Hi!

Welcome back!

Mostly Buren and Lyctove/Kuznetsov this chapter, although there is some Carson, and just a warning - it gets pretty bloody.

And with that out of the way, 

Here goes nothin'!

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Five Years Ago

It was time.

There was nothing left to do. Kuznetsov couldn't magically teleport the Aurora Flare into Carok. Redeploying a puddlejumper was not a simple task. It would take years.

At which point, it would fall into the El'saas's hands to effectuate the operation. Kuznetsov, against his better judgment and every fiber of his being, entrusted the schematics of Aurora Flare to the businessman. He could only pray that everything he had been told, everything he had come to believe about Carson over the course of a decade wasn't a ploy, and that the businessman would truly work on behalf of all peoples.

And anyway, he'd come to believe there was no other option. Granting the Republic the opportunity to work on superimposed space would certainly be ideal -- unfortunately, this would undoubtedly invoke the aggression of a perpetually-paranoid Caroki Star Union, whose not-entirely-misguided belief that the Republic only existed to torment Caroki inevitably got in the way of negotiations. Kuznetsov couldn't endorse donating superimposed space to the Coalition of Interior Systems, and the Kingdom of Taryia - well, they wouldn't accept it, to put it mildly.

Which left the Prythian Assembly. A country indefinitely imprisoned by the Republic, to the point where its government existed solely as a comfort to the oblivious subjects of the Assembly who could see nothing beyond the supposed rivalry between themselves and the Union. Granting superimposed space to the Assembly was ultimately granting superimposed space to the Republic unless directly bestowed upon the Prythian Chancellorship, in which case there was such comically minuscule chance of success that the Union would actually make more progress over an equivalent period of time.

The Assembly was a tragedy that would never be recognized in his generation, Kuznetsov realized. Once, before his time, it had been a gleaming symbol of what Carok could be, a light which pierced through the dark shadows cast by the Union. A democracy on par with the Republic, perhaps not militarily but certainly in terms of equity and justice.

Now it was a shell. The carcass of a great nation, feeding what little it had left to keep Paragon out of the grave. It existed in a baffling, almost mocking state of parity, wherein the Assembly was permitted to maintain a navy and had absolute and final control over what it did, even as Republic flotillas maintained pitiless control over a dozen resource-rich systems. The Republic protectorate system had been ruthlessly designed, built to grant the citizens of the Assembly a taunting, cruelly tangible fragment of self-governance while equally challenging any who recognized the truth to stand up and subsequently be forced back down under the steel boot of a Republic battlegroup.

And it was all done out of pure necessity. The Republic wasn't evil - President Lyctove wasn't evil. For if the Assembly was a carcass, Paragon was something even viler, a pool of rotten sludge liquified after a decade of decay, utterly helpless on its own and completely reliant on what Carok could provide. Only the most basic natural resources now flowed from Paragon's most utopian worlds, and food was not often among them.

Redeployment of Aurora Flare would require extenuating circumstances to be present. She was the flagship of the Republic navy, first of the Caroki Protectorate Fleets and only recently transferred to head the Republic Home Fleet in the advent of ever-increasing tensions with the Coalition. With the first Alexandra-class battlecruisers slated to leave drydock in a mere five years, Aurora Flare's position as flag would undoubtedly be challenged, but for now, she maintained an almost reverent position among the Republic citizenry.

As one would expect from a ship with such a storied past. Aurora Flare served with distinction during the Resource Wars, anchoring Republic battle lines during the Third Seige of Endura and saving billions from yet another vicious ground incursion. Her history was only soiled by the billions of deaths she was responsible for, both in Paragon and out - of course, none of that ever made it into Republic texts.

Needless to say, for the Republic to redeploy a starship with Aurora Flare's universal recognition would take an event of unprecedented magnitude.

However, Aurora Flare's fame and, at least in Carok, infamy, was a variable that shouldn't be ignored. The Assembly knew the Aurora Flare well, in the worst possible way. There was no telling what would happen to that loathed puddlejumper should she end up in Carok.

Someday, Kuznetsov mused, he might be asked if he regretted losing the Aurora Flare.

The answer, it turned out, was very simple.

No.

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Present Day

Alexandra's thrusters flared magnificently as she brought ranks of heavy artillery cannons to bear. Buren could see the Clonn-class crawling out into a firing position, escorted by a small flotilla of support craft. Drones swarmed the battleship, and Alexandra's point-defense grid tracked each one with infallible precision.

"15 Union contacts holding at 10,000 kilometers, ma'am."

"SDA shows no warp breach."

"All batteries on standby. GM pods report a green ball, all tubes grounded."

"Fire control advises that the enemy is swarming drones. They're looping an attack pattern."

Buren absorbed the tsunami of information in stride. The tactical map was already online, presenting a small cluster of red dots as the Union flotilla. A larger green node marked her own forces, with a handful of blue being Walton and her escorts.

"Walton is requesting a command link be established, captain," Allen announced grimly.

The young captain grimaced internally. A command link would put her in direct communication with him.

Nevertheless, he was on her side right now, and communicating was three-fourths of a victory.

She swallowed her pride and nodded. "Granted."

His voice immediately drifted through the bridge communicator. "Jessica-"

"Don't call me that," Buren snapped. 

"...Admiral Buren, then. Walton is prepared to act under your orders."

Well, that was unexpected.

Buren found herself frozen, mostly out of shock but with an unsettling amount of suspicion present as well. "Wal - what?"

"I am deferring to your strategic judgment. I won't argue that I'm better than you at this."

It was déjà vu.

"Admiral?"

Buren composed herself. Yes, she despised him. He was a traitor, a liar, an idiot - the list was far too long to recite at the moment. But as of right now, that would have to be put aside. He was furnishing her forces with a powerful warship. He was releasing control of his escorts.

And while Buren wished for nothing more than to melt his stupid face off, he was, unfortunately, an ally. That, if nothing else, demanded a certain level of respect.

"Understood, Captain," she replied, forcing herself to maintain a level tone. "I am prepared to command your forces."

Buren couldn't see him, but she knew he was grinning.

"Excellent," he replied.

After a moment, Walton flashed green.

Buren turned to the tactical map.

Another Coalition force had entered the DMZ. 25 total Caroki warships now - a full-strength battlegroup. 

Her position was quickly becoming untenable. Buren recognized that immediately. Alexandra outgunned most of the Coalition fleet alone, let alone the addition of Krraharr'ti'om, but numbers mattered. She would be outflanked and surrounded, as, if the Union Commodore had any noticeable level of intelligence, he or she would simply maneuver outside of the range of Buren's guns. Space warfare wasn't limited to a single plane.

Walton, however, drastically altered the tactical situation. She wasn't elegant but she was durable, and she packed a lot of firepower in a narrow, slender frame. Her midsection was mostly exposed, flash-supercooling liquids by exposing them to space in order to keep two batteries of heavy plasmacasters from rapidly overheating- apart from that, both the bow and aft were layered in overlapping sheets of composite, and a cluster of magnetic field generators and plasma dynamos ensured the midsection was guarded by shields easily exceeding the strength of Alexandra's. Two triple-barreled artillery cannons commanded the prow, and a centripetal ring just aft of amidships hosted four heavy railguns. Point-defense blisters dotted the plated hull, chiefly fearsome rotary cannons mounted in sets of four which patrolled Walton's defense perimeter diligently.

It could be argued that Walton could hold her own with Alexandra given the right circumstances. 

"Multiple contacts, starboard bow!" Megan said abruptly. The tactical map flickered briefly, displaying a new Union force manifesting into realspace. "Lbarisa-class supercarrier and nine support craft!"

Buren's stomach dropped.

The one Union ship Academy graduates were taught to fear.

The titanic carrier actually challenged Krraharr'ti'om in terms of sheer mass. Drones poured out of hundreds of dilating apertures, like a gas venting from a leaking tank, forming dark, swirling masses orbiting the Lbarisa's massive, hexagonal spaceframe.

"Union drone count rising past 55,000."

It was an absurdly high number. Hell, the simulators at the Academy rarely ever went above 10,000.

Alexandra's grid had more than enough processing power to handle that many targets, but she wouldn't have enough guns to shoot them all down. Walton actually had more point-defense cannons than Alexandra, but they were static, not on rails, and even with them the two warships couldn't resist a swarm that large.

Customary tactics designated small, fast ships to disrupt flanking maneuvres, covering the larger capital vessels. Most of the time, smaller strike craft and drones weren't a threat to large ships, simply because most well-designed ships had point-defense grids utterly lethal to anything smaller than a frigate. Blind spots in the defense grid of a large cruiser were almost non-existent, so frigates and corvettes didn't need to be constantly glued to the larger command.

Customary tactics, unfortunately, would now be hard-pressed to find a place in this engagement.

With 55,000 drones - even more, now - the combined point-defense fire support of Buren's entire battlegroup would struggle.

"Consolidate to an upper defensive pattern," Buren ordered. "Alexandra major, Walton minor, Halifax in tertiary."

"Aye, captain."

"Multiple contacts, starboard bow!" Megan reported again, frantically resetting the tactical map to display a new Union battlegroup. "Ocaris-class heavy cruiser and seven support craft!"

"Sound a GFC, 10,000 kilometers, and reconsolidate," Buren said. If her position was untenable before, it would be a suicide mission to fight now. But she couldn't retreat - not from this. 

The Union force was splitting up. Two distinct battlegroups had formed, one headed by the Clonn-class battleship and the other by an Ocaris-class heavy cruiser. The Lbarisa had retired to the rear, content to direct her swarms behind the guns of the more offensively-oriented vessels.

Krraharr'ti'om was already moving to intercept the Ocaris. The impassive Taryian starship could handle itself, for lack of a better phrase - Buren held no reservations about the short lifespan of the Ocaris's flotilla should Krraharr'ti'om decide to unleash her arsenal.

Buren couldn't even guarantee Krraharr'ti'om would partake in the battle. The Taryian duke might very well have orders to remain neutral unless directly attacked - such was the iron resolve of the Kingdom of Taryia to remain as distant as possible from multiversal affairs. Likewise, even the captain of the mighty Lbarisa would have to be suicidal to invoke the wrath of a Taryian dreadnought.

On the other hand, Taryian honor often dictated that it was the host's duty to come to the aid of participating parties. Honor, at least in the Kingdom, often eclipsed politics, and so Buren had reason to believe Krraharr'ti'om's particle lances would be put to good use.

"Union drone count increasing past 100,000," Megan reported anxiously. Most of the Union flotilla was buried under a sea of red dots, the tides of which now consumed a good tenth of the tactical map. "Fire control recommends a nuclear first strike. Gunnery requesting permission to open fire."

"Denied," Buren replied immediately. A nuclear first strike could paralyze the Union armada - it would also ignite a war that otherwise could be avoided.

"Order all vessels to hold fire," Buren ordered, resolute in her judgment. "They shoot first, we don't."

Even as she said that her mind raced through every tactical option she had at her disposal, pulling deployments and maneuvers from within the deepest depths of her memory. The three Marathon-class heavy frigates at her disposal suddenly transitioned from a mediocre screening vessel to the most critical starship under her command. Buren had grown to despise the humble Marathon - they were cumbersome, poorly armored and slow, and thus represented the complete antithesis of Buren's preferred tactics. The class itself was the pinnacle of tactical inflexibility - they were, however, was armed to burst with point-defense weapons and laden with a hundred interceptor missiles arrays.

"Incoming communication on a full-spectrum channel, ma'am." 

Buren shot a look at Allen suspiciously. "From the Union?"

"Yes, captain." 

The Union partaking in, if not negotiations, at least a parlay? With the Republic no less. 

There was a first for everything, Buren supposed. 

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The planetbuster's smoking husk left behind twelve guided warheads, screaming through Endura's atmosphere like a meteor shower and leaving ranks of orbital satellites in the dust. Interceptor torpedoes met them head-on in droves, obliterating both themselves and their targets on contact. The night sky blazed with the premature detonation of nuclear warheads, the result of a few planetbusters that managed to trip self-destruct sequences before they were abruptly converted into dust.

Two warheads miraculously avoided the first line of defense, bursting through the cloud cover and swerving through the fire of a hundred gun batteries.

The door to the war room swung open. Three Orbital Insertion Troopers set foot in front of the crystal table. The lead trooper - a Corporal - saluted. "Mr. President. Grand Admiral."

There was no protocol to evacuate. There was no need. If the planetary defenses failed there would be little that could ensure the President's safety, given the short time between detection and impact. The "protocol" was to fully mobilize the 14th Orbital Insertion Unit - the Capitol Guard.

The three troopers took up position around the door, two with pulse rifles and one with a heavy automatic slugthrower.

As Lyctove waited anxiously, powerless, Home Command scrambled the final line of defense into action.

A plasma dynamo, the size of a city block, rumbled to life, drawing power from an entire sector of Allos City. Half of City Center blinked out as the energy grid was sucked dry, feeding an exorbitant amount of power into millions of capacitors.

Point-defense fire rent through a warhead, punching a dozen holes in the titanium plating as the stricken weapon spiraled uncontrollably towards the surface. Fire control computers rapidly ascertained that the warhead was still armed and directed a flak battery accordingly, the blocks of Allos City echoing as spent casings tumbled off of gun towers.

As the surviving warhead entered a terminal stage, the dynamo was unleashed.

A rippling beam of plasma lanced into the sky, ionizing the surrounding air instantly even as magnetic fields enveloped and contained it. Within half a second, a shimmering wall of energy stood between the ground and the warhead. The warhead's small computer exploded into action, dilating a dozen emergency vents and redirecting every ounce of fuel it had out in fluttering blue cones of flame.

It was almost enough. The warhead made it to within a meter of the shield's radius before it ran out of fuel, plummeting into the plasma and instantly vaporizing. With its duty accomplished, the dynamo sputtered and died, incapable of sustaining such a barrier for longer than a dozen seconds.

Slowly, one-by-one, the sirens died off.

Lyctove knew Home Command had already armed Endura's vast antiplanetary arsenal. Under the tranquil waters of Allos Lake and the turbulent Sea of Aria beyond, hundreds of kilometer-deep silos waited diligently, checking the enormous destructive potential of their charges until ordered to unleash the full might of the Republic.

They would not launch without the consent of the Council, and they certainly wouldn't launch without his authorization.

Already, the President had discerned that this attack was a test. A test of the Republic's will to assert dominance. Whoever was responsible for the launch of that planetbuster knew it wouldn't penetrate Endura's defenses - the world had survived through hell and back.

It was a message. A message from a new player who wanted to announce their presence to the multiverse in the most hostile way imaginable.

"Corporal," Lyctove said. "Summon the Council immediately."

The Capitol Guard were the custodians of the government, as well as its foremost protectors. The corporal saluted without hesitation. "At once, Mr. President."

<~~~~<~~~<~~<~<>~>~~>~~~>~~~~>

"Esteemed members of this Council," Lyctove boomed, his voice amplified throughout a vast chamber. Five assemblies represented four Divisions of Republic space, with the fifth serving on behalf of the corporate sector. In total, the Council numbered easily in the thousands - a massive, dysfunctional body, yet one which possessed the supreme legislative capability in the Republic.

"As of thirty minutes ago, a planetbuster of unknown origin bypassed Endura's orbital defenses. Several warheads nearly made landfall."

"Catastrophe was only avoided due to the expeditious action of Home Command and the emergency activation of Endura's planetside plasma dynamos. The damage to the energy grid is substantial. Numerous subsectors of Allos City Central may be without power for many weeks."

"As of half an hour ago, Home Command has requested authorization to mobilize the Republic's entire antiplanetary arsenal, as well as sufficient funding to prepare the Terminus Gulf for a mass evacuation of the Rim. We are gathered here today to discuss these matters, among many others."

Lyctove rose from his ceremonial seat, raised high on a plinth in the middle of the chamber. Evacuating the rim would require an untold amount of resources. The navy would have to be stripped down to a skeletal force - there just weren't enough ships otherwise. Repurposing naval warships as temporary starliners was certainly less than ideal, but the rim was unfortunately neglected when it came to planetary defenses. None of them had landside plasma dynamos. Barely any of them had interception torpedo arrays. Most worlds even lacked orbital gun satellites. The vast majority of rimworlds relied on the simple fact that they were unimportant to shield against antiplanetary attacks.

One would think after years of war, after years of civil strife and raw, bloody conflict, the Council might have paid attention to the rim.

The Republic was just that. A republic. A federal republic, which meant it was inherently flawed. But it had become bloated to the point where most valid concerns were drowned in an endless sea of debate between fives groups of representatives with drastically altered visions of themselves and the nation.

Such was the inherent weakness of democracy. It was inefficient. It was cumbersome. By all accounts, democracy was responsible for the state of the Republic.

If the Council wouldn't act on behalf of the Rim, then Lyctove would take responsibility himself. He had the authority to commission the navy for natural disaster response.

There was an obvious flaw in his plan. Getting atomized by a planetbuster wasn't exactly a "natural" disaster, and the Council could shoot down commissions on a 2/3s majority vote. The Republic Supreme Judiciary also had the authority to neuter commissions, unless Lyctove had unanimous support from Republic High Command.

That was plan B. Plan A, however unlikely, was to get the Council to approve the Rim evacuation bill.

Plan C didn't yet exist.

The President mentally steeled himself for a day of endless debate.

"The floor is open," he declared.

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Carson braced for the railgun slug that never came.

He risked opening an eye. 

The battleship's ridiculously massive retrograde thrusters were blazing away at full strength, engulfing the bow in gouts of blue flame. She slowly came to rest, arresting the inertia which crudely-engineered Union dampeners often failed to sufficiently counteract.

Carson drew his sidearm. Saj'ish followed suit, yanking a magnetic accelerator handcannon out from a hip-mounted holster. 

The businessman opened his mouth to speak, but it was so violent and sudden Carson found himself unable to finish.

A Union marine had stepped through the conference hall door, projector rifle raised, but he had barely said a word before an earsplitting thud echoed down the corridor and the unfortunate man was blown in two. Two companions only just had the time to process what had happened before they were annihilated in a similar fashion, the first one losing his head and most of his upper chest and the second simply slumping to the ground as if suddenly knocked out.

The Shock Trooper responsible revealed itself, jostling past the now blood-soaked entry into conference hall one.  

Of course. Shock Troopers were part of the army - Union marines were naval assets. 

Civil war, it seemed, was the favored dish of the month. 

"Mr. Carson," it said in a heavily modulated voice. "I have orders to escort you to the Ocaris immediately."

Carson nodded meekly, finding himself intimidated by the behemoth standing in front of him for the first time. 

A fourth marine rounded the corner, immediately falling prey to panic as he stood, paralyzed, eyes wide at the Shock Trooper in front of him who mercilessly cut him down. A fifth marine didn't even make it past the corner, the dull thud of boots against floor panels drifting ever-farther away. 

A sixth, however, mustered the courage to round the titanium-plated wall with an overcharged electricity cannon slung under his arm. The sub-microsecond reaction times of the Shock Trooper still couldn't compete with the cannon's computer and the marine lurched backward, absorbing the recoil of the cannon with his entire body as a crackling bolt of electricity hit the Shock Trooper square in the faceplate. 

Two uranium slugs made short work of the marine, showering the corner wall with blood as the Shock Trooper collapsed unceremoniously with a smoking hole through its head.

Carson shook himself back into reality. 

Picking up the projector rifle of a fallen marine, the businessman realized he had never shot someone. Ever.

He had assumed he would never have to.