Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 16, 2017 19:31:35 GMT
The conflicts of a nation were but a fleeting moment from the perspective of something as eternal as a galaxy. Likewise the actions of those who dared meddle in the natural progression of time too were equally as insignificant as in the end the longest lived features ultimately won. For all the devices, plans and strategies, those empires were mere castles of sand with a proverbial tide always lapping at their gates. This of course brings us to a skirmish of sorts, often later likened to the contact between a potent acid and a potent alkaline substance. Both factors in their own sectors and yet until recently their encounters have been mere minor events incorporating other elements, to make or alter the effects as to never be on equal terms. Enter the SSCS Dresden one of many vessels operating with the science vessel group near the location of hostilities. The group itself formed a three dimensional line that capped off the area of hostilities from neutral space and its goal for the presence seemed to be observation.
The bridge of the Dresden a science vessel sat in contrast to the normal state of affairs for the regular navy and the hunter navy. Everything there was well lit, and the bridge arranged in a circular fashion with everything, every crew station placed in a radial fashion about the captain’s position. As with other SSC vessels the bridge was not at some lofty position on the hull but buried within the vessel and to that end numerous state of the art holographic panels projected the world outside by the second as it changed with more information then would be acceptable on a military craft. The crew milled about monitoring the ongoing fight in the Immortal Empire’s territory as shots were traded; vessels arrived in battle and were pulled back or dispatched. The fight shifted as the marked colors of the three belligerents engaged with an eagerness that on the base display appeared as if two amoebas were busy struggling to engulf one another.
“Hmm so far none have taken the bait it seems.”
The Dresden’s first officer stood to the left of the captain examining detailed information of fleet movements, as it seemed the line continued to go unchallenged. The captain however sat with legs crossed sipping at a fresh cup of coffee and pursed his lips slightly more at the flavor and strength of the beverage than anything else.
“Give them time…someone will come knocking soon enough. Curiosity is a powerful motivator albeit subtle.”
As the captain looked to one of the bridge crew operating the sensors the officer shook his head indicating nothing detected.
“I suspect the reservists are still a bit nervous yes?”
“Pretty much, for most it’s their first go at a warzone captain, but I suspect they’ll hold just fine.”
The captain mused a bit on the idea of an uneventful fleet voyage with a number of science vessels where the gunnery and armory crews were all reservists, some of whom were a tad too green for his liking. The galactic conflict had tossed national priorities from normality to accelerated readiness. All reservists able to pass the primary service examinations were moved to the regular navies and thus skilled manpower was being diverted, as the science divisions rarely saw live combat for the time being it was acceptable. Yet here the Dresden remained with a number of sister vessels on the fringe of a warzone with orders to observe report and enforce a hundred kilometer area of control. As the Captain considered this the crewman operating the sensors went from his usual slouching position to one that suggested alertness.
“Captain Incoming at 102 kilometers…sensor read indicates it is a Flux vessel matching the make and model of one from the Macon Incident, heading one ‘o eight!”
The captain stood and looked about his bridge as the crew began to move to combat-ready positions. A brief nod was made to his first officer before he issued orders.
“All vessels to yellow alert, verify that the block is in place and prepare the tackle… To all vessels in section eight…this is not a drill we have a confirmed enemy vessel inbound intention unknown. Be on guard but do not act unless asked to or fired upon!”
The lighting about the bridge changed to denote the readiness status as it did across every major corridor on every ship in the section. Crew moved to their assigned battle stations while armed troopers were put in critical corridors and crew from every one of the ship’s three watches were roused to action. In the distance the Flux vessel named the ‘Patron of Sorrows’ utilizing its vaunted Uller’s Boxes as communication aids attempted to use light-based Morse code to communicate. Meanwhile on the bridge as the vessel crept over the one hundred kilometer boundary imposed by the SSC group, a simple Unicode message would be sent out worded as part warning part inquiry. Unicode seemed to be a basic computerized language that worked in this galaxy as its use was verified with successful negotiations when SSC first arrived.
*Unidentified vessel, You have entered a combat zone, do not approach. Please state your intentions.*
Moments passed as the Flux vessel came to a stop at the 75 Kilometer mark which in truth was acceptable, by normal military decorum. However it’s curious response seemed to add a bit f tension to the moment. Perhaps unknown to the vessel’s commander but the SSC’s own gunnery crews and armory personnel were already preparing for action. Prior experiences had found the flux to be a number of things including willing to present an errant danger to actions of mercy. No chance was spared as a number of guns were rapidly being trained on the visitor. The response from the Flux Vessel was sent by means of Unicode as they seemingly ceased the use of their boxes perhaps to seem less threatening. The second time it too was another request to dock albeit worded differently. The SSC response was less kind and far more concise.
*Repeat, do not approach. Docking is not possible given current conditions. A secured channel will be opened for direct communication with coordinators only.*
It seemed a bit clear SSC was not willing or wanting to meet in person and for good reason, the last time didn't go well, and of course it's easier to have a standoff then a shooting match. Despite this the channel was opened though the SSC being skilled at the art of deception bounced the signal though the entire fleet making it impossible to tell that the Dresden was the vessel from which any of the communications originated. It appeared as if the signal came from every single vessel in the fleet and yet came through with the same clarity as if it was sent from a single source. The flux it seemed was not to fond of the idea, as their means of signaling seemed to indicate that they wished for the SSC to send a shuttle over to their ship with a representative or respectively send a shuttle over to ferry their representative over. The very notion of coming into arms reach of a flux personnel to those receiving the message was met with utter disdain, were not these the people who according to intelligence fancied the universe their plaything and would stop at nothing to remain in power? They certainly were willing to throw away lives for poor at best gains. It seemed to those in the SSC section hat indeed they were dealing with the grievously illogical. To the SSC the flux were regarded like terrorists, scared children with guns who would never know true rest or peace as long as they followed the path they did. As the SSC considered it’s carefully worded reply, the Flux vessel attempted to listen in on the fleet’s usual chatter, only to find itself confronted with the usual such and yet all of it was in an as yet unknown language. Translation surly would yield sentences, and from those vowels and such but none made any sense, it was complete gibberish, and not a lick of it was temporal based…somehow the SSC was speaking a literal language that remained incomprehensible to the best means of the flux. It was as if the language itself was immune to examination by time. The accents in acoustic speech segments clearly were Atrean Latin, and yet the gibberish was overwhelming in its complexity. In short the attempt was a mess to make matters worse a look forward into time might find that the language was never cracked…it remained gibberish as far as the flux could see. It raised a considerable question, just what sort of species can stone wall their own language for eternity? Yet the fleet was communicating freely as they were no military detachment, not that they had long to consider as a new Unicode message came across the distance clearly worded more aggressively.
*As they say, No Dice. Be advised, you have knowingly entered a warzone, any further aggressive action beyond your current will be viewed as an additional act of war in your standing group of transgressions. You have two minutes to depart or risk the consequences.*
Aboard the flux vessel however the ship's crew would be strongly wishing to take the hint and leave, the emissary would overrule the shipmaster and have them hold tight, no movement, and remain past the two minute mark. He's betting you folks won't shoot first; after all, if they do, then Admiral Dorin would likely retroactively abort the expedition, which supported her belief that the galaxy as out to snuff the flux from existence. The time ticked away as the count neared a minute and thirty seconds as the standoff became less a theoretical event and more a real one with actual consequences.
The vessels of the fleet section began to take their first active combat scans of the opposing vessel. Tachyometric energy began to bombard the target. It did no damage and yet it’s effect was likened to being very subtly shaken in that you could feel your organs rattling in your body but no harm was done. The corvettes involved were scanning as a military vessel should and yet there was something about how those science vessels were scanning that seemed to outright rattle the very fiber of the target it was if they were peering into the entire existence of the vessel and yet this was only a gut feeling not anything verified by fact. The following target locks were aimed at a number of critical areas and targeting apparatus seemed to be painting the targets further.
*This is your last opportunity to reconsider, the alternative is a fruitless exercise in your own inflated pride.*
The emissary aboard the Flux vessel remained confident even as the vessel was proverbially lit up. Flux technology had yielded means to hide the vessel from such casual means it seemed despite the consistent visual contact with the intruder, and multiple party triangulations of its coordinates, sensors would not detect the vessel. But as the technology stood it was possible they might potentially pick up the one and two particle emissions released by the ship; even so such emissions were well blended into the normal background noise of the universe. There would be further sweating and clock watching aboard the Patron of Sorrow, but the emissary would maintain his authority over the shipmaster as, should the SSC open fire on them, the whole affair would be rescinded from outside their field of effect; thus from the perspective of the SSC the whole event would not have happened. As such the Emissary would remain undaunted by the time line and force the vessel and its crew to remain.
Meanwhile with the SSC section things were not as they seemed. The captain peered at the image of the vessel here it sat as the display rendered it in eight dimensions. The vessel itself was almost comical in a way, all that time invested in being well stealthy and it was perhaps one of the least efficient means to do so the captain had ever seen. Despite what the flux thought of them to the SSC they were but wailing children tossing a temper tantrum. Despite the captains own thoughts on the matter he leaned back and looked to his communications officer.
"Hmm ten seconds left, is the field in place?"
"Aye and we're well within too so are they...conn reports that they got what they wanted from making the entire racket as well."
"y' think they'll even shoot back?"
"No coordinator, the nidhe never do at first..."
The comment came from an individual standing behind. The person in question was an older person whose face bore a number of scars some from combat but a number from ceremonial activities. As the individual moved from the access door to the left side of the captain’s station he moved with all the grace of a big cat on the prowl, but then years of hunting would tend to do that to someone.
“You realize captain that to enforce this battle of wills you will have to fire on them?”
“Well of course how can anyone be certain they are serious otherwise?”
“Good, after it’s done I’ll go meet their joke of a representative…”
Between the SSC section and the lone Flux vessel the seconds ticked off as the SSC vessels scanned again, found their aim and brought their anti-capitol weapons online. As the clock reached the two minute and ten seconds mark the first shots were fired. The early shots consisted of previously unknown weapons as the gunners pit lances of energy across the distance with ease and yet they seemed to be missing. Aboard the Patron of Sorrow there would be some sort of panic aboard as the crew desperately wanted to do anything else other then be a large target for weapons fire and yet were it not for the inbred loyalty to the Heraldic Order and thus the emissary, the shipmaster would have mutinied by now. As the almost genetic loyalty was there and as he had confidence in the Ascendancy recalling this endeavor if they're killed or otherwise unable to establish relations, they'd still be sitting tight. As the weapons fire rained in the Emissary took the moment to almost tauntingly transmit of all things a poem, ‘The Hollow Men’ by T.S. Eliot as an odd way to bridge the clear divide between the two nations.
Deep within the SSC vessels gun crews worked to adjust the weapons aim as their cooling apparatus, successfully baffled from external detection. Despite these precautions the baffles often vented and internally and this caused the weapons to shuffle in their mounts which often caused the weapons to shift after each firing. The weapons were indeed rather old but then no one expected combat the goal was to observe and report after all. In the command center the foreign poetry came across the loudspeakers much to the bafflement of the command. No one seemed to get what sort of maniac would recite poetry while not heeding traditional naval courtesy. The gunner’s aim improved as shots landed closer to the target but not quite on, the folks in charge expected this as the weapons and armory crew were all reservists. Yet this reciting of poetry….were these folks people peace, suicidal or merely wanting to worsen a war? The Captain of the Dresden stared at the image of the flux vessel as if trying to determine the intent through the myriad pixels displayed on the holograph. The shot drew nearer as the gunners worked out their rust coated learning curve, and yet the coordinator stared as the image watched to grey, he was already seeing far beyond through his vessel, the others in the fleet, the likely hoods the eventualities… and from it a unusual guess came emerging from nothing like the sword in the lake held aloft by mysterious limbs.
“Enough all vessels stand down…if it’s death they want, it is not their time, signal them, simple Unicode. We meet in the middle, one shuttle each, one person aboard each.”
The captain leaned back in his chair observing the slackening weapons fire as it finally trickled to nonexistence, the offending vessel still there nary a scratch on its proverbial paint. The fleet as a whole was indicating readiness and a dead-lock on the target. For all the furious shooting they had indeed gained something about the enemy…for the shooting was a test, how close could one git without hitting. The prior scans were part of the puzzle but now all the pieces were available… the SSC had ascertained precise data on the target that could only be gathered through imprecise means the abject concept of subterfuge was at play. The captain nodded and as he looked for the person who was standing to his left he caught a brief glimpse of the individual already heading off the bridge towards the shuttle bay most likely.
“Punctual as always Mr Focht…you always seem to know what is next… though please don’t shoot this representative…I’d actually prefer hear what they’ve got to say this time….”
Elsewhere another individual no less unnerving as the representative sent by the SSC agreed to the proposal. The crew of the Flux vessel however seemed equally as relieved to find themselves even for a minute free of the emissary’s presence and or scrutiny.
The bridge of the Dresden a science vessel sat in contrast to the normal state of affairs for the regular navy and the hunter navy. Everything there was well lit, and the bridge arranged in a circular fashion with everything, every crew station placed in a radial fashion about the captain’s position. As with other SSC vessels the bridge was not at some lofty position on the hull but buried within the vessel and to that end numerous state of the art holographic panels projected the world outside by the second as it changed with more information then would be acceptable on a military craft. The crew milled about monitoring the ongoing fight in the Immortal Empire’s territory as shots were traded; vessels arrived in battle and were pulled back or dispatched. The fight shifted as the marked colors of the three belligerents engaged with an eagerness that on the base display appeared as if two amoebas were busy struggling to engulf one another.
“Hmm so far none have taken the bait it seems.”
The Dresden’s first officer stood to the left of the captain examining detailed information of fleet movements, as it seemed the line continued to go unchallenged. The captain however sat with legs crossed sipping at a fresh cup of coffee and pursed his lips slightly more at the flavor and strength of the beverage than anything else.
“Give them time…someone will come knocking soon enough. Curiosity is a powerful motivator albeit subtle.”
As the captain looked to one of the bridge crew operating the sensors the officer shook his head indicating nothing detected.
“I suspect the reservists are still a bit nervous yes?”
“Pretty much, for most it’s their first go at a warzone captain, but I suspect they’ll hold just fine.”
The captain mused a bit on the idea of an uneventful fleet voyage with a number of science vessels where the gunnery and armory crews were all reservists, some of whom were a tad too green for his liking. The galactic conflict had tossed national priorities from normality to accelerated readiness. All reservists able to pass the primary service examinations were moved to the regular navies and thus skilled manpower was being diverted, as the science divisions rarely saw live combat for the time being it was acceptable. Yet here the Dresden remained with a number of sister vessels on the fringe of a warzone with orders to observe report and enforce a hundred kilometer area of control. As the Captain considered this the crewman operating the sensors went from his usual slouching position to one that suggested alertness.
“Captain Incoming at 102 kilometers…sensor read indicates it is a Flux vessel matching the make and model of one from the Macon Incident, heading one ‘o eight!”
The captain stood and looked about his bridge as the crew began to move to combat-ready positions. A brief nod was made to his first officer before he issued orders.
“All vessels to yellow alert, verify that the block is in place and prepare the tackle… To all vessels in section eight…this is not a drill we have a confirmed enemy vessel inbound intention unknown. Be on guard but do not act unless asked to or fired upon!”
The lighting about the bridge changed to denote the readiness status as it did across every major corridor on every ship in the section. Crew moved to their assigned battle stations while armed troopers were put in critical corridors and crew from every one of the ship’s three watches were roused to action. In the distance the Flux vessel named the ‘Patron of Sorrows’ utilizing its vaunted Uller’s Boxes as communication aids attempted to use light-based Morse code to communicate. Meanwhile on the bridge as the vessel crept over the one hundred kilometer boundary imposed by the SSC group, a simple Unicode message would be sent out worded as part warning part inquiry. Unicode seemed to be a basic computerized language that worked in this galaxy as its use was verified with successful negotiations when SSC first arrived.
*Unidentified vessel, You have entered a combat zone, do not approach. Please state your intentions.*
Moments passed as the Flux vessel came to a stop at the 75 Kilometer mark which in truth was acceptable, by normal military decorum. However it’s curious response seemed to add a bit f tension to the moment. Perhaps unknown to the vessel’s commander but the SSC’s own gunnery crews and armory personnel were already preparing for action. Prior experiences had found the flux to be a number of things including willing to present an errant danger to actions of mercy. No chance was spared as a number of guns were rapidly being trained on the visitor. The response from the Flux Vessel was sent by means of Unicode as they seemingly ceased the use of their boxes perhaps to seem less threatening. The second time it too was another request to dock albeit worded differently. The SSC response was less kind and far more concise.
*Repeat, do not approach. Docking is not possible given current conditions. A secured channel will be opened for direct communication with coordinators only.*
It seemed a bit clear SSC was not willing or wanting to meet in person and for good reason, the last time didn't go well, and of course it's easier to have a standoff then a shooting match. Despite this the channel was opened though the SSC being skilled at the art of deception bounced the signal though the entire fleet making it impossible to tell that the Dresden was the vessel from which any of the communications originated. It appeared as if the signal came from every single vessel in the fleet and yet came through with the same clarity as if it was sent from a single source. The flux it seemed was not to fond of the idea, as their means of signaling seemed to indicate that they wished for the SSC to send a shuttle over to their ship with a representative or respectively send a shuttle over to ferry their representative over. The very notion of coming into arms reach of a flux personnel to those receiving the message was met with utter disdain, were not these the people who according to intelligence fancied the universe their plaything and would stop at nothing to remain in power? They certainly were willing to throw away lives for poor at best gains. It seemed to those in the SSC section hat indeed they were dealing with the grievously illogical. To the SSC the flux were regarded like terrorists, scared children with guns who would never know true rest or peace as long as they followed the path they did. As the SSC considered it’s carefully worded reply, the Flux vessel attempted to listen in on the fleet’s usual chatter, only to find itself confronted with the usual such and yet all of it was in an as yet unknown language. Translation surly would yield sentences, and from those vowels and such but none made any sense, it was complete gibberish, and not a lick of it was temporal based…somehow the SSC was speaking a literal language that remained incomprehensible to the best means of the flux. It was as if the language itself was immune to examination by time. The accents in acoustic speech segments clearly were Atrean Latin, and yet the gibberish was overwhelming in its complexity. In short the attempt was a mess to make matters worse a look forward into time might find that the language was never cracked…it remained gibberish as far as the flux could see. It raised a considerable question, just what sort of species can stone wall their own language for eternity? Yet the fleet was communicating freely as they were no military detachment, not that they had long to consider as a new Unicode message came across the distance clearly worded more aggressively.
*As they say, No Dice. Be advised, you have knowingly entered a warzone, any further aggressive action beyond your current will be viewed as an additional act of war in your standing group of transgressions. You have two minutes to depart or risk the consequences.*
Aboard the flux vessel however the ship's crew would be strongly wishing to take the hint and leave, the emissary would overrule the shipmaster and have them hold tight, no movement, and remain past the two minute mark. He's betting you folks won't shoot first; after all, if they do, then Admiral Dorin would likely retroactively abort the expedition, which supported her belief that the galaxy as out to snuff the flux from existence. The time ticked away as the count neared a minute and thirty seconds as the standoff became less a theoretical event and more a real one with actual consequences.
The vessels of the fleet section began to take their first active combat scans of the opposing vessel. Tachyometric energy began to bombard the target. It did no damage and yet it’s effect was likened to being very subtly shaken in that you could feel your organs rattling in your body but no harm was done. The corvettes involved were scanning as a military vessel should and yet there was something about how those science vessels were scanning that seemed to outright rattle the very fiber of the target it was if they were peering into the entire existence of the vessel and yet this was only a gut feeling not anything verified by fact. The following target locks were aimed at a number of critical areas and targeting apparatus seemed to be painting the targets further.
*This is your last opportunity to reconsider, the alternative is a fruitless exercise in your own inflated pride.*
The emissary aboard the Flux vessel remained confident even as the vessel was proverbially lit up. Flux technology had yielded means to hide the vessel from such casual means it seemed despite the consistent visual contact with the intruder, and multiple party triangulations of its coordinates, sensors would not detect the vessel. But as the technology stood it was possible they might potentially pick up the one and two particle emissions released by the ship; even so such emissions were well blended into the normal background noise of the universe. There would be further sweating and clock watching aboard the Patron of Sorrow, but the emissary would maintain his authority over the shipmaster as, should the SSC open fire on them, the whole affair would be rescinded from outside their field of effect; thus from the perspective of the SSC the whole event would not have happened. As such the Emissary would remain undaunted by the time line and force the vessel and its crew to remain.
Meanwhile with the SSC section things were not as they seemed. The captain peered at the image of the vessel here it sat as the display rendered it in eight dimensions. The vessel itself was almost comical in a way, all that time invested in being well stealthy and it was perhaps one of the least efficient means to do so the captain had ever seen. Despite what the flux thought of them to the SSC they were but wailing children tossing a temper tantrum. Despite the captains own thoughts on the matter he leaned back and looked to his communications officer.
"Hmm ten seconds left, is the field in place?"
"Aye and we're well within too so are they...conn reports that they got what they wanted from making the entire racket as well."
"y' think they'll even shoot back?"
"No coordinator, the nidhe never do at first..."
The comment came from an individual standing behind. The person in question was an older person whose face bore a number of scars some from combat but a number from ceremonial activities. As the individual moved from the access door to the left side of the captain’s station he moved with all the grace of a big cat on the prowl, but then years of hunting would tend to do that to someone.
“You realize captain that to enforce this battle of wills you will have to fire on them?”
“Well of course how can anyone be certain they are serious otherwise?”
“Good, after it’s done I’ll go meet their joke of a representative…”
Between the SSC section and the lone Flux vessel the seconds ticked off as the SSC vessels scanned again, found their aim and brought their anti-capitol weapons online. As the clock reached the two minute and ten seconds mark the first shots were fired. The early shots consisted of previously unknown weapons as the gunners pit lances of energy across the distance with ease and yet they seemed to be missing. Aboard the Patron of Sorrow there would be some sort of panic aboard as the crew desperately wanted to do anything else other then be a large target for weapons fire and yet were it not for the inbred loyalty to the Heraldic Order and thus the emissary, the shipmaster would have mutinied by now. As the almost genetic loyalty was there and as he had confidence in the Ascendancy recalling this endeavor if they're killed or otherwise unable to establish relations, they'd still be sitting tight. As the weapons fire rained in the Emissary took the moment to almost tauntingly transmit of all things a poem, ‘The Hollow Men’ by T.S. Eliot as an odd way to bridge the clear divide between the two nations.
Deep within the SSC vessels gun crews worked to adjust the weapons aim as their cooling apparatus, successfully baffled from external detection. Despite these precautions the baffles often vented and internally and this caused the weapons to shuffle in their mounts which often caused the weapons to shift after each firing. The weapons were indeed rather old but then no one expected combat the goal was to observe and report after all. In the command center the foreign poetry came across the loudspeakers much to the bafflement of the command. No one seemed to get what sort of maniac would recite poetry while not heeding traditional naval courtesy. The gunner’s aim improved as shots landed closer to the target but not quite on, the folks in charge expected this as the weapons and armory crew were all reservists. Yet this reciting of poetry….were these folks people peace, suicidal or merely wanting to worsen a war? The Captain of the Dresden stared at the image of the flux vessel as if trying to determine the intent through the myriad pixels displayed on the holograph. The shot drew nearer as the gunners worked out their rust coated learning curve, and yet the coordinator stared as the image watched to grey, he was already seeing far beyond through his vessel, the others in the fleet, the likely hoods the eventualities… and from it a unusual guess came emerging from nothing like the sword in the lake held aloft by mysterious limbs.
“Enough all vessels stand down…if it’s death they want, it is not their time, signal them, simple Unicode. We meet in the middle, one shuttle each, one person aboard each.”
The captain leaned back in his chair observing the slackening weapons fire as it finally trickled to nonexistence, the offending vessel still there nary a scratch on its proverbial paint. The fleet as a whole was indicating readiness and a dead-lock on the target. For all the furious shooting they had indeed gained something about the enemy…for the shooting was a test, how close could one git without hitting. The prior scans were part of the puzzle but now all the pieces were available… the SSC had ascertained precise data on the target that could only be gathered through imprecise means the abject concept of subterfuge was at play. The captain nodded and as he looked for the person who was standing to his left he caught a brief glimpse of the individual already heading off the bridge towards the shuttle bay most likely.
“Punctual as always Mr Focht…you always seem to know what is next… though please don’t shoot this representative…I’d actually prefer hear what they’ve got to say this time….”
Elsewhere another individual no less unnerving as the representative sent by the SSC agreed to the proposal. The crew of the Flux vessel however seemed equally as relieved to find themselves even for a minute free of the emissary’s presence and or scrutiny.