed in its' stead. And greatest of all, everyone in this accursed planet knew just what sort of man he was. Nothing was lost in translation, or so he thought. Orlon merely wanted to escape his troubles, despite their having followed him everywhere. So why was it he that found this accursed device? Even if he wanted to give it back, he simply couldn't! They would arrest him or torture him or kill him if they knew he had it! Or so he thought. The one who owned it must be very important indeed, why a thing like this would make them unstoppable! Yes, he surely couldn't let it fall into the wrong hands either. So he thought.

Orlon Wells had in his possession an artefact of Tri-Tachyon's betrayal, an enigmatic thing born of greed and ambition. Banned by the Domain for being too good at fulfilling both. Orlon Wells, spineless coward that he was, came across the result of a botched job to steal an Alpha Core and simply ran off with it. The heat still steaming from the cp carbines littered amidst the bodies of the marines across the labyrinth laneway passage. Ulis sighed, the cleanup crew ID'd the marines as Tristar mercenaries, the counter op that killed them belonged to an obscure outfit operating from Nortia. Likely Diktat intelligence. With the smash and grab out of the picture, no doubt hired guns were being mobilised to track Ulis down. Believing that he must have absconded from Chlorrense with the core. What a pain in the ass.

[Asimovwasalright]

The lead operations manager in the room was someone 'Bloodsport' realised he recognised. He couldn't place it and it bothered him, like a splinter from tearing down salvage. She was older, he was too now, but he could just capture that pending epiphany currently dispersed in an oort cloud of neurons trying to come together. "-and furthermore, there are several anti piracy packages operating in the local region. A repeat of Zagan is not ideal, nor possible". Ganymede nodded "Zagan was weak, but well connected. The League got stirred up and now Fleet intel is sniffing all over your operation. The Braxi system is much worse". The pallid man 'Josep' from human resources looked to his boss, a man of darker tone and porcelain poise. Seemingly here just to oversee the discussions by his junior, with the strikingly familiar woman as the one responsible for the whole gig. The other man spoke, finally, in a sort of purr "You are known to be discreet in the past 'Bloodsport'. I personally requested you be here, instead of down there". he nods downwards, the pit of Culann. The bowels of this beast. Ganymede went to speak but the man was not done, raising a hand with a practiced gesture. Patience strangling frustration, Ganymede waited as the suit continued. "I am operations commander Itou Andies, I also oversaw your last catalytic meltdown of a job". He was firm, someone who wielded anger in practiced, measured aggression. Tempered by his quarterly bonus.

The type of person that made it their job to control Ganymede. "And it occurred to me that fault was not entirely the field in which you operated. Cause and effect for you is localized, immediate. Questioning in a matter of days rather than cycles. You don't think in fault or blame do you Ganymede? You ignore the existence of failure and negotiate unfavourable jobs to avoid catastrophe". Now Ganymede really was silent, Itou was talking to the woman in pretence. "In truth, we should have accounted for the human element" he gestures an open palm to Ganymede "when assessing the outcomes of creating a trade blockade. Ganymede here is a stunning opportunist". he licks his lips and smiled for the next part "under his example the dreg mercenaries bled the Hegemony to the bone in Arcadia, Galatia and even crippled Corvus for two cycles". There was weight to his words, Ganymede hit them relentlessly. A blooded ghost, haunting the trade lanes. No matter what path a convoy took, how many they sent, Ganymede was there. "I admit I saw you as my trump card when I found you back on our rosters, a way to apply unconventional pressure to delicate problems. But you are of an unstable era, war is your purview". He finally looks to the woman to the side to finish his pitch, "And to that end, Zagan stood no chance".

The woman closed her eyes, willing to be more genuine from the security of her position. "He hit Samarra too, few know he did it, but it was him". she nods briefly to herself, recounting history. "For a week there was a new Samarran belt, only instead of precious ores it was filled with human bodies. Fused to irradiated hull parts and cold slag." She opens her eyes just a crack, as if looking directly at a star. "'Bloodsport' went above and beyond mission parameters, killing every spacefaring citizen in that system in what must have been a dozen consecutive battles." She purses her lips only slightly and tilts her head at Ganymede, like she would dare scold him. "I don't need to read the reports to know what happened in Zagan". Ganymede realized he might have a huge problem, they hadn't fully decided on him doing this job to begin with. Or maybe, it was just her. "Ganymede, the only reason you are not dead. Is because of this contract. You are a butcher, it was a mistake to ever associate with you. But I am making the best of it". She slaps her hands down on her thighs for emphasis. "I will ask you pointedly, and then you will get out of this room. Can you kill Olric Ulis?" Ganymede said nothing, a practiced silence before the kill.

He nods, once.

[Asimovwasalright]

Could it be? No, there's no way Tri-Tachyon would attempt to off them before they finished the job. Afterwards maybe. This had to be something else. Ganymede's lookout was the first to catch the sensor cluster, some 4 hours ago moving out of a H-space storm south of Canaan. The rumbling of the hull moving into the cacophony of energy in the next stormfront resonated as they kept eyes glued to that cluster following just one light year behind. It was accelling and decelling organically, minor course adjustments, changes in drive signature. It was a fleet. "You tell me when that thing does anything new, I have to check in with gunnery". Ganymede instructed his lookout, some side eyes from members of the bridge crew reflected his own feelings. The blinking of micropings phasing in and out of each other stubbornly remaining on sensors, it was ominous. 

Ganymede arrived with little fanfare, the gunnery's control module just behind the bridge of his Dragon class "Fanged Herbivore". Most of the crew did not notice his arrival, checking and rechecking the diaspora of systems responsible for the operation of warfare upon the behemoth warship. The few who did showed their veterancy by the enthusiasm, or lack thereof, of their salutes. He nods to the oldest among them, Abraxas Heat, onetime pirate lord in his own right, made to submit back in a distant oort cloud after the outcome of a salvor raid. Defacto next in line. "Bloodsport" he says. "You can't keep a lid on it can ya?" He coughs mid chuckle, spoiling his own mirth. 'Bloodsport' raised an eyebrow like he saw the Company spook do on Cethlenn, "How are the new fits settling in?". He of course meant the weapons helpfully installed on his fleet without his permission, to which he was assured of their effectiveness and stonewalled about their safety. "Yeah the mods r givin me backache bu-" 'Bloodsport's' fist thumped the terminal, ignoring the awareness of the room. "Alright, yeah they're linked up and loaded. The sims can't make heads or tails of em tho". Heat shook his grey head "The power surges are incredible, dunno if this old dog can handle it". Ganymede vaguely remembered something about a capital grade flux shunt, the arcane mess of components that greeted his inspection defied understanding from his techs. He was told they'd never get it out without scrapping the ship, another gift from Culann it seems.

Comm chatter was silenced across the fleet when Ganymede returned to the bridge, not wanting to broadcast more information than he had to. "Status." There was a moment of quiet bustle as the eclectic stations of the converted warship attempted to organise themselves before the first report came from the fleet master covered in her aftermarket chrome. "Few of the flotilla bosses reckon we turn back an hit the slaggers chasing us, they're excited to test this new kit". Of course. "Is that all?" asked Ganymede, wondering if this would be the quality of the rest of his reports. "Ayamne caught a stowaway in the Innocent Bystander, she spaced em". The fleet master shrugged a little. Ganymede paused, "what did they look like?" They were obviously not dressed up as the crew if the decision was that easy. "Er, some kinda black skinsuit, found during storm repairs in berth 3 stuck in sealant foam". Ganymede felt some sympathy for the Church, dealing with Tri-Tachyon was a mountain made of headaches and security compromises. "Ravek" he shouted, "boss" came the soft reply from the bridge doorway, evidently his armourer was coming to meet him. "Get the cutters armed and ready to run, I want them peeling back every floor panel in every ship". Ravek hesitated, "Now!" Ganymede bellowed, sending them bolting back the way they came. "In the next storm cluster we cut the engines and go dark, let our friends get close enough for passive scans" Ganymede sneered. Whatever game was being played, he would have all the cards.

Prime Navarch Tiren Kato had managed to push the Council into agreeing to supply his manhunt, making his case about a lack of unity if Kazeron's response was too weak. Finlay's tipoff was good, looks like Tachyon had harboured the butcher of Zagan after all. Sent them off to an undisclosed location protecting corporate secrets. Or probably to terrorise more worlds for a minute profit. The whole raid reeked to begin with, there were no reports of a pirate stronghold. No evidence of escalation that followed usual piracy. The buildup of force was hidden, by someone with the means to disguise such an enormous mobilisation. Zagan was not ready, the League was not ready. This was no doubt, a surprise attack by a hostile power. Or so he said in his case. Truthfully, if he brought this killer to justice the Kato family's position will be much stronger. Not enough to challenge Hannan yet, but it would lead to something that could. He wasn't sure if he should interrogate this 'Bloodsport' for the truth, he didn't want to drag the League into a bigger conflict. As he stared at the wanted poster a little longer, an alert from the sensor suite jolted him. "Navarch, the quarry has gone dark in a storm patch" Called his sensor officer. "Find him" Tiren whispered darkly. A call was made, hunter killer search pattern. The taskforce pushed onward through the thick medium.

[Asimovwasalright]

There was an almost audible hum as the ISS Firbolg moved into hard burn in formation with the ISS Solstice and ISS Kinsey, like the roar of a wave impending its' crash upon the shore that was the Tri-tachyon mercenary group ahead of them. Targeting solutions were hitting aggressive interference from the lead Aurora, possibly assisted by a crosswork of other ECM capable systems across the enemy fleet. They had ample slack for this, it would not impede their momentum. Olric stood flanked by his bridge crew who worked with a focus that would put a tachyon lance to shame, "prepare for broadside, call in the reserves to begin encirclement". Olric's voice was connected to several redundant systems to transmit his orders across the fleet and his own ship, the channels switching at his behest to where he was needed. His Nibelung flagship swung hard to an angle to preserve forward momentum and offer a firing solution for all 3 of its' Hephaestus Assault Guns, shields leisurely expanding to a suitable envelope to stop fast movers. The Solstice and Kinsey moved in practiced formation to flank the Firbolg, both Castigators were stationed to provide frontal firepower in regions where enemy frigates would like to attempt their own flanking manoeuvre. The ECM disadvantage however was terrible for providing artillerised support. The Firbolg would need to hold until the bulk of the fleet could punch into the centre, it would then circle the enemy, raining ruinous munition upon their soft underbelly. Suppression for total encirclement.

Several phase ships however, had already beaten him to the idea. "Sir, we've got two medusas and an afflicter pushing into the enforcer line. Looks to be a snare and kill manoeuvre". They were fast alright, with that speed they had already surrounded the enforcer, using the bulk of it to hide from its' wing mates as they rained emp upon its' vulnerable components with torpedo fire waiting to follow up. This strategy was known to Olrics' fleet and two lashers broke off from their approach to hound the afflicter, frustrating the bulk of its' strike capacity. As the Firbolgs' targeting feed picked up an interceptor run, Olric already knew they would attempt to prevent him fanning out the fleet. The Hephaestus barrage thundered in response, cutting through the fragile drones like scrap as target practice. Six more enforcers and eight lashers entered the field just as the Tritachyon murder squad began aggressive movements. "Shrikes inbound!" called the ops chief, Olric barked back "Hold position, the shields can take it, Solstice and Kinsey prepare suppressive fire. Maintain formation lest they overwhelm the line with torpedoes and strike drones".  Sure enough, the Castigator squadron unleashed a hellfire mix of TPC volleys and ballistic, high explosive fire follow up, most of the onslaught missed the Shrike swarm but it was enough. As the four Shrikes attempted bombardment on the Firbolg's shields, they danced between HAG rounds and the blitz of firepower from the Castigators, but some not well enough. Soon one glancing autocannon round became several TPC hits that spiralled into an Atenos hullbreach, the Shrikes receiving the brunt of this focused firepower went from an elegant dance into a hopeless tumble as the HAG barrage found the vulnerable target. Chewing into soft hull where it was once frustrated by shields. One ruptured into a total explosion, another completely disabled, drifting into vulcan crossfire that ventilated the fragile structure. Then the surge came.

The Eos carrier shadowed the Aurora as it pushed forward with a mix of sabot deployment and raining twin ion pulsars upon the stalwart flagship, alarms blared through the bridge as entire weapon systems went black and the strain became incredible. Interceptor swarms frustrating the spent Castigators already loaded on flux, and a pair of Omens striking their rear engines with arcs of raw emp. But the phase deployment had not harried the reserve fleet enough, the enforcers and their lasher escorts burned so hard they slammed right into the enemy. One Omen was completely crushed and was saturated with a brutal mix of assault chaingun fire and autocannon support before being unceremoniously snuffed out. Another knocked away as three of the eight lashers chased after it, firing harpoons that could barely keep up. The Aurora was dogpiled by reaper wielding gunbrick enforcers with a similar autocannon, chaingun outfit, including a tasteful addition of overridden safeties. Olric was not in the Hegemony navy, he had no regulations prohibiting such modifications. The Aurora, and perhaps the enforcers, were doomed to their own point blank reaper fire. One of the four pinned to the Aurora took an antimatter shot that caved in the front of the hull, as it spun away several reapers launched from their berths joining the multitude that left a dazzling display of what was once the pride of the Tri-Tachyon navy. "Main guns online sir", called the gunnery chief. There was one ship left to finish this.

The Eos was attempting to retreat, with the depleted Medusa squadrons being unable to finish the job and the Shrike destroyers having been cleaned up in the mayhem. The ISS Firbolg was built for speed, and the ECM assault was over. "Target at 1200 su, aligning weapons, full burn". The Hephaestus Assault Guns roared to life, ripping across the void as if it were in the way. Slamming over and over and over into the desperate carrier, the engines burning to get away, and then simply just burning as explosive shells ripped out their protective coverings. Every round of the multitudes fired dug deeper and deeper into the belly of the expensive ship, plastering crew to the walls and venting the rest. Drones that desperately tried to cover the damage were simply pierced through, becoming part of the debris that was spilling out from the dying carrier. If a ship could feel pain, Olric imagined this would be agony. The Solstice pulled up aside his massacre of gunfire, the entire Eos in flames as emergency pods flooded the surrounding area. As if to say this was enough it fired a single torpedo, erupting inside the spacious gap created by continuous cannon fire, splitting the carrier into pieces as whatever internal integrity was left became slag. The battlefield silenced, Olric gave the word to begin recovery.

This must have been the third bounty hunter that week, and the fleet was starting to get exhausted.

[Asimovwasalright]

An announcement. I have decided to settle into a routine of weekly posting. The work starkly improves and there is no chance of me dropping it whence I have set aside a time to sit down and write it. There is quite a bit to go and quite a bit to cover. It is my hope that it can fill at least some of the need for starsector related content that seems to be absent in the world. I know I searched high and low for it myself.

[Asimovwasalright]

Ganymede was bothered by several implications. The first being that the fleet following them was positively ID'd as a League taskforce, the second was that they had found 4 black clad stowaways in the last 8 hours. The third was that they were out of beer. Ganymede was grimacing at the last fact, his stash boss reported that with all the emergency supplies they had stocked there wasn't much room for beer. Ganymede tried to have him thrown out, retorting that there was not much room for useless beer drinkers. His current black aura was an improvement. The taskforce however, was still sniffing around their projected route, to which they had to keep evading. It would not be impossible to win the fight, but it would be impossible to complete the mission after the losses they would surely take. This was not improving.

"Do we know who's flying it?" Grumbled his fleet master, "no boss." came the reply. Ganymede let it drone on, kept the crew busy instead of quarrelling in times like this. When a soft, nimble touch was needed. He recalled this moment mirrored in the distant past. His fleet was dark near Sphinx, waiting for the Hegemony strike force to leave the system. To chase the bait Ganymede had left, a bogus distress signal off a commandeered Atlas relief vessel. It was not working. Another sensor sweep flooded the asteroid field, forcing Ganymede back over the magnetic envelope. Blinded but also unseen. Ganymede ordered a wrap around, start picking off stragglers. Only the next fleet he ran into was a militarised patrol, not an issue for him but certainly enough delay for the strike force. He was presumptuous back then, trying to corral a ratty crew who weren't convinced Samarra was a good idea. He was close to death, several times. Kill pincers and torpedo thrusts nearly ended his career if not for the intervention of talons, rocks and sheer luck.

In every moment he survived, the ranks of his own joined the void with the loyal phoenix he was personally venting into space. Every muscle of every man and woman in his flagship was clenched as they ripped into warship after warship, refusing to give ground, fighting through when hemmed in. He fought like a demon, they all did. Every breach saw crew vapourised in his very bridge, replaced by fresh faces ready to hash it all over again. They saw hundreds of enemies, many of his own allies new or old join the melee. There was no greater strategy, just sheer violence, whoever could outfox or outmuscle who, bloodsport. When Ganymede realised he was firing at scrap, ramming rocks and only looking at glittering frames of fragile hull splintered across the horizon of Samarra, 'Bloodsport' Ganymede ordered a push.

A klaxon blared. 'Bloodsport' was so very tired, he felt every earned ache of his warlord status. Retardant foam was ballooning out of a corner of the bridge that presumably connected to an ammunition feed. He dumbly wondered if it would still fire. "Status." He roared, over the small panic that had set in with the crew, stepping over the fleet master to assert his position in the centre of the bridge. "P-Persean League fleet looks to be fleeing boss, we uh" Ganymede glares with the fire of a neutron star "We don't know how many in the flotilla made it." The new guns were good indeed, they were able to defeat an elite hit squad when outnumbered two to one.  That was an improvement. The squad of black clad commandos that just entered his bridge was not. Armed with laidlaws no less. The crew did not have time or wherewithal to react.

Neither did Bloodsport Ganymede.

[Asimovwasalright]

"And when the last stars fade, where will you be spacer?" Spittle flung itself onto the man's chin, joining the sweat and heat plastered on his unwashed face. "You will be lost in the black yaw of time, without word or man to remember. No waypoint in that abyss to locate you." His cadence pitches triumphantly "And when you are lost in your trespass. What warmth is there for blessed guidance?" "None!" shouted some members of the crowd, to which he boomed. "It is not I who is misguided spacer, I have found my flock, my home. This land will remember my bones when I am buried. It will find them to grow new fields and bring life to the children of Earth!" There was a resolute nod. Ganymede caught something of a glimmer in his eye as the preacher turned to face him. "You, you can never know this. You dream poison that casts a shadow on us all. Clutching a foul fate, what you will receive is justice." Ganymede takes a glance at the crowd who were both riled up and uncomfortably close. The preacher grins like a hunter. Baring crooked and yellow teeth. "I do not need administer this justice. You serve Moloch, you will die serving Moloch. Your soul will be taken into an eternal prison. And doubtless, whatever blow that fells you would be no agent of Providence. It will serve it nonetheless, before also falling into those infernal clutches." The preacher seemed to lose his vigour at that, as if the idea depressed him. "Heed me well, your death will be ignoble and graceless. And your memory will exist to be cursed before it is forgotten by those that still live." Ganymede heeded well enough, sending his fist to meet the preachers' face.

Ayamne's bridge was shredded, violent plasma fire had torn through it like a giant predator tearing apart a tourist car. She was getting conflicting reports about survivors on her ship and none of the others were answering hails. Laidlaws. It didn't make sense that these agents in the fleet could survive so long sealed inside the hull. That was before she recognised the weapons. "Why?!" She screamed at the surviving juniors, who were conflicted between avoiding her wrath and focusing on reviving the ruined vessel. Why them? She ran her hand through her hair, more out of nervous habit as the gore flecked room had coated her enough to matte it down. Ayamne's hand ached where she crushed the skull of a Conglomerate operative, obviously strained. It hurt less than the claw marks from her hip to her ribs, some kind of combat enhancement concealed through their uniform. She swatted away another attempt to administer first aid to her side. "Get me comms on the Herbivore, NOW!" She yelled. "Erm, we haven't got a comm terminal" The engineer quickened his pace seeing her glare "but we do have a workaround, I'll link it to your pad." Where was her pad? Oh it was wrecked, she grumbled to herself. A bit of clamouring down the deck halls had another procured, keyed to her signature and ready to transmit. Stepping over many bodies in the process.

The face on the monitor wasn't Ganymedes'. "This is the Captain of the Fanged Herbivore Abraxas Heat, though I am currently Captain of a shipwreck until we can get enough hands to fix the bridge. Your former master, my former master has gotten us into a blunder. If anyone can hear this message, I will set us right. But I need the access codes for the fleet. Without the fleet master or Ganymede to do this, we will need codebreakers." Abraxas looked genuinely stricken, more at the situation if anything. "My first decree as Captain, is consolidation of authority within the fleet. All able hands are to report to the Fanged Herbivore, I doubt there is enough of us to run anything more than that. I will designate the new officers once we are all onboard. Anyone who cannot make it will be left behind. Abraxas out." Ayamne distantly wished she had asked for aid instead. Crushing the screen, allowing it to splinter her hand, as the deathly silent bridge crew watched on. "This doesn't leave this room, or you don't leave this room." Ayamne hissed, as scorching as a cryogenic volcano. "Yes ma'am" whispered the engineer. Nobody said a word after that, the implication was developing into understanding without conversation. Reality crept on the unthinkable. "Your stations, ignore that sanctimonious worm." Roared Ayamne, dispelling the collecting notions. "The torch was never passed to him. He has mutinied."

Olric Ulis was wondering why a Conglomerate fleet was following him. It was large, very large. He didn't like that at all. "How long until we track down Olon?" the nav officer rubbed their eyes instead of answering immediately. This was the fourth time he asked since the fleet showed up. Olric didn't seem to notice the silence, eyes fixed to the fleet signature moving at speed to catch them. None of them had slept for two days, there was no reserve crew to take the next shift. Olon was abducted with his core off Chlorrense, by whom Olric did not know. But system security was able to tag the fleet that left with him. Salvor markings, apparently headed to the fringes. You don't just go to the fringes after a kidnap job. The terrible cost of following Olon, under the endless bounties, had culminated into this. A Conglomerate reparations fleet. The nerves in the fleet were burnt to a husk, and mistakes were piling up.

Something had Olrics' thoughts though. Why all this, for an AI core? It was a great artefact yes, but it was not a unique one. What was he missing? That question bears menacingly in the warfleet behind his.

[Asimovwasalright]

Itou Andes received a call in his chalet on Echou Bres. His line normally diverted these without certain credentials that weren't blacklisted in his databank. This one held certifications from several of his direct contacts, calibrated into acceptance by technicality. That was unusual. "This is Andes, speak." The tracer wasn't picking anything up, just routing familiar channels leading to public ones. A chromatic voice operated by synthesis finally deigned to respond. "Andes, you have been interfering in a problem. Do not pursue Olric Ulis any further. We have already cut off one of your tethers and our embedded asset is cleaning it up." Andes was shocked "Hold up, who-" the lights cut in his office. "You answer to me now Andes, the lock on your door was not hard to break, I have operatives in your complex at this very moment. They will be in this room if I hear any more complaints." Andes swallowed, the tracer was dead too. He felt the room grow teeth and threaten to chew him up. "I'm listening." A moment passed. "Zagan was a stupid decision, you'll pay for it. Your damage control is terrible and you chose a war asset blackballed from every mercenary connection over the whole sector. I am offended by your incompetence." Andes frowned. "Surely you did not go to this effort to admonish me." A snicker, made harmonic by synthesis. "Andes, this whole situation is your admonishment. But it protects you from a bigger problem, your employer has stolen something. You're going to help us get it back." Andes realised this might put him at odds with the Company directors, sweat poured from him in waves.

Special agent Surya was surveying the grey fields of the Mazalotian rural diaspora. Burned black by orbital bombardment, then ripped apart by mercenaries in power armour. Ganymede's work. It would take a long time to fix this. "Why did he have to kill them all? They had no weapons." The woman who spoke was a curate of a local shrine, not one dedicated to Ludd exactly but the cherished status of Mazalot. Thus it was exempt from the pilgrim's path. Suyra simply smiled blandly, posing as an administerial aid of the Kato family. "He is a criminal, that's what they do." She shook her head, perhaps habit now. "And where was the Fleet to stop him? We shirk the Church and Kazeron cannot even protect us." Suyra sighed. "The Path let him in, they besieged the Fleet over Yesod even before Ganymede and his warband dived in system." He raised a palm to the apocalyptic scene. "This is their work as much as his." "Liar." She spat, eyes gleaming with frustration. "Next you'll tell me the Tri Tachyon aid isn't going to enslave us. Trust the League and they sell us away." Suyra said nothing. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to defend the League to maintain his cover. A little gens pragmatism might help regardless. "We both know Mazalot is poor, Yesod was compromised and Mazalot could not defend itself. The resistance here keeps the government tangled up, unable to leverage enough resources to act. I know you are innocent curate, but your sympathy for those who are not is dangerously misguided." As if on cue, the MUA media team arrived by shuttle with another Kato representative. Ready to denounce in the strongest terms the atrocities committed, and the League's plan to move forward.

Olric's thinking spiralled rapidly, circling around itself and splaying out into flowerings of events that he picked apart and put away before recompiling the lot into another tapestry of happenings. A star system off the map, mine fields embedded in asteroid belts. A series of defensive fleets with no record attached or indeed any identifier. Gravity disruptions in the station found, security systems that needed the combined effort of several Gamma Cores to rout. Salvor deaths made unrecognisable in a process covering up any trace of their existence. Ghost pings, so many ghost pings. That one trap that would have flooded every surrounding structure with hard radiation. It occurs to him now all this was intentional. That the raid to steal his prize was a natural continuation, the efforts to find him expected. The question was Orlon Wells, was it really luck? He was actually disappointed when all he found was an Alpha Core. Olric Ulis now wished he had studied it more. Ding, another attempt at contact by the following fleet. Accepting it would require them to stop. Olric pushed onwards.

Ayamne had 13 hand picked loyal crew patched up with makeshift armour plating and one remaining marine. They had a mix of kit, although a few had chosen the laidlaws used to ruin the fleet. Innocent Bystander would go dark, with Ayamne and her hit squad posing as the remaining crew. She had managed to get the message out to some of the auxiliary fleet, they had gun stockpiles in the storage shuttles and the crew knew violence even if they were not trained. They outwardly agreed to be part of her hit squad. Ayamne deep down knew these guys were sour about a logistic posting, maybe they wouldn't help. She only had words to work with right now. Words and her guns. They loaded the shuttles, it unnerved Ayamne how few were needed. She wondered, as their pods made to launch to the Fanged Herbivore, weapons tucked at ready. She wondered what after this? Would they recover? She never repaid Ganymede, pulling her and half the crew out of slavery. Burning the hypocritic sector. "This one's for you boss" she whispered as her pod sailed the void to the traitor's den.

[Asimovwasalright]

"Party's over princess, the gatecrash is here." Ayamne's power armoured boot kicked aside the slumped thug set to arrest her the moment she set foot aboard Abraxas' new claim to power, her G-AX levelled at the stash boss that came to collect her belongings. "Boss will know you're coming." He swallowed, as if this would reassure himself that he threw in with the winning team. "Don't care." Ayamne squeezed the trigger right at his cranium, crushing it and raining red confetti across the bay decking. The noise would bring more and the fight would rally her team. Heat had let himself go after all. New pods entered the bay almost all at once, hissing open to reveal her shooters lock on to the first target that moved, her. Ayamne gave the look of a hungry predator, in the facsimile of a smile "Are we going to let that old discharge steal everything? So he can bum it away on a moon until his useless operation starves?" The guns drop "No boss" came a reply, the marine. She looked to the assembled militia, "Heat takes bribes to do *** all, he employs goons that never get dirty. He is not just a pampered sellout. He was never one of us. It is high time this wet toddler learned that." The shooters bumped fists, as running footsteps could be heard approaching the shuttle bay. A signal was made to disperse for the room to become an ambush in wait.

The laidlaw hissed a response to the intrusion and the intruder barely gasped while she flopped face first on the deck, almost bisected by the terrible weapon. "Damn, the *** has a team" managed the second before carbine fire punched through his overalls from three different angles. Someone tried to set up a flamethrower by the doorway, but there were too many open angles and gelatine fuel puffed out of the battered tank to mix with the pooling blood at the operator's feet. They stopped trying to push into the room by the seventh casualty. "Lets talk this out Ayamne." Called a gruff voice on the other side, a woman with many hard years behind her. "Go to hell Bessie" was all Ayamne cared to say, cracking shots at the door for good measure. "If you want it that way..." Ayamne knew Bessie would be organising formations to push in a bridgehead by coordinated suppressive fire, ending their resistance. So she got her squad in files and ready to push. "On my mark I want you seeking targets instead of waiting for luck, anyone who looks at us dies. Got it?" Nods. "Good, Mark." And with little other warning she immediately rushed the doorway, G-AX cracking through the helmet of the first confused peek. Only protected by the fast uptake of her killers who were now trying to match Bessie's marines in a firefight to cover Ayamne's reckless move.

Ayamne had one advantage, the G-AX is an automatic scattergun capable of punishing armour due to the blastcap projectiles it fires. This push was to get her at no miss distance and with enough momentum to mitigate the recoil that threatened to steal her balance whenever her G-AX stole the blood and bone of an unlucky marine. Her totem of unrelenting force carving a gore flecked path through anything that happened to obstruct her, enabled by the sacrifice her militia was making to engage better equipped marines directly. Many simply being outgunned and dropping in the midst of the frantic pace. Ayamne would step in their place during her advance and use their angle to pound the armour plate of the offending marine into a spectacular cave in. Stepping back to another angle of the door in her approach to fire again at combatant who was about to tag her for it, the contact with their arm rendering that arm lost to history. Several railgun shots tore past her, some skidding across her armour as she kept switching targets to throw them off balance. Railguns were Bessie's favourite, she really liked tearing things down. And people. Ayamne gritted her teeth as another one shot past her as she slammed into cover by the door frame, the round ripping a young man in half. New blood from the crew. The gunfire ceasing as finally the last shooter reached the door.

She had seven, Bessie had four. Two full suits verses four. Tough odds. Is what Bessie must be thinking. She looks at her marine, the armour pitted from impacts of Ludd knows what. The marine palms the EMP, railguns don't do so good without their magnets. "Your pipe washers can't hurt us. This game is up Ayamne" Ayamne clicks her G-AX to fully automatic in response, "Nah, the game is rigged." And with that, the EMP lets the lights go out. Ayamne spins the corner and pulls hard on the trigger, emptying 50 high yield blastshots into a hallway with nowhere to hide. She didn't see it, but she heard the thumping of her G-AX, the curses, the screams, the flashes of light depicting the progress of the hallway from a functional space to an ossuary. She stood there for a moment in the door, in complete darkness, listening for signs of life. The marine simply made the call themselves and turned off the EMP, rounding the corner with their laidlaw. "It was making my hair stand on end. Besides, best not give Abraxas more time to plan." Abraxas was at the bridge, where likely he kept his loyal guards from his warlord days. No longer protected by Bessie, who was very dead given the state of all the bodies. Ayamne guessed that one of the slumped figures on the wall was her, as she stepped over the railgun in the lap. This would be finished soon.

[Asimovwasalright]

Post will be tomorrow, have a lot of work to do.

[Asimovwasalright]

Deep in the engine pits, in pools where oiled water sits. A mangled hand joins a merry band, whisper, and naught but sit. Sit upon this angel's perch, searching for the worldly earth. Earth is far away, life in dirt becomes life again. Not for sailors, spacers or sinner's hate. Solitude only in this astral plane. The poem comingled with half real thoughts about the going ons that must be happening, some great importance pressed upon him. The idea of it persisted where the details were elusive. Swimming in pain and stench, struggling to make whole pictures out of burned paper. The poem seemed familiar, but not quite. Something was out of focus. He raised an arm, in his fevered eyes he could still see. That arm was not there.

"You ROACH." Screamed Ayamne across the passageway, head tucked safely in the doorway to avoid a laidlaw that just decapitated her marine. Her militia had piled in with her, one of the salvors had been shot in the gut and was jabbing morphine like no tomorrow. Maybe there wasn't one. Deep breath and exhale. Thumb clicking the fire mode up and down on the GA-X. Ayamne fired blindly, only able to manage two or three shots before a cavalcade of return ordinance blanketed the passage. Rounds splashing the doorway like rain droplets on Madeira. Hot air stealing the breath from any who lingered too close. "Ayamne you incompetent sycophant." Called a modulated voice, not one of the patterns she knew from the fleet. "How many have you killed already? You should have known survival of the fleet comes before your blind idealism." Idealism? What an insult. "Boss," came a softer voice beside her. "There's a drone tunnel here, goes all the way to the bridge." Ayamne straightened. "How many grenades do we have?" A quick count from the crew totalled four between them. "In thirty seconds we are coming down on you, if you have not surrendered." a pause for emphasis "you will die." Ayamne fired half-heartedly at the wall as an easy distraction, as she scooped up two of the grenades and pulled along a senior rigger with the other two.

"Whatever happens here, that bastard does not become Captain." The rigger sighed and shook his greying head, hands busied with the shut drone tunnel. "Boss, we'd follow you and 'Bloodsport' to hell. That's the only reason we're here aye." What was unsaid, Ayamne knew, was that there was no coming back from this. Joining Abraxas was the only way to survive. Her decision refused coy ignorance with the spattering of fire traded in the doorway behind her. The hatch pops open with a sigh. Ayamne quickly set the grenade timers and dropped them into the tunnel belt, then sent them to the bridge as fast as the settings would allow. Just in time "Boss they're movin-", an audible crunch ended the warning early. Rads and ruin. Ayamne whipped up her scattergun just in time to see an armoured figure blur through the door at a speed she could scarcely believe. Her gun barked twice right as the bridge thundered where the payload went to port. She had missed, the warrior crushed the skull of the first militia to react to his sudden entrance, spinning on the spot to heel kick the other one that was one step behind her. Decapitating him in one motion with a single kick. "Those sure ain't normal stims" the rigger hissed. The last three, including Ayamne, had their weapons up now.

"You just doomed us." Was all they said as gunfire erupted at them. The ghost image of their movements seemed to defy reality, her wounded salvor simply grunted as he was hauled around by the neck to catch incoming fire coming from Ayamne and her rigger. Gore splattering the terminals until the man was bisected in the motion. Lower half and entrails sprawled across the ruined equipment. And then the warrior was gone from the spot, moving inhumanely at speed towards them. All Ayamne could do was fire, legs planted, gaze fixed on something she could scarcely track. Her rigger swore as his repeater jammed, but he managed to score a hit. A good one. Ayamne finally got her mark as the black clad operative whipped out their sidearm as they stumbled. Firing one clean shot through the rigger's head, Ayamne fired many more. Turning her would-be killer into glue.
----

For her efforts, Ayamne was alone. Hopefully that bastard was still alive in the bridge. Cooking away a slow death from the HE delivery. Ayamne trudged slowly through the ruined vessel, heavy footfalls, heavy mind. There was nothing to think about, the fleet was dead. She greeted the acrid smoke pouring out of the bridge like an old friend, stepping into the choking ruin. A small cough caught her attention where her eyes couldn't see. "'Bloodsports' slave urchin princess." A cough, almost as weak as their voice. "Heat." Was all she replied with. "Yes I am quite-" Abraxas lets out a hideous heaving sound "hot, right now." Another stupid quip, wouldn't take his own death seriously. "Where's Ganymede?" She could almost make him out now, she imagined him smiling smugly that somehow him dying made him superior. "He's dead" was all the wheezing voice would muster. "I can make it quick for you." Ayamne could feel the hollowness, of it all. "So benevolent. Eh, I suppose I'm not" A hacking cough interrupts him "getting that retirement package." Ayamne stepped closer to what she could make out as a crippled form, he was clearly close to the blast. "I was ordered to kill him, he's in the... engine room." Ordered? "What?" Ayamne was stunned. "Yes, you inbreds never figured it out." A rattling gasp "'Bloodsport' despised me too much to investigate my... history." He said the last part with a pained grunt, he was fading. "Who in damnation are you?" Ayamne knew something was rotten, but this was unbelievable. The figure she knew to be Abraxas Heat, opened a pink fleshy mouth, a blooming wound on one side of the face. Burns colouring the rest. "For... Humanity".

Abraxas Heat, double agent. Was dead.

[Asimovwasalright]

Further updates will be on Tuesday to fit in with my irl schedule.

[Asimovwasalright]

I had forgotten to post yesterday, which is probably a bad mistake to make. In lieu of it I will post what I wrote of the bombing of Mazalot in my own time (until I post the actual chapter tomorrow, it is late over here):

It was hale for years, ready to approach the burning star like it had no reason to shy away. Long in colonies of silken gold and green, gently swaying as the wind drifted through. Bringing a lazy heat in which not even the crickets felt like chirping. The heat remained; it was the one thing that would never leave. The cruel day basked in its' victory revealing truly what it wanted. Everything basked in that heat. Underfoot was uneven and treacherous, the swaying of gold no longer communicated the ley-lines of this place. Which had all been scoured away. All that remained were outsiders in the star's domain. No hoes met the earth, fields did not till. Observation no longer located these fields wherever they once lay. It was all ash now. The few trees stood as rusted anchors in an agrarian shipwreck. Depleted of fuel for the hungry fires. Just as dead as the rest of it. Winds still stirred through. Oblivious. Taking the light ash that did not sink itself to the basin of its' own ocean. Sweeping it through the standing husk of the nearby village. Filling the pits of clay doorframes and half walls, before the wind moved onwards and the trickle of puffy ash tumbled out of their perches. People were careful not to become perches themselves. Though they could not stay for long. Could not even reclaim a memory, for the ones they held when visiting were truer than what they saw before them.

They looked for skeletons to salvage the trip. It came fast, from afar and all over. Many were not so quick. It was unsure just who. Locations were found by memory, unrecognisable by description. In memory one could deduce a barn or a school or a place of worship that had once stood. Depending on the person deducing. The bones they found in these spots were not bones, they were coal. Whatever stubbornly clung to a memory, as if to cry out to be seen one last time before fading with the wind, was found in half ribs. Skulltops, kneecaps, a fingerbone poking out of the char. No-one on Mazalot who saw them knew if they had lost their loved one for sure.