[STORY] Minor boskonian war bit.

[KJ]

Just something that popped into my head one day, on the general thought of "see, despite fondness of people for weapons, war is hell and that should be remembered".
Probably unpolished in places, but oh well.

---

There was always the claustrophobic moment when the helmet went on, the handful of seconds before the computer display imprinted on the inside of it came to life and transmitted a view of the outside. No viewports in it, too vulnerable even if they were in the original design.
"Whew," I breathed out as the view came to life, then diamonds overlayed themselves over sensor contacts, color coding determining between the fen and the boskonians. I moved my arms to check fields of motion then raised my hands, pulling safety pins out of the series of enlarged knuckles on the power armor. Small shaped charges, built with mundane technology but sitting on top of enough armor plate to not dismember myself.
The hardsuit had started out as a clone of Priss's original 2040-spec suit; knuckle and ankle bombers. It would have been impossible to do purely with handwavium, and sort of against my preferences anyway. The basics of the suit actually were as close to fully functional as possible with hardtech; it's just that the actuators worked far better when modified with handwavium, and durability went up by several orders of magnitude. It also took several orders of magnitude more work than just handwaving something and hoping that it ended up right, but it worked exactly how I intended. As long as I spent somewhere in the region of five times as much time doing maintenance as using it anyway, which was perhaps a quirk itself.
Recently, it had been modified. Daisho rode on the left hip in a magnetic clamp, an MG42 was stowed on the back in a similar clamp with a flexible feed-chute going to an ammunition box, and the paintjob had been changed to mostly black with various blood-red accents. The most notable change, however, was the large thruster pack on the back which was well suited to space actions given the fairly minimal mass. What hadn't been changed were the proportions, which was why I was in girlform.
Actually, the suit was one of the reasons that I'd been in girlform almost continuously of late. Nobody still had much idea what happened to the people the boskonians captured, and at this point coordinating boarding actions would cause too many casualties when we didn't even know if there was a point to it. And then someone recalled the hardsuit I'd made and Haruhi asked if I would be willing to go on scouting or rescue missions. I'd have been hard pressed to refuse her most anything, even if I hadn't been looking for a way to do something directly in the war. Perhaps B was right and I was attracted to crazy girls. Leaving that aside though... go and board hostile ships and possibly rescue people because I'd created about the only armored suit that was quirk-free enough to do it? I mean, shit, who wouldn't want to be the "guy with unique widget who goes and does impressive heroic stuff that others can't"?
What was actually entailed didn't become obvious until I was on the first ship. I'd been in a constant state of jumpiness and what I was doing hadn't registered until after I'd come back. Sexist though it may be, the girlform also came in handy when I broke down for a day or so afterwards; it would have been weird for a man to do that, I suppose. The second time was hardest because I knew full well what I was getting into.
This would be the sixth, and probably not the last. As long as there was hope of rescuing anyone, there'd be more.
"Dee, minimum time burn to that big one," I commented softly. The flight controls from the Kestrel were all there, and because of the very low mass, the top speed was even higher. But in comparatively open space, it didn't matter that much. Space twirled around and went very fast, suffice to say. There was a fleet action of sorts going on as well, with twinkly lights, but I ignored it. Dee knew her job and I spent the time carefully cultivating something close to a meditative state. The fundamentals of what would have to happen had gotten ingrained fairly quickly, and I ended up much better off if I didn't think about any of it.
"About there, KJ," Dee spoke up quietly a while later. I nodded to myself and armed one of the shaped charges in the hardsuit's left fist. The sharp crack of the detonation transferred itself through the hardsuit, though muffled, but it did its job, the hull suddenly forming a jagged hole the size of a beach ball. Power-assisted musculature quickly enlarged it enough to fit myself through, after discarding the thruster pack. A handwavium-modified inflatable bed and some adhesive sealed the breach behind me fairly well. I ignored the charred remains in the room as I worked to make it pressure-tight. The whole point of this would be nullified if I found hostages when I opened a door and vented the air into the vacuum.
The door to the corridor was sealed, locked tight. This had been a seagoing vessel at one point, so the compartment door was quite solidly built. I drew the katana and engaged the overcharged structural integrity field, making four quick cuts before returning it to its sheath. The MG42 was brought to the ready position and, with a kick, the section of the wall fell into the corridor.
That they were waiting made very little difference. Spacesuits would be holed by shotguns, and 'waved body armor might have been affected by rifle shots, but the hardsuit was a powered exoskeleton; half inch to inch thick steel and composite armor plate was immune to small arms fire, and after being handwavium modified, was as durable as many tanks. The boskonian's fire, shotgun and assault rifle blasts for the most part, sleeted off without even chipping the paint. My return fire had signifigantly more impact; the MG42 made a sound like ripping canvas or an insane buzzsaw as it vomited flames, lead and brass. In the confined space of the corridor, aiming was superfluous. What body armor they had wasn't proof against repeated hits from the 8mm rifle rounds, and those without armor fared even worse.
"You know, Dee, when I was younger I used to think that, physical problems aside, I might have what it took to become a good soldier. Good aim, intelligence, cleverness, a grasp of tactics, and all the rest." I stepped over the mound of bodies and unsheathed the katana to open the next door and repeat the process.
"Now though... now I know that I was naiive," I commented as I held down the machinegun's trigger and walked tracer fire through the room and its occupants. "All those things are important to be sure, but I had no way of knowing what the most important trait of a soldier is."
"Hrm?" Dee had remained mostly silent, realizing that I was mostly talking to myself.
"Now I know that the most important thing that makes a soldier is," I paused, drawing the katana again and using it on a boskonian that had gotten too close to effectively use the MG42. The halves of his body fell to the decking. "The ability to do this and no go insane. To keep doing this because it's necessary." I sheathed the katana and paused in the process.
"... but damn them to any gods that will listen for making us do this," I added quietly.

[Murmur the Fallen]

first of all, get rid of the last line. That's just . . . it's just so "oh, curse the heavens for the fate that we stoic warriors must endure!" mawkish. sorry to say it, but it is mawkish, maudlin, and every other synonym that you care to add.
secondly, get rid of the "Whew." Just go with "I breathed out."
as much as i really like this setting, there is one thing that i have qualms about, but that's neither here nor there. i'll add it to the boskonian thread.
Anyway, for the short drabble it is, it's good. other than the last line.
-murmur

[robkelk]

---

first of all, get rid of the last line. That's just . . . it's just so "oh, curse the heavens for the fate that we stoic warriors must endure!" mawkish.

---

Can't agree with you, Murmur - that last line is what makes the story work in Fenspace, IMHO.
Very nice work, KJ - I look forward to reading more of this...

-Rob Kelk
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

[KJ]

*shrug* I dunno. I can't disagree; the mutterings to oneself are pretty fucking emo. In this context though, it's someone who's not a warrior going and essentially slaughtering people. Sure they're hostile and whatnot, but there's none of the military instilled discipline or other mechanisms instilled into soldiers that let them, for the most part, deal with this sort of thing. It's someone who's read too much sci-fi and watched too much anime trying to deal with things in the way that the characters did, with far less success than would be wished.

[Kokuten]

This spawned off another bunny. It's midnight, though, and I have to be up in 5 hours, so I whacked the little bastard on the head and stuffed him in the closet.
I hope to come back to the bunny tomorrow.
Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979

[Kokuten]

This was apparently a Fleet action - someone had managed to herd enough Boskonians together in one place to make it worthwhile. I wasn't sure if the constant sniping and ambushing was going in our favor, but I was pretty confident that we'd come out clearly on top in any actual engagement.
It still puzzled me. I ate up space war novels - Honorverse, March, Council Wars, Barryar, etc, etc. I loved military scifi, and I had no real clue when it came to the real thing.
I'd gotten the hang of this part, though. V was in full stealth mode and sloping towards a misshapen vessel that appeared to be five greyhound busses grafted, tires down, to a massively oversized fuel tank. I put eyes on the ship and snapped a picture, the optical sensors slaved to my viewpoint collecting a few handy megapixels of data and storing it locally. We cruised nearer, doing our best to imitate a hole in space.
I reached into the passenger seat and lifted the helm to my space suit. Snapping it into place, I keyed a test into my vambrace computer. It immediately failed, and I groped at the front of my helmet, the rough fabric of my glove catching on my beard. Cursing, I unlatched the helmet and stuffed the errant facial hair back into my suit. This time, the test passed, and I punched the go-button on V's console. She whirred as she pumped the air out, and I felt the suit stiffening and expanding as vacuum reigned.
The canned air of the suit was cold and crisp, and Hermes had finally isolated the scent-cues from the samples at my parent's place, and the clean fresh Alaskan air rolled into my helm, with the faintest hint of woodsmoke..
I could feel my blood pressure and heartrate drop. Let noone underestimate the importance of scent cues to Homo Sapiens. I flipped open the panel on the vambrace computer, and tapped a quick message to V.
remind me, when we get home, to figure out a ranged delivery method for these damn things.
LOL will do, Boss. We're almost there, you ready to dance?
Yes, you have some points picked out for me?
Yessir. Go smooth, we'll be home for dinner.
Ready!
I flipped the vambrace computer closed and V doused the cabin lights, and popped the door. I released the harness and pushed myself out into the black, with a stout satchel clipped to my belt.
I had managed to keep the spin down to manageable levels on this launch, and I slid silently across the void to the Boskonian carrier. As I neared, I bent my feet around underneath me, and the magsoles on my boots landed onto the hull of one of the greyhounds, and slipped out from under me.
My butt hit the bus, jarring me hard enough to 'tok!' my jaws together, and I was barely able to rip a particular ring out of my wrist, and slap the freshly exposed adhesive palm of my glove to the aluminum surface. I hung silently for a few seconds, the rebound momentum from my impact soaked in the emergency adhesive, wavering between cursing the reavers, and blessing The Jason, who had been part of the late-night nacho-fuelled brainstorming session that had included that little feature.
As I stabilized on my one gripping point, I checked my surroundings, and noted a housing of some sort protruding from the hull, fore of my current position and slightly to the left. I slowly pushed myself away from it and closer to the hull, then pulled as hard as I could, and ripped the adhesive off with the non-stickied hand.
My vector was good enough that I could grab onto the protrusion, which I couldn't tell the function of, without using any suitjets. I wasn't sure what the Reavers inside this could see, but there was no sense making more visibility than I could.
The protrusion was far enough fore that I could stretch out from it and peer over the front of the bus, which I did. I was glad my radios were off, then, because the sound of a dwarf cackling gleefully isn't something that should be shared..
I rummaged in the myriad pockets of the suit, and came up with the 'emergency nonferrous surface manuevering assistant', a five dollar title that had gotten shortened to 'gecko feet'. Unlike the actual gecko feet, this wasn't a nanotechnological fibrous pad that relied on atomic adhesion to provide grip. Instead, it was a simple device that squirted water onto the surface in question, forming an ice lump, around a threaded shaft. This provided grip, as the water immediately froze _to_ most surfaces. The shaft then could back out, quite quickly, to allow replacement.
The water came from my suit supplies, so I didn't have _that_ much available, but I had enough to position myself at the foremost edge of the bus, and enough grip to leverage another tool from the suit's million pockets. I gripped the spring-punch firmly in one fist, then punched my arm straight sideways, and slammed it into the massive windshield at the front of the bus.
The explosion of atmosphere and debris almost ripped me off my perch. I waited until the chaos had stopped, stowed my gecko feet, and clung to the edge of the bus for a moment, then pulled myself over and into the bus.
I was attempting to curvette into the bus and end up standing, in the very front, facing backwards and ready to rock. I ended up bouncing off the dashboard, catching myself on the steering wheel, and slamming face first into the divider behind it.
Not one of my better moments.
The bus, fortunately, had no-one spaceworthy in it, and I hadn't seen anyone wearing a suit get blown out. Unfortunately, there was a largish hatch, about 3 feet square, in the floor, and it was sealed and locked. Locked from the other side.
I reached up absently, to scratch my head in thought, and thunked myself on the helm of my suit. I grinned at that, then took a closer look at the interior of the bus.
A long central aisle stretched in front of me, with a door in the rear, and a hatch on the floor at the approximate midpoint. There were some electronics, displays and controls, kludged into the dashboard area, and about half of the seats were missing. The remaining seats had been made into dens, apparently. The cheap vinyl used by the grayhound bus line was holding up surprisingly well in vacuum.
I floated down the center of the bus, towards the back door - I thought it was a restroom, originally, but wasn't sure. I pulled the door open, with my sidearm in the other hand, and it was a restroom, and empty. I pulled myself back to the front of the Greyhound, and floated my way over to the next bus.
The central core of this thing was a featureless, dark red floor as I clung to the front wheel well of the next bus in line. I tried to figure out what it was, as I readied my spring punch and popped the windshield. The expected torrent of bodies and debris came boiling out, and I shook my head at the stupidity of the builders of this vessel.
The next two busses were more of the same, pop the windshield, vent the atmo and the Reavers, and clear the interior. I slammed down the punch on the windshield of the last bus, and it blew out.. and no atmo pushed its way into vacuum.
Uh oh.
I groped in my satchel hurriedly and pulled out a fragmentation grenade, which went into the gaping maw where the window was. Two Reavers in pressure suits boiled out of the windshield, some sort of rifle in their hands sweeping agressively around the front of the ship.
They never saw it coming. I wedged my left arm in the wheel well and drew, aiming one-handed. The tiny, almost unnoticeable recoil I experienced on the shooting range or dirtside was magnified by the environment, and the .22 Ruger shoved me against my bracing arm as I put a Battle Steel jacketted round on target.
The target, in this case, was a Reaver wearing a pressure suit. The round passed in a perfect linear trajectory, given the microgravity environment, past the Reaver's shoulder without touching him.
Cursing inside my helm, I aimed again, and the bus vibrated gently, a flash of light drawing the Reaver's attention behind them. I put the bead on one head, pulled the trigger, and the body spasmed, blood and air fountaining out of a hole in his helm. The other Reaver spun himself around on a burst of jets and pushed off of the front of the bus, heading towards the front of the central core. He got several bullets in the butt and legs, and started spasming as well.
I pulled myself up to the front of the last bus, and looked inside. Bits of Reaver and chunks of frozen biologicals floated in a disgusting mess inside, and I was hard-pressed to keep my gorge down.
I made my way back to the previous bus, and dug into my satchel once again. A block of grey plastic explosive came to hand, and I began working it, rolling it against the stiff resistance of the cold explosive material. I laid thick lines of the stuff around the hatch in the floor, and made an X between the corners of the lines. Pushing a pair of electrodes into the goo, I unrolled the spool of wire attached to them, working slowly out of the front of the bus and down underneath the bumper.
I snipped the wire off the spool with cutters from another suit pocket, and clipped them into the spring terminals of a detonator.
I took a deep breath of simulated home, and pushed the button.
Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979

[Kokuten]

The explosion squirted me out from under the front bumper like a melon seed from a straw, and I barely managed to grab onto the bumper itself on the way out. I could feel the cat whiskers sensation of air flowing against the back of my hands, and as the blast wave and gushing atmosphere faded, I peered under the bus.
The hatch had blown, but it had also blown the collar connecting it to the central core of the reaver vessel. I made my way back into the bus and to the hatch.
Activating some floodlights on my suit, I examined the wreckage. The hatch itself was just gone, as was the frame surrounding it. A jagged hole was in the floor of the bus now, with a blossoming hole in the corresponding section of core. I figured the diameter of the smaller core wall section to be about three feet.
I wondered at the sharpness of the blast-cut edges, and was thinking about rummaging around in my satchel for something to cut, maybe some more C4, when I realized I was dwadling. I shut off my lights, slapped a fresh clip into my Ruger and pushed off of the bus roof into the hole.
I slammed into a flat surface inside the bus, in total darkness. As I soaked the momentum of the landing into bent knees and a sort-of half-assed dive forward, I smashed into a wall.
Reeling from the impact, I started floating back out the hole I had come in. I extended my arms on either side of me, and one hand flailed in vacuum. The other, fortunately, found a ladder. I grabbed on and pulled myself back to the floor, then pushed the button for a flash.
The flashbulb burst from my main suit lights was enough to gather data for my HUD, which then painted a picture of the room I was in. Approximately 4 foot square, with some crinkling near the top, and a dogged hatch to my left.
I was in an airlock, and it was intact.
I cursed again, digging into my satchel hastily. I got another brick of C4 out, and skipped the molding part, hammering it onto the hatch as fast and hard as I could. Once I had a fair sized blob stuck to the hatch, about a foot in diameter with a big hump in the middle, I stuck the detonator wires into it and lashed them off to the ladder. I jumped out of the hole and back into the bus.
I wedged myself between two rows of seats a few seats aft of the hatch, clipped-and-stripped the detonator wire into my detonator, and pushed the button again.
Nothing happened, which made sense when a space suited figure came hurtling out of the hole in the floor of the bus. I panicked, grabbing for my pistol in its holster, and tugged myself towards the hole in the floor with the detonator wire clipped into my forearm. As I flew across the floor, I saw three bullet holes appear in the seat I had just been occupying, and my adrenaline rose to levels I had not believed possible as I grabbed the wires trailing from my left wrist with my right hand, ripped them out, and slammed my left hand into the holster, as my right hand grabbed a seat leg, turning me over and bringing my torso up as my left hand came up and I pumped the entire clip into the poor dumb bastard.
He started twitching, and I have to admit, I sat there for a few seconds pointing the gun and pulling the trigger repeatedly, before I snapped out of it and reloaded. I waited a few more minutes, so my hands could stop shaking, and pulled myself forward to look into the hole.
The detonator cable floated loose, pulled out of the C4. The hatch was ajar, so that worked out just fine. I pushed off against the ceiling again, and floated into the airlock. Coming to a much more manageable stop this time, and with my suitlights on and my gun in my hand, I pushed the hatch all the way open.

And that, really, was the end of that. The last dude to come out the hatch really was the last dude manning the vessel, which our best guess designates as a simple troop delivery vehicle. It explains why it was behind the 'assault waves', anyway. There really wasn't any technological benefit to the theft of this vessel, but there is a certain morale benefit 'for the fleet', and the AI Group says that they should be able to extract some good data from the ship's (nonsentient) computer core, once they've broken the encryption.
I ended up unharmed, though through nothing but sheer dumb luck, it seems. I've been trying to find a way to stop Reaver ships remotely, and this is the third one I've boarded. The first one was nearly destroyed before I got to it, the second one was taken out by a hardsuiter, and some imbecile brought it into a dock before cleaning it. I'm pretty damn stoic, but I can't get any real good information out of a ship that literally runs bloody chunks out its scuppers.
And, all three ships were totally different. Like their namesake, these Reavers don't use mass production ships. Even if they did, they use an incredibly durable blend of automation and manual controls/backups, lots of hydraulic/fluidic and optical systems.
In conclusion, there's no simple way to disarm or disable a Reaver ship. Overvoltages may blow power plants or short command wiring, which may cause a ship to become unpilotable. May. EM Pulse may kill computers that may disable control or navigation or weapons.
May.
Flame, Acid, Kinetics, Beam, Concussion, Grav.. None of the commonly available weapons are going to have the same effect on any two Reaver ships. Common Knowledge supports this, with a pencil-laser strike penetrating one Reaver ship and causing it to detonate. This detonation slabbed off a big enough chunk with enough momentum behind it to strike one of it's cohort with destructive force, nearly cleaving it in two. The afflicted vessel was seen to have _worked itself apart_, in the way that someone will bend the lid off a soup can, and both parts fought on.
Sorry to file such a negative report, but the facts speak for themselves on this one. I'm doing alright, though I request a few weeks of downtime to let the nightmares subside a little before I get sent back out.
Yours,
WG, Combat Intel.Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979

[Rieverre]

impromptu bit of brainstorming. read at your own risk.
---
"She's dead in space, boss. Neat as clockwork and twice as punctual."
The man smirked, peering through the viewfinder and watching the amplified image.
Ugly as sin, and built purely for utility, the ship shown there was little more than cockpit, spine, and quad engine nacelles. It could also, according to the debrief, haul incredible amounts of ass while hauling a respectable amount of cargo in any manner of container that fit the mountings on all four sides of the spine. Currently, all of those were occupied, and for the maiden voyage of the prototype all the bigwigs and brains of that little budding enterprise that had worked so hard to put it together were present. Two 'containers' worth of luxury living space, one of even more luxury goods, and one a commons type area with more bling to it than you'd see in your average c-music video.
All, as the helmsman had said, neat as clockwork and twice as punctual.
A bit of a debt in the Earthside end of the enterprise, a bit of monetary lubrication here and there, a few subtle allusions in other places ...
... if there was one thing he'd learned over the years in this line of work, it was that you didn't have to _build_ what you use yourself. It was far easier to get someone else to do it for you. And if life threw you some added benifits into the mix ... well, he was sure the crew and passengers would be put to good use.
As for the little mouse that had comitted that little act of 'God', or simply sabotage, for them ... well, they'd get suitably rewarded. Just how suitably was up to how useful they'd be, but that was just the way the world worked. No surprise there.
After all, there was a lot of potential there.
"Alright, we're going in," the man ordered. "One boarder for each segment, and keep us on overwatch. We clean?"
"As can be. Closest traffic is half an hour out at worst, and not really seeing anything since they're elbows deep in asteroid."
Well, that was as good as things were going to get, what with the recent 'initiative' of the damn overgrown brats. Off-center and ill organized, they were still starting to cut into profits, and some of them were, frankly, fucking insane from what he'd been hearing.
He went back to the viewfinder, tracing the paths of the four boarding craft - little more than smallhaulers themselves, with a cargo of the usual meat shields that you used for this sort of thing. Bit more trained, bit more fancy, but still not what he'd call 'his'.
Riding the flying mashes of parts ...
... well, that was another reason for this. The target had been built with commerce in mind, and mass-production at the forefront, with intent of sale to whatever interested parties came along with a need for such.
***
There was a thunk, a thump, and then silence. The hold, cramped as it was, wasn't as bad as some the men inside had been in before. It had basic amenities at least, and their ride back would be far, far more comfortable - that was one motivation they had for not damaging the merchandise any more than strictly necessary.
The converted trailer shook again as clamps secured it onto the hull, and the boarders hunkered down, knowing what came next.
The sound of shaped charges exploding was mercifully muted by the headgear - yet another sign that the outfit was more professional than the usual rent'a'thugs that seemed to populate most of this line of work.
Pressure doors hissed open, and the forefront braced themselves ... for more silence.
The inside, past the now demolished airlock, was empty.
... too empty, as some noted. And the inner bulkhead had a definitely reinforced look to it.
As well as some contraption sticking out of it.
***
The floor vibrated for a moment, then again and again in quick succession. Four times.
Bait.
Hook.
Line.
Sinker.
The tension could likely be cut with a knife. This was it, the crux of almost a year's worth of work. Planting the seeds, producing the suckers, manufacturing a debt here and a liability there.
I'd have to send Morden a fruit basket or something when we're done, since the misinformation went off without as much as a hitch.
"Last call, gentlebeings," I said into the quiet.
"Green across the board." was the general consensus.
"We're ready to make the grab," Viola's voice informed from the holotank with a wicked look and an eager tone.
"Time for the snake to shed his skin."
***
"To any ships in the vicinity, this is the freeship Roadrunner, registry number F-3389-XT, we are being boarded, I repeate, we are being boarded ..."
That was where the transmission cut off. Abruptly. And a chill made its way up his spine. One of the variety he only knew all too well.
Owlishly, he blinked into the viewfinder, as the impossible seemed to happen.
The Roadrunner exploded.
Or, he corrected himself as he saw and his people fed him what their stations were telling them, the four containers along the spine blew their top layer of alloy outwards, completely voiding atmosphere inside _and_ on all the four boarders.
The men had some primitive maglock boots and pressure suits, but while the former were mostly donned the latter were hardly on for this milk run ...
... and space was full of flailing bodies. Where they weren't riddled with shrapnel.
As the mark sat in the middle of it all, the four boarding craft _tethered_ to it ...
... in the midst of the debris, the ship turned, reorienting its bow to point straight at them.
He was halfway into shouting the order to withdraw when _something_ moved, and suddenly there was the sensation of jarring impact that nearly threw him off his feet.
***
"We've got them!"
Behind each airlock, a heavy coilgun. A single handwaved ceramic spearhead on a ferrous shaft. A spool of handwaved metalloy cable connected to each.
The spine, a little thicker than it needed to be. 'Little' being a relative term. Two ferrous rails running the length of the extra space, bow to stern.
"And now we have all that is theirs as well."
Trigon's four eyes floated in the air of the holotank, beside Viola's own avatar.
"Does anyone have objections?" I asked.
I was met with tightly expressions and headshaking.
A former 'blank slate' slave.
A girl abducted during a trip to Venus.
A father whose family was 'taken'.
A dozen 'marines' who'd been Senshi once upon a time, in another life you could say.
The crew had been chosen carefully. I wondered for a moment if I should be upset with myself for being this cold.
***
Red lights were flashing, and the resident geek was cursing, praying, and crying in a repeating sequence.
"What do you mean, the engines are overheating? How is that even possible?!"
"Fuck you, Janos! It's what's happening! Those bastards are doing something, and if we don't do something about it, we're dead!"
The man ignored everything past that, and tried not to shake. Damnit, some milk run ... he hadn't signed on to die like some cheap bit of meat in a boarding coffin!
Alright.
Think.
He could still do something.
He could ... he could still try to make a deal!
He could talk with the best of them after all. Hell, he'd scammed his way through the military with that and a few choice bits and pieces of blackmail.
"Roadrunner, cease and desist! We surrender and are willing to discuss terms! I repeat, we surrender!"
"What the hell are you doing?!" his helmsman hissed, eyes wide.
"I'm trying to get us out of this mess!" he hissed back. "Alive, if at all possible, so shut up!"
"No quarter." The PA squawked to life. He stared dumbly for a moment.
"No quarter."
"Wait! You can't do this! We've surrendered. We're willing to make a deal! We could be useful to ..."
"You damn well earned your fate."
***
"Give Harrington our compliments. We're sorry you are late."
On the bridge's viewscreens the Greyhound hull of the 'command ship' the pirates had fielded shuddered, windowpanes ripping outwards and away from the hull as atmo systems within went rapidly haywire, turning the whole craft into one big pressure cooker equivalent.
"Status," I said, feeling strangely hollow for a moment.
"All targets are completely silent."
"Good ..." I searched for anything else to say, but given the situation. "Good. Viola, clean disconnect?"
The redhaired AI avatar nodded, grinning.
"Trigon, did they have anything immediately relevant?"
"Why, yes, oh glorious leader, now that you mention it they did seem to have something of the like."
His tone indicated it was nothing good either.
Shortly afterwards, we left the derelicts and their own little debris field, heading for Mars.
The maiden campaign of the assault frigate Kobayashi Maru was far from over.
---
I'll write up a profile for the 'Maru in a while, but no, she has no 'weapons' other than four point defense coilguns which use 'conventional' ammo, three heavy coilguns and one spinal mount railgun using waved spears and cable for 'fishing'. She carries a complement of twenty 'marines' and a crew of four (three and AI), plus one captain.
Her AI is Katz's third try at such, and they've all taken up idents of 'villain' characters. Trigon doesn't count as a 'try', by the by.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm

[robkelk]

---

I'll write up a profile for the 'Maru in a while, ...

---

I just saw it in the Ship Registry.
You do realize that, by giving the ship that home port, you're going to have Kohran wanting to add a few weapons to it, right?
More seriously, this gives me the perfect reason to do something I've been trying to figure out how to do... Thanks!

-Rob Kelk
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

[KJ]

*This being a bit after the prior stuff in this thread... got prompted by the With Liberty... thread which I think is neat but I'm damned sure not a political mover and shaker*
From: Sgt. KJ (2501@globalfrequency.fen)
To: $whatever_your_rank_is_now Mal, USSRAF (23@globalfrequency.fen)
Subject: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18th, 2013
Hiya bossman... Dee says hi too. Ptichka and the rest doing well? I know I've been out of contact for quite a while... opsec and all that jazz, plus just damned busy. On leave at the moment and poking through the mailing lists which prompted this.
I don't know how well you've been keeping up with what I'm up to, so I'll give an overview. The normal marine senshi have been more than pulling their weight, but the casualty rates tend to go up to... well, frankly unacceptable levels on some of the really hard targets. Hardsuits are death on wheels for that sorta thing, but if there's any others operational I've not been let known about it. Yes, yes, you predicted something like that would happen, so I came up with my own solution.
Some of the senshi perform better than others in close quarters boarding; I've been recruiting some of the best ones and forming special forces 'toons. Up-geared, up-trained, etc. I'm not going to talk about numbers or results here (I'm breaking enough regs as is)... suffice to say that they can keep up.
Now, how does any of this apply? Well, what I'm proposing is an expansion on the normal boarding role. Using the 'Maru or something like her (oops, I'm not supposed to know about that either... nevermind being deployed to her before) we capture a small-medium sized vessel intact, interrogate the crew for codes and protocol, and inflitrate... as far as possible. Focus more on intelligence gathering than the traditional "extreme prejudice" roles for as long as feasible, then do other actions depending on circumstances.
The reason I'm bringing this to you is... well, we're pretty far in the black end of things and the chain of command's... fuzzy. If I had access to something like the 'Maru easily I'd just go and do it, but since I don't there's no direct person to propose this to who can admit to our existence and command naval assets. You're better at navigating these waters.
That's the brief anyway, hope to hear back.
-KJ (not Kali, not Cal either even if I'm borrowing his reaction to spiders)

[M Fnord]

From: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
To: KJ (2501@globalfrequency.fen)
Subj: re: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
Good to hear from you, mate, almost thought you'd been caught & catgirled. Ptichka and the gang are doing alright - they're off on Mars-Jupiter convoy escort while I'm grounded at Kandor playing politician. I tell you man, the way OGJ is running doesn't give me a warm fuzzy... but I think you know that already.
Re your idea: A deep infil using the Maru is a good idea. In fact, it's a better idea than anything I've been able to come up with. Two problems, though, neither one of them operational. First, I don't know if I can get the Maru assigned to that duty. Katz is in the depths of a Frank Castle fantasy bringing vengance to the wicked and it'll be a while before he comes up for air. Second, Haruhi is starting to drive us all nuts at a command rank; girl might be talented but she's in a bubble, makes life difficult for guys like you & me.
Still, all hope is not lost. If I can't shake Katz out of his delusions, I'll talk to Maetel. She's no fighter, but she knows Katz better'n any of the rest of us, and she owes me. As for Haruhi... if I can get you the Maru for your infil op, I'll take full responsibility assuming she comes out of her fog of cliches long enough to notice. Something goes wrong on my end, fuck it, I'll call Sarkozy and see if he'll let us attach to the Foreign Legion.
Incidentally, when do you plan to be downwell next? We just got in the first shipment of parts for Azu Squadron, and it'd be great if we had you on hand to help with the waving.
--Mal
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[KJ]

From: KJ (2501@globalfrequency.fen)
To: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
Subj: re: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
Catgirled? Hah, they'd have to stop me first... though I did run into some ex-Spetsnaz a month or so back. Made me glad that mostly they don't draw from a talent pool of that caliber. Anyway, I thought catgirling wouldn't work on the previously-modded.
Caught some of your comments on the list... I'd missed out on some of the intel mishaps. Sucks, but I wonder how far out of the ordinary screwups like that are, considering. If much of our brass has genuine military training, I'll be a red-heade... er, nevermind. I dunno, Zib's better at the strategery-level thinking than I, might be worth picking his brains if you haven't already. I know there's at least some maphiya overlap on the other side though, which implies that there's intelligence up there somewhere. It looks like we're winning anyway, at least from down here, but we both know we've got a less-than-complete picture.
And thus we come around in a circle. Vengeance fantasies... enh, fark, mention potential damage to bad guys who matter. I'm not utterly concerned with his motives, y'know? (then again, I don't have to deal with him) Besides which, for the 'Maru anyway, it's not really outside the scope of normal operations. Just that they leave us over.
Again, judgement on dealing with Haruhi I'll leave to you. Responsibility... well afterwards it either ends up as a fait accompli, or... heck, chalk it off to a rogue action if it fails. No need to have the fallout scatter any farther than it needs to. I'm a non-person right now anyway, and I've made enough friends around the senshi (freakin' weird, eh?) to stay out of sight as Kali. Strangely, from what encounters I've had, Haruhi doesn't seem to link my two forms together, Kuno style... a weird blindspot to have, but there it is.
Downwell... probably quicker than you think. Gamma 'toon just rotated to on R&R, and I was attached to them last so noone would miss me out for a while. Just find me a place to stash the Priss-suit; there's humint around evidently and I had to abandon one temporary base because of it. (funny story that)
-KJ

[M Fnord]

From: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
To: KJ (2501@globalfreqency.fen)
Subj: re: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
As far as catgirling goes... I honestly don't know. You might've seen that Corcoran's up in arms on the list about it, and I've gotten copies of the prelim medical reports. Somebody's managed to come up with a repeatable press-button-create-catgirl process, so it might be able to override previous biomods. I don't know. Just watch out, and if you run into *anything* along those lines report it back ASAP.
After the debacle last August, I've got Zib, Shad & Calc going over Haruhi's orders with a fine-tooth comb before we even *pretend* to set course. The second biggest problem we're running into so far is Haruhi's obsession with white knights & lone heroes; she thinks that one ship can handle things that really need a flight or a wing. Ptichka's pretty badass (btw, she's very happy with your phased-array laser setup) but we're not the Enterprise, for chrissakes.
The *biggest* problem, OTOH, is we're attacking all these problems with the same level of energy. Look at Katz and the Maru, frex. He's going out there and using a Q-boat designed to take down a wing's worth of Boskonians to beat up on lone thugs. He can *do* this because Haruhi demands an overreaction to every action, and nobody at the top level can convince her to change tactics.
Hell, *I* thought we were winning right up to the point where those fuckers dropped Crystal Osaka. Now I'm just worried we're spending too much time beating up on gangbangers & getting spead too thin while the real threat's building up for another major attack. Hopefully I can convince Haruhi of this. Or if not, that I can get Scott, Blackstone and some of the other major SMOFs involved in OGJ on my side and we can override her.
*sigh* Fuck. We're in for bad times, I think. Which makes getting you a greenlight for your infil op all the more important.
Get downwell as soon as you can, I want you to go over the op with the soviet & we'll go from there.
--Mal
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[KJ]

From: KJ (2501@globalfreqency.fen)
To: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
Subj: re: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
Huh, crud, that's confirmed-ish? I thought I'd been seeing a lot of mods in the rescuees lately. I'll watch out, though for my money I'm going to worry more about conventional-ish threads. Have reports filtered up about the Ultrasmurfs yet?
Haruhi... I dunno, again I'm not political, but mebbe someone should broach the topic about what 'civilian control of the military' actually means. Something couched in terms of it being leader's jobs to delegate boring details, yadda yadda.
The Soviet, eh? This wouldn't be the well-connected one played by Ed Wasser, would it? I've got some dogtags that might be interesting to look up.
-KJ

[M Fnord]

From: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
To: KJ (2501@globalfreqency.fen)
Subj: re: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
No hard confirmation, but Corcoran's convinced it's the same process and he has enough experience with it to make me agree with him. Nobody's reported Ultrasmurf sightings yet - or at least nobody's used any of the trigger keywords in their after-action reports yet. Seen or heard anything on your end?
The problem with explaining anything to Haruhi is unless you're SOS-dan, she only barely registers your presence. Not to mention the SOS-dan is more interested in keeping her happy than keeping her informed. Something very screwy at the very top of the command chain.
As for You-Know-Who, forget *that.* I'm 95% convinced he's in bed with the Russians. He swears it's strictly quid-pro-quo, but you and I both know that the FSB doesn't do quid-pro-quo. I meant I want you to go over the plan with Zib & Co., make sure you didn't miss something before we wrangle you a ship.
Send me some scans of the dogtags, I'll see if I can't get something out of Star City, or maybe dead-drop it to our Company man, see what he/she/it makes of it.
--Mal---
Mr. Fnord
http://fnord.sandwich.net/
http://www.jihad.net/
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[KJ]

From: KJ (2501@globalfreqency.fen)
To: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
Subj: re: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
Yeah, well... there's a half-squad of smurfs that managed to find one of the 'roids I was using as a staging area and caught me with my pants down. One of the things that prompted the milsenshi, and being more careful. Whoever did the 'wavium work paid a lot of attention to detail, in good and bad ways... the joints are vacuumtight but not much else. Materials... well, again, someone was paying too much attention to the minis and not enough to engineering. I'd have sent them along, but I wanted to make sure my trail was good and scorched before I got back in contact.
They're not pros (well, not as much as some I've found) but that might've been an early batch... they were using unmodified rifles, which really buggered them. Stock lubricants in vacuum are a no-no, heh heh heh. Who knows what they're for, but there's bound to be more out there.
I'll have the tags with me; heading on leave. There's enough platoons of milsenshi to get by without me until the op. What RV point?
-KJ
ps: Hot shower waiting for me'd be appreciated.

[M Fnord]

From: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
To: KJ (2501@globalfreqency.fen)
Subj: re: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
Hrm.. that's not good news. Get what you can put together in a report & I'll get it to HQ. If nothing else, getting some descriptions out to the field commanders will help with tracking.
As for RV points... how's your position re Ceres? Ptichka's got a planned convoy stopover at the staging base tomorrow @ 1500. You can pick up with the gang there and they can take you direct to Kandor or you can transfer at Deimos if you don't want to draw too much interest. I'll let Elena know you're coming so she won't use all the hot water onboard.
--Mal
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[KJ]

From: KJ (2501@globalfreqency.fen)
To: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
Subj: re: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
Report's doable. Coords for cached armor attached. I'll be waiting around Deimos; not that I don't trust various things but I don't want people backtracking to what we're using for staging areas for the specforces.
-KJ

[M Fnord]

From: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
To: KJ (2501@globalfreqency.fen)
Subj: re: Spiders
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
Got it. I'll see you when you hit Kandor, then.
--Mal

---

From: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
To: evo@ptichka.sovietairforce.fen
Subj: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner
Date Posted: May 18, 2013
Susan:
KJ will be waiting for you at Deimos once you've finished the convoy run. I need you to get him back to Kandor at full burn, and don't spare the horses. I'll explain everything later.
-Your Loving Grandfather
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[Rieverre]

From: K.Schrdinger (schroedinger@express.gal)
To: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
Subj: You hollered?
Timestamp: 19052013
Maetel tells me you've got something to talk to me about? We're more or less done with getting the bugs from the boat, so give a timestamp and place, preferably one that has half-decent tacos available nearby.
-K.Schrdinger
PS. bouncing this from the proxy setup on the Express for paranoia's sake.
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm

[Norgarth]

---

someone was paying too much attention to the minis

---

heh, I was wondering if the Ultrasmurfs comment was a 40K reference, and I guess that confirms it (along with other remarks)
So some of the baddies are playing Space Marine, eh? __________________
I bet that if you cooked an elephant, you'd have a lot of leftovers.
___________________________
"I've always wanted to be somebody, but I should have been more specific." - George Carlin

[M Fnord]

From: Mal (23@globalfrequency.fen)
To: K.Schrdinger (schroedinger@express.gal)
Subj: re: You hollered?
Date Posted: May 19, 2013
Got a proposal for you & your new toy. Meet me at the Paragon City Saloon downtown on the 22nd @ 1300. I'll have Kali with me. We'll talk there.
--Mal
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[KJ]

5/19/2013
There were some great things about the hardsuit besides its utility in injuring people. The thruster pack meant that I was at Deimos... probably well before anyone would have expected me. And it meant I had life support for quite a while, more than long enough to wait for Ptichka to show up.
Granted, part of it was taken by securing anchors into a cranny on Deimos's surface to secure myself, luggage, and the camoflage netting. With it, I looked like nothing other than a nice little grey rocky lump on a bigger grey rocky lump. Perfect.
The view was, as usual, spectacular, and the opportunity to sit under it for a good handful of hours was reason enough to get here early. Okay, I knew the Kali half has a reputation of being a violent, short-tempered bitch. In fact, I'd say it's deserved, especially in contrast to KJ's general mellowness. But anyone who didn't appreciate this view... well, they had to have a few screws loose.
... damn I miss the days when I could think about myself without lapsing into the third person, I mused to myself with a bit of a chuckle.
And there I waited for a few hours before I saw it approaching. Active sensors on the hardsuit were deactivated, but passive sensors picked up the shape and Dee softly cleared her throat.
"Yeah, I see her," I whispered with a sigh. "Keep watch for a sec, 'kay?" I unhooked myself from some of the anchors and packed away the netting before kicking off towards the familiar cranked delta winged craft.
To her credit, B hardly jumped when I showed up in the forward viewport and tapped on the window.

[KJ]

---

heh, I was wondering if the Ultrasmurfs comment was a 40K reference, and I guess that confirms it (along with other remarks)
So some of the baddies are playing Space Marine, eh?

---

A few... the comment was made somewhere (probably by Mal) about the thought, and... who doesn't like slaying loyalist marines?
I figure they're probably on the order of (admittedly well detailed) prop-quality armor relying on handwavium for strength, rather than superalloy and ceramic monstrosities that some people would be wont to create *cough*me*cough*hack*

[Vangeek]

I had to roll my eyes when Mal's mail came in.
"Pratchett on a pogo stick...well, no harm done. It'll be nice to see KJ again." I yawned and stretched out in the seat. We were almost at Deimos, and I'd been at this convoy for a bit...I wasn't exhausted, but tired enough to warrant a nap. I adjusted my robe, made sure the hair was under wraps as it were, and kept an eye on our course, Ptchika chirping occaisonal updates.
Ye gods, this was boring. Uneventful trips and all were nice in this day and age, but I started to doze off once we slid into place at Deimos. Within seconds, there was a tap at the window. I snorted, twitched, looked over at the scene...
"Holy fucking hell! You didn't need to go Titan AE on me there, carrot top." Gorram KJ, nearly scared the hell outta me.