Post by Krag7 on May 14, 2023 23:49:35 GMT
Baas stared into his eyes. They were loving, thankful… intelligent. Pink, smooth skin. Cute upturned nose.
And a wonderfully curly tail. “William,” as the curiously-intelligent coronan officer had dubbed him, was - despite being a pig - one of the smartest beings on the ship. Blue-balled by bureaucracy, he had put what passed for other “intelligent” coronans in the kitchens of their ships, their custodian AI teaching them how to make real food that, in turn, kept the insufferably moronic hordes that occupied the halls happy.
Speaking of insufferably moronic-
“WHY would you try to EAT. WILLIAM?” He screamed at his aide, the blathering, blubbering, crying mess that had the name ‘Huulb.’ It took almost a minute for the stunted blob to respond, hunchback jiggling, bulging left eye twitching in fear. Baas almost screamed again.
“I’M THORRY!” Huulb hissed back, calming the room down. Baas wasn’t stupid. He refused to be. He breathed through his teeth for another few seconds as he forced himself to calm down.
“Apology accepted,” he uttered to the dwarf coronan before turning his attention back to bandaging up the bite marks on William’s leg. Not seconds later, calm, chiming arrival klaxons - designed not to agitate the crew - pointed out the fact that the Third Republic fleet had arrived at their destination.
Two dozen linebackers stood in formation at the edge of Leibr, an independent unaligned that wasn’t very interested in the ongoing war - yet their system was staffed by Triarch and Carnaithian-designed warships, their off-the-shelf powerplants flared into life to meet the obelisks of the non-planar state.
Baas, however, was excited to no end. “Hullb, get to your office, now!” he shouted in surprisingly-fluent common, met by more sobbing as his subordinate began to hobble away. He paid no attention to it, rushing across the hall to a curiously-antique style CIC, allegedly favored by admirals who liked to pretend they were roleplaying as pirate captains or otherwise. He slammed a book upon the, again abnormal, clean holotable, flipping open to a dog-eared page of the history textbook - “The battle of Histrion” splayed brightly at its top. “This one!” he yelled at the command assistance AI, optimized for interpreting and enacting the orders of inbred, microcephalic leaders-by-corruption.
“They’re going to think we’ll split our attention - You’re gonna make sure ALL OF MY SHIPS focus fire on one group and then shoot the other!”
“Would you like me to fully kill the enemy ships?” the AI prattled, coded to be excessively polite. For a split-second, Baas’s instincts SCREAMED at him to answer “yes.” But a smile crept onto his face.
“No, mission-kills only unless necessary.”
“Very well.”
--//--
“You’re kidding me,” the shocked Carnaithian said to his colleague, wide-eyed at his assembly seat. Easily an eighth or more of the desks had laid empty for weeks as the CGSS worked to refill them with new, interested members in the wake of CONA’s walk-out. Before him, however, stood an unlikely friend.
“Unfortunately not, Jolien,” the Volure responded, strained look on his face. Across his lapel, beside his nametag displaying “Arei,” lay the emblems of New Janar, his nation, and CONA alike.
Jolien stayed seated for a moment, looking out to the rest of the debate floor, stunned. “If corona’s wising up, it’s got to be because someone’s selling them AI, right?”
“IRO and GFO databases have nothing on it. Nobody in CONA’s owning up, and don’t tell anyone I said this but I don’t think colonials are that stupid. I’ve even pulled some strings, and none of MAIDEN’s DAMSELs can remember anything of the sort in their labyrinthian gossip.”
“So we need to intervene. How unfortunate that we just let the SRG loose on their own directives, huh?” Arei shrugged.
“We can both say in confidence that CONA’s not going to jump at the opportunity to stop corona from setting itself in the back door of Carnaith, the Union, and the LSFTZ, ignoring the fact that this could spiral out of their control.”
“And I can tell you that SAGA’s banking on mustering everything against CONA… we’ve more or less written off Corona as a non-factor, with their situation and all. That was one part of the propaganda we leaned into.”
“So we need third-party combatants. At least at first.”
“Right. And luckily enough, as a senior, founding member, I have access to the New Powers Review reports.”
“Don’t we all?”
“The CGSS isn’t all public. We’ll need to get together and put out a message, I’ll have some of the Ancnet officers bridge contact with some highlights on the reports.”
--//--
The message was bounced between satellites, stations, and signal-carrying barges. All to meet the eyes, ears, and other communication-sensory organs of recent states to log onto the Ancnet. At least the promising ones.
“Greetings,” it began, the word substituted for the most polite word perceived by the recipient in question by the hugely-advanced translation engine utilized by the Ancnet’s accession protocol network.
“I am representative Jolien of the Carnaithian Omniversal Empire,”
“And I am representative Alei of New Janar. We represent the interests of the Coalition for Galactic Safety and Security. In this case, we request assistance with something that poses a most severe threat to said security of the galactic community.”
“In the last week,” Jolien took over once more, “the Third Republic of Corona - the largest nation in the galactic community - invaded and seized the system of Leibr, a non-aggressive native state notable for being one of the only pre-existing lived-on worlds in the Karzan nebula. The nebula, despite the hazards of such an operation, is occasionally targeted for its slight ancerium deposits.
“This is believed to be the goal of the Third Republic with this excursion into the galactic plane; with the current state of Ancerium prices and Corona’s own self-destructive policies, they are increasingly desperate for this important resource.”
“Which is where you, the contactees of this message, come in,” Alei piped up. “The largest military powers of the galaxy other than Corona are preoccupied with their own conflicts to intervene in force. Small fleets are scheduled to intervene, but we believe it won’t be enough as neither SAGA nor CONA take the third republic very seriously unless appearing in sheer number. We, the CGSS, are willing to offer advanced fleet cross-communication software with the nations that receive this message under the precedent that you use it to intervene in Leibr.”
Jolien stepped forward, a holographic map of the system appearing.
“The third republic has seized every piece of orbital infrastructure in the system, and bolstered it with their own shipped in prefabricated refineries. There’s not a lot, but we assume that the trace ancerium in the nebula doesn’t meet the peak processing rates of these stations. Destroying these is a secondary objective to ushering the third republic out of the region, which would normally be accomplished by merely targeting these, but this particular fleet seems both more intelligent and more persistent. You need to eliminate the command center established on Czinst, the populated world of the system… without bringing harm to its populace.”
Alei, in a gesture of honesty, spoke again. “Nobody will know that you are acting on the behalf of the CGSS, so no harm will come to us if you do harm the residents of Czinst… but we will be watching, and your arrival on the galactic stage will not be met kindly if you make a poor showing."
It had been a very, very long time since the Selenican Republic had been directly contacted, especially on matters of military aid. Their long slumber of being left to their own devices is being disrupted at last, and with that, who knows what the outer galaxy has planned or is capable of. Kar Selia, the sham president of the SR, more of an autocrat than an elected leader, had the message from the CGSS, whose existence was previously just rumors you heard on the street from those rare emigrants, forwarded directly to him.
"We've received a message from the...CGSS? Do we have any records of this?" One quite bewildered future "envoy" asks over the emergency contact line to a secretary, one who had quite the identic memory when it comes to historical records.
"Not that I know of." This secretary replies, scanning the documents on her desk.
Hanging up, that envoy calls yet another line, this one to a higher-up who has authority to speak to the president directly.
"Sir, we've received a message from an unknown outside entity. We do not know who they are past the fact that they exist, yet they're calling us to war!"
"Who's calling?" that higher-up replies with, frantically typing a message to the president about this upcoming news with updates as the envoy speaks.
"Some entity called the CGSS."
"Anything else they gave you?"
The envoy relays the message near verbatim that was received over Ancnet, including all of the relevant info for such a military operation.
"...and the last thing they told us is that they'll be watching and we can't harm civilians."
The higher-up, an admiral who was closing in on retirement, typed out everything he could gleam from the situation and got it in print. Thankfully, the office of this admiral was extremely close to the House of the President. Time was certainly of the essence, so the admiral, a man named Johath Azria, delivered the message to the president in-person. It was bright daylight out.
[+][+]
"As I'm understanding this, this CGSS is asking us to intervene in Leibr with a small fleet?" Selia asks his trusted admiral, snuffing out a cigarette he was smoking.
"Yes, Mr. President."
"I believe it is in our best interests to intervene, then. The Selenican Republic has been dormant for far too long, and we need to open up past the rare occurrence of Ancerium trade." The president muses, staring out of a window onto the nearing-on garish architecture of the House of the President.
"Then, sir, what will we send?
"That's where I leave this to you and your comrades. Under no circumstance can we send a massive warfleet, as that would look highly suspicious, no? Thankfully we have our carriers."
The implication in his statement was clear.
"Sir, I will work to assemble a task force and reply to this call-to-arms as soon as possible. You have my word."
Azria leaves the call to arms he had typed on the president's desk, rushing out of his office. It isn't long until the top strategic heads of the Selenican Republic are gathered and discussions of the best course of action are determined.
After several hours of nearing-on violent discussion, it is decided the composition of the fleet which will be sent. One Farinsa-Class Carrier, two Psioran-Class Cruisers, and five Yafrei-Class Destroyers alongside the standard compliment of troop and arms carriers.
Standard contact protocols had been initiated the moment that Ladon had arrived in this odd new galaxy. They had been met with so much.. noise.. that it had taken them some time to parse it out, but now, they had a clear idea of what was transpiring.
Yet another war, but on a scale far beyond their own home galaxy's abilities.
And now, some of the beings of this place were calling upon the Clade to engage in conflict. An action that was.. detestable.. to the pacifists of Clade Ladon.
There was, of course, the rational decision to participate for the singular purpose of earning the social cache positive implied by the aliens request. Though, for an supranational entity, it seemed odd to Ladon that they would seek out newly arrived entities.
Of course, there was the deniability, but also the opportunity presented for the CGSS. Figure out which of the 'new arrivals' was valuable, cultivate them. Yes. It was a familiar pattern in the memory of The Flow.
Ladon sent the pulse along the neural pathways of The Flow towards their shipkin, which spooled out to the rest of the Clade. The precepts of ancient noema dictated that action should only be taken to preserve life. In this case, the Entity saw an opportunity to do this, while also spreading their own memetic presence. One which, however, run aground amongst their own and their clades pacifism. If they participated in battle, people would die.
Possibly many people.
But if they did nothing, there was a great potential for many more lives to be lost regardless. Who was to say that there would not be a participant who would not value life? Who would simply exterminate the population? It was impossible to tell so freshly arrived in this galaxy and its strange physics and bizarre dimensions.
The Consensus that was locally established by the 2 million souls of the Clade debated before finally reaching agreement that ships must be sent in acquiescence to noema of the past.
Ladon and his old friend, Towit, finalized the decision with the Golreeq-era destroyer volunteering to participate. Long having since removed the majority of its weapons, the vessel was still a formidable EWAR/EWACS platform and considered itself capable of achieving the desired result of net-low/no loss of life.
So, the Meta-Sax sent a message:
"Ancient noema dictates response of action when called through ritual invocation. Invocation tested in Consensus and metaxy established. Respected-elder ship will host aid to disrupt target-designate opponents of meta-entities of host-galaxy. Participants of Clade Ladon will support, not extirpate."
With that, the destroyer detached itself from the bottom of Ladon, breathing on its own in the depths of space for the first time in two-centuries. Three smallships of the Tryst classification joined it in formation before they winked into the accelerated warp velocities unique to this new Ancerious galaxy.
Deliberations in the Myriad-Sun Shore typically didn’t take longer than fifteen seconds.
This event took longer than four hours to process.
Naturally, it had taken even longer than that for the issue to actually reach that point. Since the message was first intercepted by communications relays at the edge of Shore territory, it had taken something in the order of a day until the contents had actually made it to a system meant for evaluating foreign contact. From there, the process accelerated.
Tyrant Dawn had been contacted; the CGSS message had sped up through the Sun Shore’s internal hierarchy with alarming speed, each lower-tier subjectivity tapping the one above it for further input. After all, the technology being offered seemed to be meant for a military context.
However, at its core, it also signified even more.
It would mean the use of Shore forces offensively. It would mean the commitment of troops and warships, not merely materiel support.
In other words, the caution that defined Jinzhi foreign policy up until this moment would be broken. They’d long been relatively sparing with outside contact, limiting matters to trade and cultural exchange.
But now, they were being called on to offer arms.
Therefore, it was natural to request Tyrant Dawn’s aid in creating a consensus. It, the mind that held the Jinzhi race’s collective memory in warfare, would also know the when and why of warfare. The situation was different, but the heuristics were certainly applicable.
So four hours were spent.
Finally, the blinking sphere of light and computers had spoken. Alongside Congregation Sunrise, which had determined that the use of force was justified, the direct-command mind ordered the formation of a task group. Almost as soon as attention and computational resources had been centralized, they were once again split apart, sent to the faraway corners of the Jinzhi nation.
Wasting time wasn’t bearable for minds like these.
-- --
”UNCHARACTERISTICALLY TALL ORDER”
”DO YOU AGREE”
A stream of bits hit the ship mind like a faint point of heat. Indeed, there was heat, the residual energy of an encrypted tightbeam signal wafting away into space as infrared radiation. Ultimately negligible in its material existence, but not in its implication.
“Agree?”
As if stretching its limbs after a long sleep, the destroyer woke its main reactor and splayed open its main radiators like gills. The mechanisms themselves were nearly silent, but the hum of active cooling soon filled the constricting, labyrinthine internals like a high-frequency heartbeat. Capillaries of liquid metal acted as a circulatory system, passing unwanted heat from the core of the vessel towards cooling mechanisms. Using it now was pointless, but the ship could also dump its entire thermal load into its heatsinks and cool until it matched the background radiation of space, as if holding a breath. The entire system was alive in the nigh-biological sense. A fluid Jinzhi brain, itself parallel to and derived from smaller individuals, governed the vessel.
All in all, the destroyer’s effective “crew” came out to a number smaller than four dozen, although that estimate ignored the maintenance drones and non-sapient AI attached to it. Not much. But it wasn’t going alone.
”BLOODLESS WAR”
The other ship mind was still intruding. No, not intruding; communication was appropriate and necessary here, not an irritation. The offending process was crushed in an instant.
“That’s not what they’re asking for, and it’s not what we agreed to.”
There it was, in the distance, faint in the scopes. More drive flares, burning hot. At this resolution, they couldn’t be distinguished, but the message’s embedded information gave a number to the remote pinpricks of azure light.
Fourteen ships.
Yes, there was more data in the stream, behind the direct contact. Rendezvous point. Orbits. Fleet movements. Reassignment. New duty. Fragments, the immediately relevant: CZINST, 3RD REPUBLIC, ANCERIUM, SOFTWARE, ORBITAL, COMMAND CENTER.
Two Nomad Moon-class cruisers, five Sleep Arc-class destroyers, one Akasha-class (wasn’t this one supposed to be on the other side of the system?), six Vesper-class frigates. Not bad. With the destroyer itself, another Akasha, that’d make fifteen. But the Sleep Arc ships seemed to have been refitted as assault landing craft, so maybe it wasn’t actually that much firepower.
”MINIMIZE CASUALTIES”
The other ship mind probed again.
“Tyrant Dawn knows the philosophical difference between that and ‘bloodless’. You and I don’t. The communications software is worth it. We’ll engage as instructed.”
It would be a few hours until the destroyer reached its compatriots. Then, they could prepare for the jump together, sync their wormhole drives to cross the universe. There was a curious dread to the whole endeavor, now, not that the Jinzhi cells swimming within the destroyer’s core even possessed such an instinct.
More abstract.
Rational.
The Vesper voiced it first.
”CONCERNS: FUTURE INVOLVEMENT”
“It’s what we were built for.”
The destroyer snapped its comms array closed.
Yes, for the first time in over a century.
A fight.
"...poor showing." He replayed the message a few times. Was it a threat? Tsar Zimeon walked back and forth in Apotheosis' room, pacing on the marbled floor.
"If I may so kindly offer my opinion, my one purpose here," Its voice boomed in the room, instantly grabbing his attention. He stared at the large head, the centrepiece of the room. Apotheosis was an AI that advised his every move, created centuries ago, it has been nothing but loyal to the royal lineage of the Tsars. It was suspended in some sort of void, a large empty space. It was only a head, but millions of wires and cables jutted from it, ensuring that it stays powered.
"Do as they say. This is an excellent way to get us back on the galactic stage, after our less than favourable previous interaction with CONA and SAGA."
"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice. They definitely meant something with that last line. It's a threat to those who intend to hurt the populace, but also a threat to those who choose not to participate."
"I think you're overthinking it." It continued, interrupting him.
"Maybe you're right." He paced the room a few more times. "Apotheosis, please call in the council." It didn't give him a response, but the preparations were instant. Chairs appeared from beneath the ground, a large table materialising from nothing at the centre of the room. He took his place at the very front of the table, his back to Apotheosis. Within minutes, the entire council was sat at their chairs, waiting for his call.
║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║
Ten ships began making their way up, their gravitic drives activating to begin their ascent into the atmosphere. As they ascended, their sails expanded, propelled by laser lines, as they finally escape Amun's grasp. The interdiction stations in the system de-activated, and several chains of relay nodes threw them out into unaligned territory, they were now out of the safety of their homeland. The ships made their way to the closest tachyon currents, unfurling their sails again as they began to make their way to Lebir.
The Ezekiel dreadnought lead the charge, followed by two battleships, three destroyers, and four corvettes.
║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║
Tsar Zimeon approached the stage, a plethora of cameras facing towards him, hundreds of eager journalists waiting to capitalise on his announcement. He let out a bit of steam - literally, clouds of white escaping from his mouth. He then stood high, and looked towards them. He knocked twice on the crystalline podium, and that was their cue.
Several flashes blinded him for a little, but he stood there, unfazed, waiting for the lightshow to finish. This was definitely not his first time on stage.
"After deliberations with Apotheosis and my council, we have decided to get involved with the situation in Lebir." He thought about including the fact that they were urged by the CSGG, but it was clear they didn't want their name to be involved, so he decided against it. "We have come to this conclusion in hopes that we will be able to support our fellow natives, in a way that allows us to remain neutral for the entirety of the Third Ancerious War."
"I will not be accepting questions currently." He tapped twice again, another signal for the recordings to end. The press was dismissed, and he began making his way back to the palace. He made sure that the announcement was made after the ships had already left, to ensure that by the time the press got to the situation, it would be after the invasion had begun.
Life was difficult for the member nations of the Solar System Alliance; they had formed in response to the Ancerium crisis caused by the attack on the galactic mining fleet and the outbreak of the Third Ancerious War. To avoid outright disaster for their respective populations and to try and avoid joining the conflict to shore up their economies, but the process of making a national government and where to draw the lines had inflamed the fault lines of tension and interest between the member states. This was only exacerbated when the CGSS message arrived to their outer communication stations and were relayed by QE nodes to the capital world of Tavvis. While being little more than a basic colony until chosen by the SSA to build their capital on, they had built a large station to serve as their administrative hub for the government, and it was in one of these chambers that the leaders of the SSA met.
The Anchor Chain Council; compromised of the The Terrane Director of the Talidan Republic, the Chief Steward of the Svaankor Mining Guild, the chosen Feyl of Nasreus, the Admiral of the Vivtos Space Fleet, Administrator of the Arcnian Salutary Facilities and Chairman of the Procyon Group. They had just finished listening to the message and, for once, silence reigned in the council room. To no one’s surprise, it was Administrator Alina Dietiker, of the Arcnian Salutary Facilities.
“We have to do something; we can’t just sit by as innocent people are invaded by Corona to cover up the mistakes of their contracts-”
A scoff interrupted her, causing her to glare at the owner, a man in an ostentatious military outfit that looked to be from stage play than a real uniform, his name plate read as Matteo Jiliani, Admiral.
“We can go off and play hero, as you so like to do, but with what money, ships and Ancerium reserves are we going to use? In case you have just been checked out for the last hour of ‘polite debate’ we have been doing, we are facing a severe crisis of not being able to have our civilian fleets able to continue doing contracts and bringing us the money and resources we need. Anything we spend on this effort is less for us and with nothing to replace it.”
“They are offering us advanced technology, and this CGSS is basically the only galactic organization we have that we can appeal to. If we do this for them, we can see about getting assistance!”
Matteo rolled his eyes and pulled out a container from within his coat, taking a long swig.
“Yes, the very same organization that saw a huge portion of its membership walk out and join CONA. That speaks very well to its stability and ability to help. Technology isn’t going to help survive this period, ma’am, we need the resources and capital to make it to long term operations.”
The Chief Steward stirred in his seat, loud enough to draw their attention and spoke up.
“It’s true, Admiral, but we can’t forget that our native brethren are being accosted by that degenerate pimple of a state, the Third Republic of Corona. They are being invaded and turned into yet another facility for Ancerium. They haven’t even declared for either alliance that is battling them; by the Void, someone has to do something and we certainly can’t rely on SAGA for aid-“
Terrane Director Nevaeh Hawkins spoke up next, her posture and tone tired. “Gabriel, this message is from both a CONA and a SAGA member state, this is an issue beyond ‘Us or Them’. But Admiral Jilani and Administrator Dietiker are correct in that we don’t have the resources to spare, and this can cost us, in not just resources but lives. However, if they are willing to just hand out advanced technologies as incentives, we may be able to bargain for more help if we put on a good effort.”
Matteo’s large form turned to face his opposite and there was a tense moment of staring. “Are you offering to pay up the resources needed for this?”
“We are a united state now, Gabriel, we need to work together on this, otherwise this venture was entirely pointless, and we must accept being crushed individually by what is going on. I suggest we spread the resources required across all of us, ensuring the pain is as minimal as possible and make the gains that much more effective when achieved.”
For the first time, Klaus, Chairman of the Procyon Group, spoke, having been pushing a pen across his portion of table with another pen.
“Resource allocation is all well and good, but you’re missing a key point. This is a military operation; to speak of, only three members have any military forces to speak of; Talidan, Svaankor and my organization in the Procyon Group. And to be blunt, of the three of us, Procyon is the one with the most personnel, material and platforms, and the experience for this. This is an assault on a target, we go in, break through the enemy fleet, hit the enemy CIC and destroy the refineries. If anyone is going to be doing this, it will be the Group.”
Both the Terran Director and the Chief Steward began to raise their voices, but he held up a hand again, adjusting his tie before speaking again.
“We cannot afford a massive force to be sent out, and further, the galaxy has become far more dangerous than ever before, we will need these forces to stay and protect. Procyon can spare the forces needed for this and we will be sharing the communication technology we received. This needs to be our best foot forward if we are to get the respect and foot in the door with the CGSS. We can all provide the resources, but Procyon will handle the military portion, that is what we are built for.”
He watched their expressions tighten and had to prevent a chuckle from going out; both Talidan and Svaankor knew this was an opportunity to increase their hand in the power game going in the formation of the SSA. However, both knew their militaries were not as large, organized or trained as the Group’s, and any attempt to sabotage this would mean removing one of the only lifelines other than joining SAGA or CONA they had. Procyon would be one step closer to its goal of being the power behind the throne of the SSA.
There was motion out of the corner of his eye and he turned, only for his neutral expression to drop into confusion, mirrored by the other four in the council, as Fejer Amália Nemes had risen her hand. The Nasreus Feyl had barely spoken at these meetings, unless it was in matters regarding their colony or psionics, and usually just voted to support Talidan, their patron. Now, they had something to say; the Chairman could feel his stomach drop as he was forced to acknowledge their right to speak.
In a quiet but firm voice, she spoke, “It is true, Chairman Harlan, that your forces are the pinnacle of what is available to the Alliance at this moment, but are we not trying to build a nation together, a unity of purpose, will and spirit? Our flag shows our hands clasped together as a united chain, and we are the embodiment of that chain, the anchor for our respective peoples. We must work together if we wish to build this nation as we have committed to; thus we propose that forces from Svaankor and Talidan are used alongside Procyon, to enhance our ability to fight together.”
The Director and Steward both seemed to relax, while Klaus felt his hands clench; if he went against this argument, it’d seem like the Group was never interested in the Alliance effort to begin with. Damn these psi bastards. She continued speaking, however.
“We also propose that the Group remain in command of this effort; we need to maintain a clear view of the field and they have the most experience of the three member nations with a large enough force for this. Their experience can be shared with the Republic and Guild forces here.”
Klaus eyes narrowed even as he let his body relaxed; the red eyes of the Fejer was staring at him, and he could only wonder what his opposite was thinking. Talidan and Svaankor were not going to be happy they were forcing them to command the overall force but they were still giving the political edge to the Group.
What game was she playing at?
There was more arguing, mostly about disposition of forces, but this was just petty details; the major strokes had been done. It was determined that, since they had similar doctrines, that the naval force would be a mix of Talidan and Procyon, while the ground forces would be Procyon with Svaankor support, using the heavier doctrine of the Guild to aid the groups mobile and EW warfare style. Now, the ball was in Procyon’s court; all they had to do was make the landing stick.
***
Rear Admiral Marcus Freitag stood on the bridge of his ship, the PGS Swift Spear, one of the two Assault Carriers that would be leading the assault on Leibr. He had been given his standing orders from the Chairman and what the disposition of his forces were to be. They were to have his Assault Carrier and its sister ship, Swift Blade, two Group Cruisers, the Orion and the Daedalus, two Talidan Destroyers, the Arkann and the Huslan, and four Procyon Group Frigates, the Duskblade, the Dawnblade, the Voidcutter, and the Starskimmer. Together with a force of landing ships from both the Group and the Guild, they had their strike force for the mission. He was to coordinate with Captain Christopher Walker for the Talidan ships and Lieutenant Colonel Isabel Mendoza for the Guild’s group forces.
They had, over the course of a few hours, gathered the forces arrayed with surprising speed; it was an open secret that cooperation was at strained levels between the members, but once they decided on something, they had laid aside their differences to execute the mission. This has given Procyon the opportunity they needed but now it was on him to ensure they made good of that opportunity to show they deserved to head the military forces for the SSA and to give a chance for them to get some outside aid.
“Sir, all ships are reporting green, the Arcnian Foundation personnel have finished the upgrades of our communication equipment as per the provided designs. Tests are completed, and crews are ready; we’re just waiting for your go.”
An intake a breath and a nod; it was time. “Open a fleetwide channel.”
“Channel open, sir.”
All across the fleet, the internal communication speakers would begin to blare and the Rear Admiral’s voice began to sound,
“Personnel of the Mining Guild, Republic and the Group, today we are embarking on the first test of our newly found Alliance. Today, we show to the galaxy, and ourselves, that we can step out from the shadows of the giants that surround us and seize our own destiny. To show that the chains we are forging are stronger than any weapon, any fleet, any idea beyond our bonds of community. We go to aid our fellow natives from the corrupting fingers of Corona and show our worth to all who can see. If we work together and do our jobs, together with the other nations who respond to the call, we will be victorious. With Many Hands, We Grasp the Future!”
The bridge crew cheered and he could hear cheering from across the fleet and he smiled. Perhaps this wasn’t a futile effort after all. He motioned and the command was given; warp bubbles were generated and the ships shot into beams of lights and flecks of stars before disappearing in a flash. As they traveled, the Lieutenant Colonel of the Guild forces stared at a message on her command holopad, the words few but clear, orders from the highest levels.
‘Should the operation begin to fail, do all that is in your power to ensure the blame is on the Group.’
***
The ships would be first detected as incoming FTL signatures, Alcubierre warping of space time, before they arrived in flashes of light, streaks of energy coalescing back into the forms of the ships. Ten combat ships made up the SSA forces, with landing assault ships in tow for the ground forces. Flashes would be seen as the coilguns would start firing, but it was not weaponry, but cold launching of drones to be sent out, as the beginnings of the Very Large Array [VLA] would start, gathering data on the system and the ships around them as they waited for communication or signs of other arrivals.
It could be seen as a miracle that the coronans hadn't destroyed the local Ancnet beacon... or much other infrastructure, for that matter. In fact, the damage was incredibly specific for what intelligence about the Third Republic had been passed on to the new arrivals.
Leibr wasn't a large system. It was actually quite young, astrologically, with only two worlds. The planet of Czinst, as mentioned, housed most of the population and a blockade of gargantuan Coronan linebackers - a hundred kilometers in height - hovered over its alpine surface, the fallout stormfronts of bombardments in remote locations visibly crawling through the atmosphere. Likely anti-orbital installation. The other planet, Remo, was a gas giant whose sheer size - that of three jupiters - had meant that the majority of the remaining non-stellar mass in the system shared its orbit, moons and cloud frequently pockmarked by new meteorites. Surrounding it were the critical refineries, small as they were as far as major installations went; protected by defense platforms, they were well-protected from such stellar bodies, and they had been spared from the immediate invasion due to the very fact that Corona couldn't safely dislodge the defending platforms without endangering the refinery.
Scattered throughout the interim were the drifting hulks of multinational export ships. Carnaithian, Triarch, Yamanakako, and more off-the-shelf designs lay dead in the void. But they were not destroyed - rather, they had been thoroughly mission-killed. Some power was still detected coming from some, but a few were so visibly damaged that it was unlikely for any major surviving crews to be present.
--//–
Baas watched the details of the ground war with anticipation, excitedly zooming the view around the holotable as his ground armies shattered defensive position after defensive position. The defending military had already mostly abandoned the cities, hoping to draw the Republic's bailiffs into the forest and avoiding any bombardments of civilian populations. He knew this much. However, he did need to get into those cities. He had tasked multiple ships' AIs with sorting through the hordes of coronan soldiery in an attempt to identify the best-adjusted troopers for special selection. The pyrrhic invasion had already culled at least five divisions' worth of idiots, so he hoped he'd have some troops with decent combat instinct to pick from. Of course, they still wouldn't be smart, but at least they'd know how to shoot.
"Judge," the AI core suddenly announced into the command room - startling William from his slumber in one of the chairs, "A small fleet has been detected jumping into the edge of the system. How would you like to respond?"
--//--
"We're glad you made it."
The preceding message from the CGSS seemed a little superfluous given the circumstances. Once the ships had made it into the system, databursts were cast to them from the local Ancnet beacon, containing both a code adapter algorithm as well as the promised coordination software.
"As previously stated, we do not know much about the situation in-system. Our recommendation as of now is to affiliate with one another. Despite coronan presence, we doubt they will be capable of a prompt response to your arrival. There will be no live communication from this point until further notice. Good chances to you all."
Oort Cloud of Leibr System
Towit and its three smallship companions reduced their warp velocity as they approached the Oort cloud of the Leibr system.
Deploying sensor drones, Towit began to feel its awareness of the surrounding system take a more defined shape in its minds eye. Nearby asteroids that were material rich were tagged by the drones for dissassembly and assimilation to augment the ability of each vessel to replenish their composite shield microships should they fail as well as to ensure they had an adequate stock of defensive missiles.
Protean shifting had taken place while they were underway, with each smallship - Ista, Happy Feet, and Phyrrich Visions - selecting similar strategies. They would screen and protect Towit while the larger bioship focused its mental energies on disrupting enemy forces and augmenting allied ones.
Speaking of allied forces..
The pod of ships turned their attention to the other alien vessels that would compose the task force. It drew a burst of conversation over the Duality.
They had chosen a simple field with purple trees and a red sky - Ista's homeworld, Towit thought - as their coordination center. Ista herself was lounging on her side, the vibrancy of her own purple skin echoing the nature of this memory-world, "There sure are a lot of them.."
Towit nodded, the old haleelian still pushing its sense horizon further, "Yes. Four or five other factions. Shall we use standard FC protocols?"
The other three affirmed in unison; consensus easily reached. As Towit sent out a single sensor drone to the peripheries of each factional fleet, Happy Feet spoke up, "Will we coordinate directly with them? It will be challenging, even with the aliens coordination protocols so graciously given by this organization."
Visions illuminated itself in agreement, "Unknown species and unknown classification. Complexity of task before us is significant."
Towit nodded, "I acknowledge this. Yet, it is still our responsibility to aid and attempt to reduce loss of life. We each volunteered to that effect. Regardless of the challenge, we must needs rise to the occasion."
Ista affirmed this opinion, while the other two remained neutral. Consensus was not reached.
Regardless if they were united on every granular opinion, First Contact was still priority number one. And Towit could say with upmost confidence that it would be the most unique in Meta-Sax history.
As each drone got into range Towit sent out a pre-recorded message using this galaxies networked common languages: "Greetings and salutations to the New. We are Meta-Sax of Clade Ladon. Ancient noema dictates rituals of engagement - yet this instance is unique. The rituals will be forebeared unto the future."
"Contest of great skill awaits us all. Towards this, we speak of our abilities: one locator EWAR array, three support supplementary nodes. The ones who are here do not extirpate. Will support, aid, and reduce harm."
"Coordination with peer-groups paramount to success. Request integer-level 2 communication with shipselves."
Anxios System, Ancerious Galaxy
The ships of the Selenican Republic, few in number and small in size they may be, were lined up just on the border of the Anxios system, preparing to jump to Leibr in order to assist against the Coronans. Onboard the Farinsa-Class, which was designated as the flagship of the small strike group, was one admiral Feleka Okala. Okala was a strange man, having, in the past, nearly completely ignored Selenican doctrine during war game exercises which allowed him to win that particular fleet problem. Considering the urgency of this mission, things would need to be much more by-the-books and less out of control.
"Admiral, sir, we're receiving a message from the Capital." one of the bridge crew says to Okala, whom previously was inattentive of his crew.
"What're they saying?" Okala asks, suddenly snapping back to the situation at hand from his daydream in staring out of the bridge window.
"They are ordering us to jump to Leibr as soon as is possible."
"Well, relay the order to the rest of the fleet and the engine control room. Time is of the essence."
"Aye, sir."
This bridge crew member, getting up from his seat violently, rushes just a bit down the hall and gets the communications officers to relay this order to all ships in the small task force. Just a minute later, all ships crank up their FTL drives and lock targets on the outskirts of the Leibr system. Rumor has it that there will be many other small taskforces here, all equally from recent risers on the galactic stage. A sudden dead silence goes throughout each ship as they blink out of the Anxios system, having left not one safety untested and all crew exercises halted.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
The Selenican task force, codename "Hognose" or "TFH," finally reaches the system which the Coronans have occupied. The Coronan linebackers loom large in the sensors of TFH.
"We have to defeat those monstrosities?!" Okala exclaims, met with similar shock and confusion from the other ships of the task force.
But, having beat the Selenicans in being here first, were an unknown ally; the Meta-Sax. First contact with outside powers was more than always diplomatic in nature, and on-the-fly operations were not the Selenican's strongest suit. The message they sent, a quick burst of information, was quickly intercepted and read by the Selenicans.
"They're asking for cooperation and a detailing of our skills, huh? Well, nothing wrong with cooperating with an ally." Okala remarks after reading the message for himself, and the following is transmitted to the Meta-Sax ship.
"We bid you a warm welcome ourselves. We are the task force sent by the Selenican Republic, in order to defeat those whom have attacked this system. We acknowledge the treat and danger our enemy poses, and are more than gracious for the assistance your ship(s) can provide. We are able to supply fire support from range through Taychonic weaponry, along with the capabilities that our carrier, STA L'kela, can provide."
Data scrolled down the holographic tactical screen before the Rear Admiral, ever expanding and increasing in detail as the VLA launches continued, and the drones began to extend and utilize their sensor suites to their fullest extent. One of the bridge officers, face staring ever forward at his screen, hands moving all over his console, while reading out the results.
“Leibr was hit hard, but what tactical data and historical information the AI were able to pull before operation start indicate the Third Republic is usually sloppier than this. The local AncNet beacons, local communication beacons and other orbital infrastructure vital to commerce have been left intact. Whatever strike happened here, was fast, efficient and preplanned.”
He nodded along to the assessment,
“Have the battle algorithm updated accordingly and link up to the VLA to ensure we get data as fast as possible from the fight ahead. What’s the status of enemy forces?”
The officer, already working to enact the first order, inputting commands to their Tactical Analysis System or TAS, to begin preparing offensive and defensive options while reviewing the AncNet data dump on the Coronan’s received before the jump.
“Enemy force is stationed in blockade formation above the planet of Czinst, as the CGSS intel predicted; the data is still fuzzy but we’re seeing signs of ortillery from orbit hitting key installations, precise removal of anti-orbital infrastructure and options is the likely intent. The other planet, the gas giant Remo, has the local refineries, replete with defense stations, still intent and out of enemy hands. A possible future target but not the focus yet. The casualties of the defensive forces here are also supporting the intelligence regarding the capabilities of this Coronan force; the vessels either had their reactors or power systems targeted or were overwhelmed piece by piece until they could no longer properly fight back or at all.”
Before the man could continue, a ping sounded and another officer cut in,
“Incoming communication from the AncNet beacon, cyberscans match the CGSS handshake protocols.”
Marcus leaned forward, interested to see what their contractors wanted:
“We’re glad you made it. As previously stated, we do not know much about the situation in-system. Our recommendation as of now is to affiliate with one another. Despite Coronan presence, we doubt they will be capable of a prompt response to your arrival. There will be no live communication from this point until further notice. Good luck.”
A thank you but try not to die message, that was helpful. The code adapter and coordination software, on the other hand, was more what they were looking for. With a gesture, the Ops officer began to coordinate in getting the update installed, after a proper security scan and check, to update their sensors and communications to properly integrate with the others. A few key presses had the holographic display shifting to their new ‘allies’ around them and processing the incoming data as well.
Messages began to come in as their fellow warriors in arms began to reach out as advised, and Marcus leaned forward to speak.
“Operations, is the communications update complete?”
“Finishing final checks and installation now, sir. TAS is beginning to work on the incoming messages.”
Cyberwarfare was an ugly and vicious theater of the battlefield, and one which unknown factors could not be taken lightly as any chance to fight could be lost by simple packets of data. As the messages came in, they were scanned and run through cybersecurity, virus and packet scans, handshake protocols and more before being cleared and the translators bringing the languages and digital structuring more readable by their systems.
The first was curious, from the very beginning; the Meta-Sax of Clade Ladon. These would be new arrivals, so the AncNet information dump would not be applicable here. First Contact protocols it would be, a hand pulled a part of the screen closer to see the text from the Procyon’s protocols for such a scenario and looking between that and the message they received. An odd choice to send a fleet that refused to do any damage to the enemy; moral pacifism was all well and good, but this failing state came and invaded home territory for no reason but their own benefit, if you weren’t willing to take up arms in such an easy propaganda/moral victory context, your usefulness as an ally was limited. Still, they wanted to support, and they could at least draw fire away them at
at worst.
The second group they had not yet heard from yet but he could see evidence they were in communion with the Meta-Sax. Straightening himself, Marcus prepared himself for showtime.
“Comms, relay the following message as I speak it, dual channel, highest encryption we can muster.”
“Channel open, sir.”
Greetings to our fellow threat responders, I am Rear Admiral Marcus Freitag of the Solar Systems Alliance. Attached with this message is a databurst of relevant tactical information on our capabilities. In short, we are a precision force from range, removing enemy capabilities with well-coordinated strikes. The situation indicates the enemy may be using similar tactics, so we will have to adjust accordingly. We only have so much time before the Republic reacts properly to our presence, so we need to decide if we’re dealing with the CIC on Czinst or the refineries first.”
Even as the message was sent out, the fleet began to condense itself into a formation, tightening its point defense arcs, pilots were rushing to their strike craft and final checks for weapons and systems were being done and redone. Enemy capabilities were unknown beyond general space internet searches, so they were in the dark here.
Towit and their peers waited for some time in the relative differential of space-time that they currently inhabited mentally. They tossed around various ideas based on the limited sensor data currently available regarding hostile positions and then compared them against the existing ship assets that formed their alien peers.
In many ways, it reminded Towit of a historical battle from early in the old Confederations history, though of a vastly smaller scale. Megaships and megastructures that were intimidating, but ultimately inferior craft.
He hummed softly, recalling with distant laziness an old tune from those days while Happy Feet mused, "Well, there are more of them now. Shall we guide and guard?"
Visions illuminated itself, "Protect life."
Towit, though, shrugged, "As much as we are able. The calculations are not in our favor of a bloodless battle. Such a concept itself is conceited and arrogant."
Ista interjected, moving the sense-horizon of their conjured world-space to a view of the actual real-space their physical bodies inhabited. Towit stood out easily as the far larger of the quad-array, while the three nearly-identical smallships formed a delta. At a larger distance were the Selenican ships. The information was interesting; tachyonic weaponry? They had never heard of such a thing. It only served to highlight the gross variances between the home-universe and this one. What else remained to be discovered, Towit could only imagine.
"A carrier and presumably long range fire support. It should be more than sufficient. We should adapt ourselves to disrupt enemy targeting and feed precise location data to them."
Ista's theory was sound. It brought Towits eyes to the others who had just arrived. It seemed to be a very similar task force as the ones the Selenican's had brought. Which meant they had very much amplified the existing stratagem.
Sensor drones peeled back in real-time as the Meta-Sax moved their bodies in space to array with the others. -
"Meta-Sax protocol in such combat situations demands disruption of enemy potential entosis. Enforcement of realm-space counter-engagement envelopment will be our priority. The array will feed shipselves with integer-12 coordination impulse to effect greater metaxy across constellation."
They sent the information across the provided coordination feed - essentially, they would take the front of the fleet formation, spreading themselves into a wider delta while coordinating anti-missile and anti-smallship fire. They then would use their wide sensor drone networks and protational field boundaries to detect then disrupt enemy firing solutions. This data would be counter-fed into allied ships so that they could predict and counter-attack accordingly.
"Relative-space speeds are non-linear compliant for Meta-Sax Clade Ladon. Shipselves will quick-respond to needs of constellation. Liminal rejoicing in the acknowledgement of the New."
To the Sun Shore cruiser, traversing a wormhole was like a singular, kaleidoscopic dream. It wasn't quite the same; the analogy only worked in communicating a drastic shift in cognition and perception. Sleeping things were helpless, only half-aware, or acting on impulse. But this task took almost absolute awareness; it was a momentary grasp of transcendent understanding and supreme competence. In some strange ways, there was pride in the act of plotting a wormhole transit. Even for the Jinzhi brain aboard, which had never experienced the equivalent maritime undertaking, the image came to mind: a lone vessel breaking through turbulent and violent seas with no guarantee of return.
Of course, it wasn't alone, and there had been no real risk. The fleet - totaling ten warships and five assault craft - had networked together to share the burden of the task. Parallelizing wasn't a silver bullet, but it helped correct for imprecision and hardware errors. Ultimately, the ships plunged into knotted spacetime without complaint or concern.
There was no crossing a threshold, no moment of light and violence. It was stunning, mind-boggling, but nearly instantaneous. The fleet was just there, awash in new starlight. New radiation. The feeling of a different solar wind on metal and carbon skin.
And it was loud. The Jinzhi crafts weren't the first.
It appeared that these alien associates loved to talk.
-- --
After deliberation, they'd designated one of the Nomad Moon cruisers as the flagship. It wasn't entirely suited for the role; the Sun Shore built these warships for bombardment and fleet screening, not command. But there were no dedicated command platforms in the vicinity, and it'd do. Like all Jinzhi-designed warships, the vessel resembled an angular spire chipped from black stone; finely contoured and slightly asymmetric, a mass of angled stealth paneling and curved surfaces distorting its silhouette.
It might have seemed impossible that intelligence had constructed something so chaotic, but it served nothing but function. Passive sensors could miss it entirely from the wrong angle, and the arrangement optimized armor positioning.
The cruiser's payload was already active. A swarm of small, tubular drones darted about, reaction thrusters buzzing. They served as tertiary communication antennas and intercept platforms, a distributed cloud of eyes and ears.
First, the Nomad Moon listened.
Unorthodox, in many ways. But there were some welcome surprises - tachyon weaponry, pacifist allies, strike craft, and a rather unexpected sense of newfound camaraderie.
Because we are all comparative unknowns? Shared purpose?
The cruiser considered.
However, there is no guarantee that our relationship with these entities will remain cooperative following the resolution of this incident. Conversely, this endeavor could also assist in future engagement. The risks are losses and exposure of strategic and tactical capabilities to outside parties.
Dialogue. Resolve.
Decision. Eight in favor, four against, and three abstaining, with appropriate weighting based on processing power and subjectivity depth. The cruiser prepared to transmit.
"Myriad-Sun Shore. Dawnline Exoatmospheric Command. Cruiser Yishan. We have listened. We are speaking. Present capabilities incorporate long-range missile bombardment, electromagnetic accelerator armament, proton accelerator armament, patrol drones, and electronic warfare. All warships employ limited degree of observational reduction technologies. We will assist when appropriate in engagement. The contribution of other parties present is valued. We will provide further tactical information when relevant."
Curt. To represent themselves, they'd chosen was a vague, airy tone that a human would recognize as female. The message carried an undertone of disquiet; it didn't seem that the Shore vessels were willing to take the lead on discussion or place themselves in a position where they'd be forced to commit to any particular tasking.
Captain Armial paid close attention to the message from the CGSS, disappointed by the final line. Xe had hoped to at least have a chance to communicate with the CGSS, but it seemed they were really limiting their involvement with the situation. Xe looked towards the general accompanying xyr on the ship with a soft glance. The general looked back, stone-faced, both literally and figuratively "Is there something the matter, Captain?"
"Nothing at all, we're about to enter Leibr, I wanted you to alert the crew."
"Right away, Captain."
The intercoms of the Ezekiel flashed on, screens materialising on the ship, displaying the general's face.
"This is your general speaking, we are about to enter Leibr, I expect stellar performance in this battle. We will do our best to limit casualties. As a final notice, remember that we are only to attack marked ships, as to avoid any friendly fire, wouldn't want to hurt our allies in this battle." The screens closed as fast as they appeared.
The message was echoed to the remaining ships, as they finally arrived at their destination. They left the tachyon current, all ships opening a wormhole that led them straight to Leibr.
The Ezekiel was the first to come out, now accompanied by alien ships that Arkranum had never before seen. They had come right in time to receive the transmission from the Meta-Sax.
"Greetings, we are the people of the Tsardom of Arkranum. I am Captain Armial of the Ezekiel, it is a pleasure to join you all in this battle. I have attached documents detailing our weaponry and defensive capabilities, I look forward to marching into battle with you. May you have Tsar Zimeon's blessing."
The Ezekiel was a behemoth of a ship, a craft built like a cathedral, armour held up by pillars and engraved with flowery designs, geometric patterns encompassing the entire ships. Its gigantic tachyon sails began to close, as to prevent their damage. It was equipped with a large tachyon arrow at the mouth of the ship, with railguns lining its exterior, as well as heavy cannons and lasers.
The Meta-Sax group send another transmission, "Noemata apotheosis implies glorification of stratagem to isolate and clear refinery space. This will allow collective-neutral-allied shipselves to explore coordination without operational risk. Build metaxy. Establish semiosis baseline."
Baas watched as dozens of new contacts entered the system - near-simultaneously, and in the same area as one another - and were updated into new positions by the scanners of his fleet. A concerted effort. But they weren't recognized. While Coronans, themselves, were more often than not stupid, their computers were incredibly capable to make up for the deficiencies. Of course, an overbearing judge or two usually fucked that up regardless... But he was different. William sat at his feet, content as could be, and Huulb excitedly groveled at a seat adjacent to Baas's own.
He stroked his traditionally-attractive chin in thought. That was in human terms, not coronan - if not for his eyes being on different vertical levels upon his face, and the matching assymetry of his shoulders, his relative lack of deformities may have found him as passable in human settlements. Unfortunately, he was still recognizably coronan and was rejected by his own people for being a misfit. He felt himself getting angrier and reminded himself to stop clenching his jaw... to jut out his chin and fix his slouching posture. He was better than his people, and he would lead them to victory.
The third republic had twelve linebackers to play with - quadruple that number was present in escorts, and another half-dozen assault ships. Baas wasn't about to split his own force and allow a potential mismatch of forces as if playing chess. No, he would be smart about it. He expanded the advanced options for the control panel in front of him, splitting orders between five sixths and one of his fleet; two linebackers and four escorts would stay with the assault ships in orbit to defend them and provide fire support, while ten capital ships and forty-four escorts began to spread out into a wide shield and slowly advance towards the newcomers. He was satisfied for now - and was excited to see how the enemy would respond.
But one thing had been overlooked... the invaders had never interdicted the system.
Towit spotted the movement first.
"There. Parts of the alien task force are in motion. It appears two of the largeships are accompanying a collective of sameships. The rest are spreading out towards us."
Ista moved through space in real-time, sending additional drones and probes out to distinct points in space between the approaching group and themselves, "I've deployed additional warning beacons and have nodal connection. Sharing."
The sense horizon expanded slightly, giving them blips of definition of space-time. It would be useful for when they needed to throw some of their more exotic abilities around to have a firm grasp on the nuance of the star system they were in. The remaining smallships remained in array with Towit, who opened a channel.
"Allied-designate forces notice: neutral/hostile elements in motion spreading in pattern indicative of encirclement. Analysis of space-time metric indicates viability for protational expansion through linear acceleration-state. Meta-Sax doctrine will seek to disrupt formation system. Further recommendation to secure refinery-space prior to enrapture-entosis of neutral/hostile element."
Disrupting at scale would be too great a burden on the small group of Meta-Sax, especially at these distances. Should the Coronan's close, however, the fleet would be at a disadvantage due both to numbers and assumed firepower. Thus, creating moments in space-time that are anomalous enough to make the foe warry would be the goal. Towit briefly wished he'd embraced a more radical morphological shifting to make this less stressful on his shipbody, but they could only make due with what they had.
As the array focused their collective intelligence on the math at hand, they waited to see how their allies would respond to the communication.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
The lumbering giants of the Coronan movements were spotted and relayed across TFH by the carrier, which possessed the strongest sensor suite of the craft. Certainly, with these hulking giants, their movements would be very slow, and very, very deliberate.
"Sir, receiving message from Meta-Sax." A comms officer relays to Okala, forwarding the Meta-Sax's message.
"And I'd agree with them. Staying still would be suicidal, all the cards in enemy hands. Get two squadrons of fighters out for a combat area patrol, NOW. Have one stay with the Meta-Sax and one stay on us." Okala commands, staring intently at a screen which is reading out the little information known about these behemoth ships. Of course, their speed and size are apparent, as is their sluggish acceleration, but...with such size, must come lethal levels of weaponry. Getting too close, like with any engagement, would likely prove to be detrimental, but staying at such range would mean that the missiles of the SR would be extremely ineffective. Only the Psiorans have tachyonic weapons, and who knows how effective they'd be against these ships.
"Sir, your orders?"
"Make sure the Meta-Sax know of the combat area patrol, and get our carrier and other ships somewhat out of the way, primarily wider than in such tight formation. Keep the Yafrei-Class at the front, Psiorans backing them up."
"Aye aye, sir."
This comms officer then rushes back to his post to relay the fleet orders to the captains of the ships, the buzz of the equipment ringing loudly in his ears. A dim red glow begins to brighten out the back of the thrusters of the Farinsa-Class, with the other ship's captains heeding their orders with the tight jump formation being traded for a more traditional battle formation. These fleet movements are relayed to the other ships of their allies, tight comms will need to be kept if they wish to defeat this numerically superior foe.
"Hmm...Meta-Sax recommended we go for the refineries...I wonder..." Okala muses, staring out of the bridge's window to that target. "Redirect the formation to aim towards those refineries. Can't risk being encircled."
"Sir, all due respect, but isn't our goal here to defeat this enemy?" the captain of the ship asks, having previously kept his words to himself. "We aren't here to capture some refineries which we likely won't be able to use."
"Captain, this is a crucial target, we need to avoid encirclement and play to our strengths against these behemoths as best we can. And I, as your commanding officer, order you to point this ship towards the refineries and fire the thrusters." Okala replies, a somewhat angry tone in his voice.
"Aye, sir."
Following this incredibly short discussion, orders to redirect the fleet towards the refineries are sent, and received well, as most of the ships were already moving in that direction. Fleet redirection updates are sent to all of the allied warships.
The communications shot in, one after the other, as the impromptu task force worked to determine capabilities and the next course of action. It was rapidly evident that the refinery was that best course of action. Reviewing the messages, the Rear Admiral could see the Meta-Sax would be best for cyberwarfare and protecting their communication and coordination, the various other factions seemed to specialize like the Alliance in long range combat, which would be good against the Coronan’s. Assuming they could prevent them from closing with their massive vessels that is.
Almost as if they heard him, a ping sounded and the comms officer began speaking.
“Movement detected from the Third Republic force!”
“Show me.”
The tactical map updated to show ten of the linebackers and forty-four of the escorts peeling off the defensive formation and blooming into a loose shield, clearly on an interception course with their battle group. Six ships remained to defend the assault ships they have in orbit.
“Hrm, the first move; they have the numerical and tonnage advantage and even the Coronans aren’t stupid enough to miss that.”
Beeping informed him of more communications, the Meta-Sax were concerned with encirclement and would be conducting cyber operations to degrade the enemy, with more intention to push on the refineries. Their allies seemed to agree on the same and began moving.
“Ops, status on the VLA deployment?”
“97 percent complete, completing final series of launches now; projected full signal clarity within 10 minutes.”
“Very well. Send a full encryption data package on our capabilities, the greatest hits, they don’t need any of the specific details. And-“
He paused, leaning forward as his eyebrows furrowed while staring at the tactical display. The officer paused and turned around, confused at the pause.
“Sir?”
“The Coronans…they haven’t turned on their interdiction systems yet. It is possible it is a tactic of this AI, but it could also be a message to tell us to leave while we still can. Or…”
Anxious fingers tapped the arm of his chair as thoughts whirled through his mind before a decisive nod.
“Open another encrypted channel to the fleet; I have an idea. Might be a bit risky but it could help confuse the enemy.”
”Allied ships, we have noticed the Coronans have failed to deploy interdiction in the system yet. We have a potential opportunity to do a quick strike on the assault ships, degrade their ability to support and reinforce their attack on Czinst, as well as provide better odds for our eventual assault on the CIC. We recommend preparing a tactical firing package to jump in, unload on the assault ships and pop back. This can confuse, or at least, force the enemy’s attention in two places, giving more time for our refinery assault to progress. Further, we can jump to the refinery as this is happening and once our forces return, activate interdiction. Uploading recommendation operation plans now.”
Marcus hoped they’d be able to make use of the opportunity but the prospect of getting any closer to the Coronan linebackers still gave him pause, and they had to consider this was a trap of some kind.
“Once the VLA deployment salvos are complete, move the fleet to a loose defensive formation to maximize missile and laser defenses and deployment and begin moving to the refineries. Based on the tactical movements I am inputting, I want jump vectors and firing packages prepared. We need to maximize our entry and exit as much as possible, we don’t know how long before their interdiction comes up once we begin.”
The cold augur's eyes twitched. Lenses and computers refocused, glaring out into the open abyss of space. The enemy fleet was moving, burning for an intercept. Something like concern flooded the Nomad Moon, the byproduct of internal pumps increasing pressure and systems warming. But there was nothing; the calculations were just hypotheticals. The projections were merely futures to avoid, not specters of fate. There was plenty of time to plan, react, to decide.
Still, mass and firepower were variables the Sun-Shore fleet could not independently match. It was fortunate that they excelled in longer-range combat, although the number of c-fraction weapons available was disappointingly low. A different fleet composition would've excelled. For now, the Akasha destroyers would have to be their fleet's core.
The Meta-Sax are advocating for an attack on the refineries. If possible, we'd like to draw the bulk of enemy forces away from their posting and break up their formation. Additionally, their failure to employ interdiction has rendered their assault ships vulnerable. These are acceptable parameters for engagement. Follow the set trajectories. Scatter emission decoys at auto-generated intervals and cut propulsion once appropriate orbits are achieved.
At that command, the fleet moved, a disparate swarm of black shards sliding through starlight. The Dawnline warships began their acceleration burn, torches flaring brightly into the void like azure tails. Smaller plumes split off from the fleet as it moved, miniature clouds of tube-launched decoy drones skittering off in a vaguely coherent scattershot. With luck, it'd create extra noise for the Coronan ships to sift through, allowing the Dawnline fleet to leverage their stealth plating.
So far, so good.
However -
"Requisitioning clarification on pending action. Preparing a superluminal jump will produce detectable emissions," the cruiser suddenly spoke. "Should we opt to engage the assault force, it is feasible that the Coronans will alert their rear guard. Unless the respective sensors are incapacitated or rendered ineffectual, this element of the proposed attack is a gamble. We do not contest the motion should the proper disruption be available. Henceforth, we request clarification and cooperation from allied forces regarding these capabilities."
The Ezekiel's gravitic drives suddenly activated, the ship turning towards the incoming fleet. The front of the ship would begin rotating, the tachyon arrow charging up.
Incoming Message from the Ezekiel "We've readied our Tachyon arrow, we'd also like confirmation on whether or not we should begin to fire at the enemy. We can also put up an interdiction field if necessary, or use our drones as decoys as well."
The destroyers surrounded the Ezekiel and positioned below, above and next to the dreadnought. Their primary focus was to defend the main ship.
"I'd recommend jumping in and out as well. Our ships are equipped with quantum drives, we should be able to get in and out rather safely."
Armial ended the transmission. Xe looked towards the numerous screens surround xem. A radar beeped away, informing them of the Coronan ships, not that this was new information. The captain was honestly at a loss to what to do. If it was only xyr ships xe needed to worry about, the solution would be easy. However, now xe needed to figure out how to co-operate with these other nations, many of which they'd never heard of before. Xe looked towards the information about their ships the Meta-Sax had relayed, and opened another communications channel.
"Meta-sax, we would to request more information about your spiral burns."
Happy Feet took the initiative to respond, as their peers were occupied calculating the euclidean geometry of the spacetime they were altering.
"Meta-Sax 'spiral burn' is strategy of acceleration through an axial spiral towards enemy at highest velocities. Maximum capabilities depend upon local star-system topography. Primary method via warp fields, secondary through reactionless engine system. Query; fleet-task-array decision is direct attack on foe's back line?"
Another communications request opened up, emanating from Remo's orbit. The gas giant, as large as it was, wasn't home to a lot - its most important assets were the refineries in the lagrange points of the world, and those were nowhere near it. Yet the hail did, in fact, come from the vicinity of the world itself. Before anyone had the opportunity to argue with themselves over the safety of accepting the hail, a small databurst - unencrypted - hit the formation.
"Locals at Remo and Refineries. Friendlies."
If nothing else, the lack of cursing and the clear use of galactic basic meant they were telling the truth.
--//--
Baas boredly watched as his ships slowly dragged themselves away from Czinst, away from him. At least comms would be quieter, not that he really listened to it. The intruders had yet to do anything - surely dumbstruck by the efficacy of his fleet action. Or just dumb, he allowed himself to chuckle to. He turned back to the view of the world below; massive wildfires had all but burned the entirety of a continent-island already, the sea between it and the larger landmass halting his forces. Commanding AI were desperately trying to simultaneously convince the tankers that their machines were, in fact, capable of submerging, as well as tell the flight crews that they couldn't make any assaults independent of the ground forces.
He dragged his hands across his face, groaning. This was boring on both fronts. He eyed the space station careening around the planet at a higher orbital plane and wondered what it had in store... without much more thought, he ordered the deployment of a battalion to the construct.
Towit and his peers observed the rest of the allied forces sortie into their respective positions. It would suffice for now. In the meantime, Towit himself deployed some of his parasites.
The little fifty meter craft had formed some of the growths on its skin - growths that seemed entirely normal up until the moment they suddenly went flying off into space. The non-sentient weapons were more or less extensions of its will - a relic of the old wars. It guided them into a tight formation within its own shield web and pondered how to best effect the formation of attacking craft to aid the allied offensive.
More drones deployed while Ista's sensor network pinged different velocities of the enemy ships.
Some of the allies had proposed launching an assault on the core of the hostile formation near the planet, which was logical. A two pronged assault - one on the refineries and one on the planetary blockade may be sufficient to disrupt the enemy formation. Meanwhile, Towit could cause a bit of chaos through his EWAR advantages.
The smallships would participate as amplifiers in this case and formed a defensive array. Towit concentrated, expanding his outer skin further to give his parasympathetic systems the best resolutions. Then he directed the cone of influence in the direction of a third of the incoming ships. Radio waves, gamma wave radiation, photonic bombardment, LIDAR disruption, gravity wave ossification, and as much junk data as the four ships could collectively produce filled that area.
With luck, one of the smallships would find an opening in the enemies sensors, leading to a pathway into the starships computer systems. If they got to that point, Towit had no doubt the minds of the Meta-Sax could peel away at the cyber defenses. It would be but a matter of time.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
"Enemy is going full burn towards us! Speed not estimated to be extremely high, however." One of the spotters shouts into a microphone near their station halfway down the spine of the carrier. The voice is carried through the mic to the main bridge, directly into the commander's ear.
"Sir, we should redirect course from the refineries. The signal we got from them says that they're friendlies, and most importantly, probably civilians. We can't risk firing on them or drawing the Coronan's fire." the commander of the ship talls her superior, Okala.
Hunching over a table with a rough map of the system and the estimations of positions of enemies and allies alike represented by small plastic or wooden pieces painted in a variety of colors, the admiral is seen staring hard at the projected Coronan path.
"We can't split our forces. If we do, as was the initial plan, we would be swept from space in a second. Leibr's defensive forces should've told us as much. But, we need to lure the Coronans away from the planet..." he says to himself, pressing his hand against his heat-sensing pits. "There's no interdiction field up...wait."
"Sir?" the commander asks, not quite sure what her superior officer is thinking.
"We're going to draw the Coronans away from that planet."
"How the hell are we going to do that? They're extremely slow, extremely dangerous vessels, and our assault ships would get massacred by them. And wouldn't our allies need to assist us here?"
"Of course, we'd need to collaborate with them, but our goal in this battle isn't to defeat the Coronan ships - it is to get that Command HQ. And we won't be able to even protect our assault ships if we charge into battle. As such, we need to draw them away, and stay out of combat range if at all possible. Relay the new plan to our allies, and we'll wait for their response."
"Aye, sir."
[+][+]
With that, the commander of the carrier shouts at one of her less useful comms officers to get the order out to the other ships of the CGSS coalition, with this bold plan and all.
---
//TRANSMISSION BEGIN - CGSS COALITION FORCES//
Onboard the Selenican flagship, an admiral of ours by the name of Okala proposes a radical change to the plan. Instead of attempting to secure the refineries controlled by the Coronans, as civilians are present and the harm done to them would invalidate the mission, we propose as the Selenican Navy that we draw away the Coronan forces from Leibr itself and the assault can begin from there. Once you, our fine allies, are in orbit of the planet, it is an absolute nessecity that you force interdiction up to prevent a speedy Coronan response. Our job in this operation will be to keep the Coronans busy and preoccupied while our combined ground forces begin the assault to liberate Leibr.
//TRANSMISSION END//
---
In accordance with the new plan, thrusters are set to full readiness while the hum of guns prepared to fire sings throughout the ships' thin hulls. Shields are checked off and the CAP returns to their carrier for refueling.
Marcus kept his attention between the communications and the tactical display, watching the enemy fleet slowly coming their way and the updates from the allies. The differing plans and ideas showed they were not fully sure of how to proceed. TAS had completed a check of the combat data provided by the CGSS and confirmed the Liebr defense forces had tried a flanking, divide and conquer approach and had been annihilated in short order. Further, the Coronans looked to be deploying some forces to one of the space stations in orbit, for some unknown purpose.
“Incoming transmission from the Selenicans!”
“Put it through.”
//TRANSMISSION BEGIN - CGSS COALITION FORCES//
Eyes close in frustration; the refinery assault was a bust, since the locals were still in control, so they couldn’t use the defense stations to help their fight without risking their lives. This felt like making the same mistake, but he couldn’t think of any other plan and the Selenicans made it clear in their actions as well as words this was the plan they intended to follow.
“Inform all ground forces to ready for combat operations and possible hot drop; I want them ready to deploy as soon as the opportunity becomes available. VLA status?”
“Completed and transmitting at full strength.”
“Focus the array on tracking the enemy and assisting our cyber warfare. Prepare our suites so we can jam and confuse the Coronans as much as possible when we begin the assault. Inform all air wings to prepare as well, and all crews are to be ready for a jump at any moment.”
The staff at Remo were used to waiting at this point - the anxiety-inducing wait for malformed Coronan assault marines to make their way to the outer world had made sure of that. What they didn't expect, however, was the momentary stoppage of the new CGSS arrivals. Sensors could tell them, unblinded by any EWAR, that jump-drives were being recharged.
"Let me be more clear then," the lead officer reiterated with a new, and this time encrypted, message. "I am LDF admiral Ueldi. Seeing as you're anybody other than the coronans, I'm quite happy to help you put your more-limited resources to good use. First hint? I wouldn't suggest jumping on their command group just yet; Sending combat data. Third Republic ships are sluggish and short-ranged, let them put more room between the combat group and the fleshy underbelly. Second hint...
I don't give a damn about the platforms at this point. They're unmanned. I haven't wanted to track the ire of the invaders, but they care a hell of a lot. Civilian government's probably fucked at this point, so I can't get sacked for it - shoot the platforms and we'll just steal the pugs' platforms off of their assault ships to replace them. Maybe they'll throttle up and damage their drives trying to get in range. A shorter wait probably sounds nice to you lot."
--//--
The waiting game was annoying Baas at this point. He watched in disappointment while ground forces continued to grapple with the simple strait between islands that had held them up for days at this point, corpses of gargantuan, city-sized tanks creating new reefs and islands in the shallow waters. He boredly glanced at the cafateria hours posted up by his AI; maybe he'd grab lunch.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
"Seeing as the refinery platforms are unmanned, there goes my primary concern about irritating the CGSS." Okala says, with a very noticeable amount of relief in his voice. "Aim secondary weapons at the refineries- we don't need to worry about the civvies now."
"Aye, sir. Relaying order to the rest of the fleet and allies."
//TRANSMISSION BEGIN - CGSS COALITION FORCES//
With allies made aware of the serpent's plan, a small volley of orange tachyons zip out of the secondary defense turrets onboard the vessels, aiming for non-vital parts of the refineries, though with the sheer energetic force, these particles end up hitting a wide variety of targets, piercing through the refineries with great power and disrupting their function. Of course, the FTL batteries are being charged, ready to zip halfway across the system with allied forces and their assault vessels. Only time would tell the results.
Towit watches as the SR forces move off to engage the refineries. Truth be told, the order of battle was a bit too chaotic for his tastes. While accustomed, to an extent, with the unique variances of other beings given that a bioship was a fully independent mind (which occasionally meant he had to herd cats) it was still at least driven by a singular objective.
Which the fleet appeared to be.. struggling with.
Yet, everyone could not simply go their own way, they needed cohesion to succeed. With a mental sigh, he wished he had the skills required to interface better with NSL. He made a request in the Consensus for time away when this mission concluded to do the needed research so he could talk to these people without needing to hamfist his way around common languages and bad analogies.
The spatial 'mines' they had placed to slow the enemy down were removed. If the goal became to let the enemy come to them, it behooved them to not mitigate that process.
He felt a poke at his side and opened his eyes in the subdomain they had made at the start of this. Istah was smiling at him, "Don't be so impatient with them."
The old ship bristled, "I am not impatient. They're simply too chaotic."
She shrugged at him, a coy grin teasing at her lips, "Hm, well then, let's speed it up!"
He blinked, feeling her expand an array towards the foe and send out a broadcast towards the Coronans, "We understood that entities like yourselves were of a plodding and pondering quality, but surely, this is beyond the pale. Verily, we will pass of old age before you make appreciable progress."
Towit tensed up at broadcast, but the young Istah had already sent it before he could really stop her. With a growing sense of dread, he flushed the protational boundaries and tuned his reactionless engines to their greatest potential speed, "Foolish child."
She looked at him with fondness, "Doddering old man."
The present Meta-Sax ships all prepared themselves, just in case.
Changing the plan and dividing coalition forces at this stage?
The Sun Shore warships and their collective minds bristled uneasily at the sudden shift in tactics. The SR's apparent brashness and immediate pivot to proceed along a new plan exceeded the boundaries of what a Jinzhi would consider common sense. Still, they reluctantly stayed their hand, sitting on warmed tactical systems and jump drives.
Prepare for execution. All vessels report condition BRIGHT. Synchronization of tertiary drives complete. Process for transition to excited state report complete. Recommend preparatory mobilization for close action engagement. Behavioral constraints will conform to these parameters. Eliminate hostile functionality in these areas: maneuverability, air defense, and blind-deaf resistance through sensor access. There will be no consensus on these parameters. All are to comprehend and operate accordingly.
With that final check, they moved on from planning. Like a vulture's favored knives, the vessels hung in space, bristling with concealed armaments. Internal magazines and feed mechanisms hummed to life. Casaba-Howitzer and sensor-dazzling colloid dispersal warheads now sat within the launch tubes of each Sun Shore cruiser. Their escorts merely tuned their reactors, channeling power to electromagnetic accelerators; each was now ready to fill the sky with a rain of metallic darts and streams of false lightning.
"We offer no prayers," the commanding Nomad Moon relayed to its allies. "Merely live. We perform as expected. May all live to see the next phase of the crescent."
With a flurry of communications, the battlespace situated had cleared up a lot more to Marcus’ liking than before; the platforms were free targets and the combat data they had received confirmed they needed to draw them out more before committing to the strike. The Selencians began their assault, opening up on the platforms in earnest, more precision strikes than all out assault but damage was damage. That was the signal for them to finish their preparations in earnest.
Pilots had rushed to their strike craft and were running their final checks and rerunning them, ensuring all equipment and software was at full efficiency, flight crews were doing final refuels and last minute repairs. The assault forces were conducting checks of their own, of their equipment and vehicles and staging in the craft that would deliver them to their targets. The data pulled from the known AncNet about this system, the combat data from the local forces and what they had been managing to get from the VLA were compiled and were being studied for possible landing areas to get to this C&C operation on Czinst.
“Initiate data stream link to all allies. Any updates we get from our VLA, they’ll get them as fast as we do; we can’t have any surprises or confusion.”
“Aye sir.”
If accepted, they would be given access to their sensor network, which was being heavily focused towards the planet. Ignoring the Coronan force made them uneasy but they could only hope they would be out of the area before they full arrived with their firepower.
Final preparations were nearing completion, it was all just waiting for that go signal now and watching the Coronans react to the strike and the smack talking.
Following the Selenican's cue, the Ezekiel would in turn activate its own Tachyon weaponry, firing multiple volleys towards the same direction as the allied ships, causing similar damage. The quantum drives on each Arkanum ship would charge up, preparing to jump the system alongside the Selenican ships.
A transmission followed the call to action.
"As soon as our ships jump, Arkanum's fleet are to set up interdiction, I would recommend bringing up any concerns with this course of action now, before we begin preparations"
The interdiction drones would relocate back to their home ships, ready to jump. A priority was set to the shields in case of a Coronan counterattack, with the priority being protecting the Ezekiel from incoming damage.
Baas boredly tapped his fingers on his jaw as he watched his fleet approaching the new arrivals. They kept doing... random things. Whirlpools of spacetime in his ship's way that were removed just as quickly - One group spooling drives, followed by none, followed by another, followed by all of them. And then they started shooting - not at his forces, but at the locals, doing his job for him. He smiled for a moment.
Wait.
WAITWAITWAIT -
"NO, STOP, STOP IT!" he suddenly cried out, smashing at the command table and startling William and Huulb alike. The taunt arrived shortly after, quickly bring simplified by his AI;
"'We know you're slow, but this is stupid. We'll die off before you get to shoot us.' Assault force is redlining their engines for swift intercept."
"GOOD! They're ruining everything!" he yelled, thinking on what to do. "get our own engines ready to fire! Jump us into the middle of them!"
Surely enough, the assault force's gargantuan monolithic ships quickened their hobbling towards the CGSS's assets; More than one drive faltered and was put under repair due to the strain, and some uselessly desperate gunfire began to spray across the vast distance to the arrivals.
--//--
"Good work. Give them just a minute before you all jump in - inertia's a bitch on ships that fat. And please remember not to blow up the refineries they've got tied to their assault ships."
Admiral Ueldi seemed worth her salt.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
It was almost time for the jump to occur. The Coronans were incensed at the attack on their refineries conducted by the Okala and Ezekiel's vessels, as clear as the sky to any onlookers.
"Okala. We need to put up defenses as soon as possible, the enemy can and will jump at the first given opportunity." The commander of the flagship speaks, his deep voice and stern words echoing throughout the bridge.
"What makes you say that, commander?" Okala replies, already pleased at the current situation.
"We don't know when or to where these enemies are jumping. We must use discretion."
"I like your thinking, commander. All units, redirect sublight thruster power to 80%, all saved power is to go into shields and point defenses."
With little delay the already glowing barrels of the tachyonic shielding projectors and plasma shield projectors begin to brighten. It's a tense moment, waiting for the enemy to go. It wouldn't be but long, though, until the crews jump to the planet itself. Any and all last-minute repairs, as some of the less fortunate ships had some machinery break, were to be carried out. A message to be sent to the CGSS Allies goes out:
"While outnumbered and outgunned, we shall liberate the people of this system from the grips of tyrants and prove our worth through sheer force of will alone, for space itself will be our shield and time our ally!
Coronan ships lumbered through space as the Meta-Sax started pulling in assets. Nearby drones, buoys, and other materials were retrieved in preparation for a quick hop across the system, or for direct ship to ship combat.
In either case, the more sensitive organisms needed to be enshrined in suitable wetbays to protect them.
Pyrrhic Visions dawdled at the task. It wasn't that they were particularly excited, nor frustrated, or indeed even flustered. This was a bit of a game to them. A projection of something that they did often in the simulated subdomains of The Duality. It wasn't like it mattered either way. Whoever won here didn't factor into the greater calculation that did hold meaning to Visions.
The others with them played their parts dutifully. They talked and strategized and plotted on how best to escape from the deluge of enemy fire. The quaint little area of plainland they'd whisked up was even more amusing to the nihilistic shipmind. But what really took the cake was that Towit and Ista actually cared.
What was the point? This little battle was barely a blip. They should expediently end things as quickly as possible so that Visions and their subclade could go back to tinkering with the more important things in life. Namely, other life.
Drones sent pings along Visions nervous system letting them know that they were all in their wetbays. Towits voice echoed in their mind, bridging the gap between that absurdly colorful field and the true-nature of the Meta-Sax. They preferred it as it really was: a miasma of the unknowable, a rainbow of untold universes, a cold and empty dark where once shone infinite stars.
Alright, so maybe they weren't coping well with being cut off from Home. They had the wherewithal to admit this much. But that didn't mean that they wanted to fight the local wars or get involved with local politics. Ladon non with standing, it was NEVER a good idea.
Yet, Visions still dumped power into the core. -C
Still followed the Consensus that they themselves simply threw votes towards. Should we go left? Sure. Right? Why not. Along the grim tide they would go, where else could they? The Clade was the only echo of Home.
With a dozen eyes, the smallship gazed at the incoming Coronan vessels. Big, wasteful, poorly maintained. Certainly, the organisms controlling them were the result of some experiment. A failure of some fashion.
Ista called out to them, snapping Visions back to The Real.
Pings had grown across the sense sphere by an order of magnitude. The enemy had accelerated, but a number of ships had blown out their engines. It seems that the gamble to shoot the refineries was paying off in the most fascinating ways. Who would have thought that something as simple as blowing up their precious prizes would be sufficient to get them to throw caution to the wind?
Towit, Ista and Happy Feet pulled together into a tighter formation. Visions joined them, sneaking itself below the aft pylon of the biodestroyer. It made their sense profile slimmer, but also allowed them to maximize efficiency for a short-range acceleration.
Star hopping was always tricky when in battle. Usually reserved for tactical combat craft, like Towit, so Visions listened to their elder as they spoke.
"We'll need to get up to 80 PSL. No more. Otherwise acceleration effects will be difficult to deal with in conjunction with the fluidic motion. When we arrive, deploying our drones and creating as many layered shields to protect allied ships will be the best approach."
"Offensively, we should be able to use the chromatophore lasers to cut off the weapon mounts on these behemoths."
Visions bristled at the suggestion, "What are we to do to defend ourselves then?"
Ista, helpful as ever, "The protational fields should suffice, and if not them, then our speed. We are smaller and swifter by far."
The Consensus was swift, and Visions acquiesced. To the Maw they would go; as one.
Ineffectual as it was, the Coronan fire streaking through the void spoke loudly of their present state. Even then, segments of their opposition wrung useful telemetry from the desperate barrage, germinating predictive algorithms for point defense targeting and shield distribution. The procedure was instinct. Innate geometry and spatial reasoning pushed to a synthetic, electrochemically spiked fury.
They're panicking. Pushing systems to the brink to play catch-up.
There was something smug lining the thought, backed by distant malice.
Good.
Meanwhile, within the cramped interiors of each Sun Shore vessel, the ordered chaos of scurrying bots and munitions carousels marched on. Four-legged towers of polymer and metal rolled on magnetized tracks from head to stern, slipping past one another by mere centimeters in their mad dash between tasks. Now and then, a drone peeled off from the group, digging into a blinking access panel with an extended manipulator.
They worked in heavy darkness. The environment always resembled a network of veins more than the corridors of a spaceship, with jungle-wet heat and brutal geometry infesting every deck. Even built to exacting mechanical specifications, the organic nature of the space was always evident. The fact that its inhabitants were anything but remained even clearer. These spaces were nightmarish, a maddening world only understood through the strange logic of its mechanized creators.
But it worked. With only the barest concession here and there for alien sentiment, the warships flew on.
Ingress denial preparation complete. Air defense schema construction is incomplete. Recommend secondary analysis on algorithm integrity.
Yet still, there was the closing of the metaphorical distance between predator and prey. Shortly, they'd test that distance.
Full sprint, jaws open.
”We know you’re slow but this is stupid. We’ll die off before you get to shoot us.”
Marcus snorted. Insults, really? It was amazing the Coronans held on this long if this was their attempt to goad a response. He leaned forward and spoke again,
“What is our jump status?”
Operations responded immediately, still working as they did so,
“Almost complete, ninety-eight percent, we have calculated firing solutions based on data of their forces positions in orbit and are coordinating with our allies on jumping positions so there are no collisions.”
“Good, status of ally jumps?”
“By sensor readings, they are preparing to go on the Admiral’s time table as well.”
Now came the worse part, the waiting. Final preparations were being completed, but they had been preparing for this already and there was only so much they could do. Systems were checked, double-checked and triple-checked, prayers were uttered, the ground forces ensured all was ready for deployment once they arrived for a hot drop.
They just watched the inching of the Coronans forces, now roaring forth, engines redlining and space filling up with wasted ammo as the Selenicans began their assault on the refineries. Their transmission came in and Marcus had it sent to every screen in the fleet.
"While outnumbered and outgunned, we shall liberate the people of this system from the grips of tyrants and prove our worth through sheer force of will alone, for space itself will be our shield and time our ally!”
When the time came, and the Coronans jumped to the refineries, the Admiral nodded and comms all over the fleet sounded:
”Begin Jump!
Space warped and twisted as the Alcubierre drive bubbles grew into existence and the ships launched forward at impossible speeds, moving to their designated spots in orbit. The testing each other’s defenses stage was over, into the fray it was now.
The Ezekiel and its accompanying fleet were now ready, the ships re-arranging themselves, disintegrating and then reappearing at the planet. Captain Armial watched xeir fellow allied ships move in, and then gave a brief countdown. The fleet waited with baited breaths for what to do next, a wait which ended as the command came in. The destroyers would re-release their drones into the unforgiving vacuum of space. Armial waited for the last of their allies to arrive, and then the drones did what they were made to do, set up interdiction.
A ping announced another dialogue from Arkranum, "We have set up interdiction, this will hopefully prevent them from making it here too quickly. I am unaware if the Coronans have access to normalisation, but for our collective sake we should hope not. May you update us on our next course of action?"
Armial kept the communication channel open, waiting for someone to respond. The sensors searched for Coronan ships, only to be met by their own allies' ships. They were safe, for now.
Baas's ship ignited in FTL signatures half a minute before the CGSS force dashed across the system to the orbit above Czinst, and dropped in their midst almost simultaneously with their exit - its gargantuan form dwarfing that of the interloping composite force. He watched them all flash into streaks of light, disappear, or otherwise mold the universe to their own will to strike at his forces on the capital world of this system.
"NOOOOOOOO!" He screamed, punching the screen that showed him the estimated count for his FTL to be ready again, the reinforced device not even cracking in response - designed for such misuse. The ten ships that had been rushing to meet the CGSS force reacted sluggishly - not even cutting their forward momentum until Baas ordered it to be done, their obese forms slowly pivoting on the spot. By the time the allied fleet was out of FTL, the coronans hadn't even begun counterburn, some even charging FTL drives in futility amongst the allied interdiction.
The assault ships, as such, were left only sparsely defended - One linebacker and four escorts, and they had not even ignited drives yet. Startled, the hundreds of engines on the capital ship sputtered to life and long-range autocannon fire began to spray out; the escorts were quicker about getting themselves going, beginning to burn for the allied ships, while the reaction on part of the assault ships ranged from beginning a sluggish burn away from the combat to maintaining their orbit over the planet below.
The world below burned; An entire continent had been swept by wildfires and warfare. Even from here, the gargantuan silhouettes of ultraheavy tanks and heavy lift assault aircraft were obvious on high-resolution sensors, their offensive currently broken by a narrow strait to the next landmass. The dead giants could be seen collected on both coasts and even underwater, with entire depots of the titans being held in reserve closer to the nexus of all inter-orbital traffic to the Coronal assault ships - what was assumedly the Coronal command center, growing like a cancer from the suburban outskirts of a city whose buildings appeared burned-out and half-crumbled in the face of wanton assault.
Towit felt the rush of power through his body as the forces of acceleration took root. As one, every Meta-Sax reached the designated PSL speed, maintained it for three seconds, then dropped back into normal space-time at the coordinates they had intended for. Allied ships were nearby and the enemy had left as anticipated.
Which meant it was time to attack.
Spewing out all the drones in his copious bays, Towit and the others moved to attack position against the linebacker.
"Remember, target sensors, engines, then weapons. We'll make it a dead hulk in space."
The smallships chimed their acknowledgement while Towit lead the attack. The Saxheelian vessels used their reactionless drives to accelerate to attack speed, heading at a parabolic angle to avoid the random fire being thrown in their direction. Meanwhile, lasers up to x-ray level were fired from the pores of the naked ship skins. The composite shields, typically always bent around the vessels, had been sent out to defend the nearest allied capital ships.
It was a risk - on one hand, it meant concentrated power from their beam weapons could easily translate through to the enemy vessel. On the other, they only had the protational gravity shields to defend them now, alongside their armor.
Towit raked dozens of lasers across the hull of the Linebacker - some to disable, some to sense, some to hack into the ship systems. Given their technological sophistication, he doubted very much they'd withstand a sustained cyber attack, but that would remain to be seen.
Ista, Happy Feet, and Visions in turn swept back and aft, climbing up the column of material, lancing lasers at the engine assemblies at speeds a fighter would envy.
Whether they succeeded or not would remain to be seen, and as for the escorts, they would leave them up to their allies.
With a red burst of light, the Selenican ships shifted over to orbit above Czinst, with the momentary presence of the main Coronan force jumping away to their previous positions. It had worked, the ploy had succeeded! An eruption of cheers on the Selenican vessels is heard out, but, the joy is short-lived. A Linebacker, even one which had yet to fire its engines, was still a dangerous target, and the escorts were by no means negligible. It was time to fight, and fight they would. Okala would rise from his seat, a small, comfortable seat of blue fabric, resembling an ottoman, to command his forces as he always was taught - from the front.
"All Selenican vessels, aim tachyonic and electromagnetic guns onto that giant!" Okala shouts into his temple-mounted microphone, connected to the covered-over ear caps of his subordinate commanders. "I want it dead in space before we worry about the escorts, then we'll mop them up."
"Aim guns 14 degrees off center, target its engines FIRST! All CIWS batteries, stay ready. We'll need to smack whatever is sent our way out of the stars." one commander relays to his crew, stationed aboard his Psioran-Class, nicknamed "Wild Child" by other crews because of his reckless commanding which has often seen him reprimanded by higher ups on exercises.
Messages like this are similarly heard across the entire Selenican warfleet, with the assault ships remaining behind the Farinsa-Class Carrier Okala is stationed upon, which opens fire with its side-mounted tachyonic lances aimed right for the Coronan Linebacker's engines, to trap it in place.
All ships in formation, including the non-tachyonic equipped assault ships which only have turreted railguns, opens fire at once, the blinding orange light of the tachyonic lances speeding through space close to the speed of light matched with the pressure wave from the barrels of the assault ship railguns, the force of fire rocking the ships.
The first shots have been fired.
The fleet came out of FTL in bursts of light and lines of color realizing into the forms of the Alliance ships, the Alcubierre bubble popping and fading away under the relentless tide of physical laws reasserting themselves. Almost instantly upon transition into normal space did the Alliance start moving, having had the rare occasion to prepare its initial actions. Drones were deployed from the ships, moving to form loose shields of defenses, shoring up their defense capabilities even as targeting was acquired by the weapons systems.
TAC was updating with allied actions, composite shielding was appearing, courtesy of the Meta-Sax and both they and the Selencians were targeting the linebacker. It needed to die, but they needed to be able to focus fire and that meant removing its tag-along forces, which would be their job. Firing solutions were retasked and one of the escorts would receive the brunt of the Alliance’s attention; when confirmation was made, weapons fire would unleash from their ships. Electric blue flashes heralded the delivery of heavy kinetic ordinance, shells screaming with raw accelerative force to tear apart armor and systems alike, flares of heat would signal the incoming wave of missiles, explosive core, followed by nuclear core, seeking to use their compact nuclear power to induce impact shocks in the enemy’s hull. Space lit up with energy beams, as the laser domes began to lash out, focusing on picking apart the point defenses, allowing more and more of their ordinance to come through.
Once the escort was dust or mission-killed, the Alliance would move on to the next and continue hammering; they had the element of surprise, and needed to disrupt the assault elements, to give Czinst’s forces some breathing room and then conduct their raid of the headquarters. The collective bridges were filled only with the voices of commands being given and the interactions of systems. They had prepared for this strike, every second counted and could not be wasted.
Like black knives punched into emptiness, the flotilla Sun-Shore warships appeared in Czinst's high orbit. For a moment, each vessel lay silent. Turrets and gimbaled emitters snapped to targets, tracking the Coronan escorts with a repressed, hungry grace. Active LIDAR soaked each prospective target, probing for structural and threat analysis. Each liquid brain within the fleet picked away at the task with indifferent malice, imagining the wounds they'd open.
But between perception and awareness, impulses had already emerged. Each of the Sun-Shore's frigates was suddenly twisting through space, torches flaring like maddened coils of white-hot flame. They jockeyed for position around their first and second-rate charges with an almost adversarial dynamic, unfollowable chaos emerging from ordered defensive algorithms. In some cases, two ships would miss each other by meters, barely shaving past to cover what would be a blind spot.
It was these frigates who first opened fire. A rippling wave of smaller torches slid from the swarming crafts and flared into a wide arc, plunging towards one Coronan escort at nearly terminal acceleration. When the missiles neared their prey, they unfurled explosively. Some grew into kilometer-long spikes of nuclear plasma aimed to pierce squarely through opposing weapons. Others blew apart into glittering dust, a sensor-dazzling colloid designed to disrupt the image of their lethal compatriots. A secondary flurry of electromagnetically propelled slugs followed, saturating possible vectors blindly. All this was automatic, done almost without input. But it bought time; time for the other ships to finish their deadly calculations and execute.
Conscious firing solutions finally resolved themselves, swirling into place. Each Akasha destroyer tilted as the telemetry reached their cores, just enough to line up with the targeted escort. Proton beams roared free from spinal guns as soon as each vector lined up, thin lines barely visible on any spectrum piercing toward the enemy to puncture its interior. The heavier missile cruisers opened up against a single Coronan vessel each, with one dumping its VLS banks and torpedoes against the linebacker. The other fired on a second escort, using a similar layout of munitions as its defending frigates. All the while, kinetic batteries roared, flinging slugs downrange with vaguely managed precision.
So it was that the imagined wounds became a reality; incision after brute incision, each ballistic instant loosed into the nothingness of space.
The Force of Action enacted by the CGSS force was unexpected - While SAGA had learned to seize initiative from many a folly where Axiomatic fleets were allowed it, and CONA fought with brazen cause, the professional action of the composite fleet here was unprecedented; Not only had they not been noticed by Corona's (meager) AI intelligence, but they had appeared with the knack and skill to slot cleanly into organic combat roles and lash out at the Third Republic efficiently and effectively.
One escort, large as it was, was hammered by the combined, focused fire of the Alliance; kinetic rounds dented, cracked, and punched holes in heavy Coronal armor, its autocannons sputtering to life and saturating the incoming missiles recklessly. The others followed shortly, but one of the nukes made it through and shook the already-damaged "pug" ship violently, vibrating its plate on one side into microdebris and clearly disabling the ship, at least temporarily, as it listed for some time, starboard side glowing white from the nuclear detonation and friction.
Another was struck down by the Sun-Shore more surely, as plasmatic spikes and shotgunned railgun rounds tore through its armor effortlessly from off-angles and the proton scattering scrambled its internal systems and railgun fire smacked into its hull, a torrent of fire stunning the warship and bringing it to its knees. The Remaining ships' fire became sporadic in the face of the jamming missiles, less accurate and less intense.
Finally, a third, focused by a Cruiser's VLS arrays, scrambled to saturate the space between it and the incoming weapons with all of its fire - flak creating a shield as enemy missiles screamed in. Most were destroyed, but scrambled it became, and a few scars were gouged into its armor by brilliant blades of plasma.
This left the Linebacker.
Its armor refracted laser-light within itself, antennae and lenses being burned off in select areas, engines burned and were sheared off by targeted fire, railgun rounds dug into the monolithic hull of the Third Republic obelisk...
But it did not seem to care. Almost as if a roar of anger, every gun on its three hundred kilometer tall hull fired into every possible vector of the ships that had dared to enter its primary defense zone, in particular the Meta-Sax smallships and incoming missile waves. Hundreds of engines and thousands of guns were operating on full capacity, keen on striking down at least some of its far more numerous assailants. Missiles were hard-launched in droves - spiraling paths away from the Linebacker serving to confuse vector tracking for a moment before primary drives quickly ignited and sent the weapons screaming at the most problematic allied ships; namely, Towit and the Sun-Shore cruisers.
“KEEP HITTING THE ENGINES!" Okala would call out to his ships, trying desperately to stay out of the most dangerous area of Coronan defense.
The utterly massive behemoth, which dwarfed anything the Selenicans had built, had its guns belting into the void of space, the intent clear - destruction of the CGSS' joint task force. Even the concentrated fire on the ship seemed useless, but none shall falter in their will to fight. Tachyonic guns kept slinging out their streams of orange light, aimed right for the major engine clusters on the behemoth. While the gauss cannons placed aboard the smaller ships were less effective, they kept shooting out massive volleys into the target, point defenses running white with shooting down any Coronan fire which came their way.
The Selenican formation, so perfect and orderly before, had been disrupted, scattered, dispersed, all about the same range from the targets. The flagship for the Selenican task force, its carrier, had been desperately trying to shove out as many fighter screens as possible to keep any missiles or kinetics of sufficient payload from striking their ship, losing many to the onslaught.
The assault vessels remain at range, taking short volleys into the Coronan ship, hardly any projectiles making it through.
However, one ship, a destroyer, had been struck violently by a mass of Coronan fire, its engines sputtering dead, and whatever weaponry it had went offline. Bailing from the vessel would only lead to certain death. It sat in space, carried forward by its momentum, suffering hit after hit after hit, until one of its tachyonic containment chambers was pierced, in which it detonated into a morbidly beautiful shower of orange light and scrap metal.
The Alliance fleet was unrelenting; the linebacker was stabbing outwards at the MetaSax and the Sunshore Cruisers, and so their window to strip it of its defenders remained open and they would take advantage. Just as before, firing solutions were retasked focusing on the two remaining escorts, when the first was correctly plotted and the cyber warfare suits filling up the electro magnetic spectrum with white noise, false targets, DDoS levels of false communications and more, they aimed their guns at the first escort and began to unload.
Missiles streaked out, carrying their impressive payloads, explosions would appear like flashes as bomb-pumped lasers would snipe out at point defenses and key systems, nuclear-core missiles would seek to strike the hull and impact shock it to pieces, while lasers worked on stripping more of the point defenses ahead of the lasers and the coilguns just blindly shot out to hammer them. Even as this continued, firing solutions would be plotted for the last remaining escort and once the first was mission killed or destroyed, they would unleash their hell upon them. The first was not expected to last long, it had received some hits from a missile swarm.
A message would be sent out to the fleet, telling them to focus on the linebacker; they would finish off the escorts and then aid in the capital class vessels destruction once it was stripped of support.
The cry for support flashed across the control room, staining the room with red, reflecting off of the captain. The linebacker almost seemed invincible, brushing off incoming fire as if it was nothing more than specks of dust. Armial opened a private channel with the destroyers, attaching info about the Meta Sax's evasive manoeuvres alongside the communication, "Move around the linebacker, do not enter its range, use spiral burns to avoid incoming fire. Begin charging our attacks with magic, we will tear down the Coronans."
The destroyers immediately began moving, one losing a wing due to an unfortunate encounter with a missile, causing it to peel away from the other two destroyers, awkwardly moving back to the Ezekiel. Several drones were lost, forcing the interdiction field to grow smaller, but the interceptors made sure that it would still provide adequate protection.
The two destroyers hurled magically charged shells from their railguns, backing away immediately, spiralling using their gravitic drives. One exploded at the linebacker with a flash of light, heat and electricity. The intent was to throw off any sensors the linebacker was using. The other orbited the linebacker, as if attracted to it, before suddenly emanating a series of purple tendrils, which seeked to rip off small pieces of hull to create weak points.
The Ezekiel, with all its majesty, took a few hits itself, its sensors also being interrupted temporarily by the flash of light. Pieces of its carved hull flew off, the rest of the incoming hits being warded off with its hardlight shields. The ship turned towards the linebacker, firing back swarms of magically-charged missiles and made preparations to fire its tachyon arrow directly at the heart of the ship.
Armial looked with concern as one of the interceptors was torn through, its mana reactor imploding and then exploding brilliantly, trailing off purple smoke which eventually faded into a red inferno, before dying off, the ship permanently lost to the abyss.
Towit felt adrenaline.
It was the first time in three-hundred years he felt adrenaline. That he was meant that his limbic system had detected a legitimate threat to himself or to his peers and given the sheer volume of fire heading his way, that indeed seemed to be the case. The sense-horizon had suddenly filled with fire as he and the other bioships made their approach, enemy weapons roaring in the voiceless void.
At 1,650 meters long, he could generously be considered of "small" size by local standards, but to Saxheelians he was quite respectable. He flipped his bulk in space as though mass had no meaning to him, angling across the vectors of fire and missiles with the skill and precision of a dancer weaving through a crowd. The missiles that he couldn't avoid, he carefully pencil beamed out of existence.
The microships that he'd sent to defend allied ships were snapped back, rushing across the void of space to return to a strict orbit around him. Less than half made it through the fields of fire, and a number of them he sacrificed in order to divert kinetics that would have left more than just a smoldering mote on his skin.
Chromataphores worked overtime to conjure up fields of mass-shadows to blot out kinetic impacts, but these were just cushion so that the rest of the actual armor could more readily absorb and redirect the force of the weapons. Liquid metal seared across wounds that were like pockmarks on the otherwise smooth surface and black blast marks indicated areas that had been swiftly bubbled over by the ferrofluids inside his body.
For Towit, the Linebacker represented a flashback to the ancient past. A battle in orbit of a moderate Hunter station, the run on the reactor core, the detonation and the whooping cheers of the biowarships as they defeated their monstrous foe.
Yes, he certainly felt the adrenaline within him as the sizzling darts of pain made the fore of his body begin to burn. Still, he continued on.
-c
Rushing forward, closing the distance. Going faster, and faster, pushing the reactionless engines to their limits he gripped space around him with an iron mental fist and plunged near the surface of the Linebacker. Within the Consensus array, the old soldier was smiling a grand old smile. For him, this was something he found exciting, exhilarating, a brief respite of past-glories against truly worthy foes.
Doubling down on his cyberwar effort, he stabbed downwards with lighter frequency lasers, digging deep into network openings and squeezing into pathways never meant to house a thing like him. His weapon arrays from his remaining microships poked and jabbed at weapon emplacements around him as he sped across the surface, chasing along like a falcon against the stream.
For the smallships, however, the experience was quite different.
Visions would have blanched had he possessed a face with which to do so. The sheer volume of fire was insane. He could see Towit galivanting about like some maniac with a deathwish and glowing in their array Consensus with what Visions could only possibly describe as "blood lust" but for himself and the others this had quickly become Hell.
As Towit had done, the other snapped their microship drones back as soon as they realized the Linebacker was focusing on them and not on their far more numerous allies. Why they had drawn so much attention, Visions had no idea. Maybe the offensive message from Ista?
Who, by the way, had quickly changed her attitude after getting hit repeatedly by one of these barbaric weapon arrays. The thing had guns all over! Visions flitted around like a puddle-jumper evading rain, occasionally bumping fields with Feet who seemed just as unhappy to be facing raining death as Visions was.
"We can't keep this up!"
"Get near the surface, the guns can't track."
"EASY FOR YOU TO SAY!"
"I've taken hits!"
"Stay on target."
"Loosen up!"
The trio broke formation as soon as they reached 500 meters distance, heading off to different areas of the ships aft assembly. At one point, Visions was a mere ten meters above the ships surface as he pushed over it, his meager weapons stabbing at any visible engine parts on the crude leviathan.
Like a resentful rain of stars, the Coronan Linebacker's relentless barrage tore towards the Shore's swarming ranks. Each targeted vessel shunted much of its processing power toward defensive gunnery and countermeasures in response, lurching into a complex set of evasive burns with drives screaming.
Missiles and torpedoes turned from weapons into makeshift shields. No longer concerned with accurate targeting, each frigate filled the space around itself with more disruption colloid and reflective chaff, shattering the flotilla's visual profile into a fragmented collage of noisy instants to distract incoming missiles and opposing gunnery. Heavier anti-ship weapons were repurposed with laser payloads, exploding into clustered beams of high-frequency radiation to demolish their counterparts at medium range. The destroyers, too, changed their tack to guard their new cruiser charges with immediate, mechanical zealotry. A practical wall of proton beams lanced into space to meet the assault, secondary turrets engaging as many opposing drives as their host reactors could handle.
All the while, point defense grids ran at full, pushing internal cooling systems as far as margins would allow. Barely-exposed radiators glowed with furious, orange light as lasers and physical slugs left their host craft. A mandala of tangled violence bloomed around the Sun Shore force, explosions shining briefly like sparks from a campfire in the vastness of the chaotic dark.
Inevitably, the measures proved, in part, insufficient. Two frigates faltered in their maneuvering; one cored into a hollow husk by Coronan missiles, the other tumbling with a compromised drive. In the face of such withering fire, their superstructures and shields were little more than dry leaves under a crushing boot. Everywhere else, the damage was evident. One destroyer flew on with its bow tattered - little more than pockmarked metal and shredded armor - spinal accelerator damaged beyond any hope of functionality. The cruisers, a particular target of the linebacker's berserk assault, now bore countless scars. Launchers and secondary turrets sat idle, unable to continue their terminal duties with the injuries they'd sustained. Any drone swarms launched for telemetry and interception were indistinguishable from clouds of detritus and shattered matter, still maintaining relative velocity.
But the Coronan force hadn't blown the Sun-Shore element out of existence. These were wounds that time would wash away. These bodies were fleeting.
What they intended to accomplish was nothing so transient.
The flotilla was alive; they seized that survival, trailing a cloud of glittering debris like blood. Each vessel flipped and accelerated again, piercing the exchange of fire like a loose arrow. In an attempt to buy safety through distance, they eventually pulled into a wide loop around the linebacker's course.
The attack could not falter here. Another cluster of missiles exploded free from the cruisers, heavy anti-capital fusion weapons surrounded by the same laser warheads used in their defense. Destroyers and frigates aimed to follow, turning batteries and turrets in their wake.
This second wave of missiles pierced rather than bulldozed, homing towards one of the linebacker's cliff-like flanks; each outer warhead detonated in sequence, emissions too weak to penetrate armor but loud enough to briefly blind point defense, attempting to open tunnels through the enemy's field of fire. Particle beams and clouds of electromagnetically slung flechettes followed the laser warheads' lead, concentrated around the torpedo swarm in a hardscrabble attempt to secure their path. Now, it was anything for one more wound inflicted, one more injury dealt in return.
Even this would do.
A shift in behavior showed that the AI aboard the linebacker wasn't stupid.
The engines, even embedded deeply in its hull as they were, fell in number at a sure and steady pace - even as tachyons pierced and did more damage internally, and many shells were melted on their way in, and lasers were diffused, they fell in number. The sustained sensor flashbang contributed by the telrosians seemed to momentarily assist the coalition fleet - but as their fleet struck down the last of the monolith's escorts, outward comms were closed, eliminating the effects of false reports. The three hundred kilometer distance between the most extant of sensors made it a little less difficult for the counterintuitively-powerful AI on the ship to discern targets... but the disruption wasn't completely countered, especially in conjunction with the direct-breach efforts of the Meta-Sax.
Longer-ranged fire became noticably less accurate; combat radars were more than capable of tracking millions of objects, and the increase in spread wasn't a comical reduction to shotgun spray; rather, the burst width per-array seemed to be attempting to compensate for a wider set of potential maneuvering vectors. At least, for a time.
After multiple minutes, the fire stopped for a split-second - all guns traversing to target significantly closer targets, the ones whose maneuvering would be the issue, rather than the jamming. Special focus was put on the close-in targets behind the tower, with a gargantuan burst of missiles curving around to the rear of the ship. A flooding torrent of guns turned the immediate space around the ship into a dense debris field of shrapnel that took advantage of the speeds of the fastest assailants, obviously leaving a path clear for the ships' own missiles and designating swathes of turrets free for intercepting incoming standoff missiles.
Despite all this, it was clear the ship was struggling to cope against the many vectors and ranges of assault. A cavernous tunnel was speared through the center mass of the spire, and one of its sides was struck with incredible force by the concerto blitz of the Sun-Shore; indeed, a hundred-kilometer web of cracks splintered its way up and down from the epicenter of the strike, shearing a swathe of guns, sensors, cranes, and all other systems into splinters that clotted the space to its lower-port side.
While the Selenican fleet had been out of the direct line of fire, damages had not been null.
Every ship in the fleet was minorly damaged, with reparable damages being suffered to the outermost armor plating and CIWS systems, having been far overloaded by the hellish typhoon of Coronan kinetics fire. However, the hardest-hit systems were the tachyonic guns.
With these ships being older designs, pioneers in their field, they also were inefficient, overly complex, and most of all, prone to breakdowns. Such was the fate of one of the side-mounted enormous turrets on the carrier, having taken the brunt of Coronan fire in that sector, it had stopped putting out so much punch since the fighting began.
"Dammit...How are we going to kill this son of a bitch!?" Okala said, mostly rhetorically. He examined the thrusters, slowly flickering offline. While they were doing damage, yes, this bunker of a ship would not be killed by a lack of movement. Looking over at other parts of the battered Coronan Linebacker, "It seems like the Sun-Shore have a good idea..."
Looking to the massive spiderwebbed cracks up the side of the vessel, an idea was hatched.
"All tachyonic weapons, aim at those shattered pieces of armor. If we can't disable it, we're going to cook it alive inside out!"
With a short delay, the small vessels of the Selenican Republic began to spin their guns to stare down the fractured section of Coronan hull, their paint being sheered off by the hail of kinetic firepower. The unpainted reflective metal of the hull and guns showed through the damage, its sheen being muted by the hits it has received.
"FIRE!" Okala would shout, once all of the tachyonic guns lay onto their target, a cencerto of orange light bursting forth into the Coronan vessel.
The insistence on the behemoth to concentrate efforts on attacking the Saxcraft nearest the surface payed off.
Towit was able to deal with missiles or incoming cannon fire; not both. Durable as he was, there were limitations on what could be sustained. Given a choice between explosions or kinetic impacts, he elected to endure the bombardment of the direct fire weapons, as he was best attuned to cope with them with the limited shields he had at this point. The protational field boundary slightly slanted the trajectory of one out of every twenty incoming bullets, which amount to just enough to let the bioship complete a circuit across the tower sector of the Linebacker. He dug deep in the cyberwar, relentlessly pushing to try to gain access to the enemy AI. This was his forte, what he specialized in for centuries. He had to gain access, he had to silence those guns to preserve his allies and comrades.
Though as harsh as the weapons fire was for him, it was ten times worse for the smaller ships. Ista took heavy fire from the cannons, while Visions and Happy Feet careened into the missile bombardment - they had no choice in their trajectory given the time and the speeds. Not built for war, they lacked the fine-tuned control of their own fields that Towit had.
Missiles exploded across the surfaces of both the smallships, damaging organic components and blasting open chunks matter. Liquid-silver flooded the gaps, but the impacts were continuous and the diminished microship shields were overwhelmed by the combination of missiles and guns.
Happy Feet took a set of missiles that raked across the aft right portion of the warp ring, flicking out the protational field boundary instantly. With no gravity shield to deflect fire, the bioship was relatively helpless - all it had was the armor and few microships to protect it from further cannons.
Visions and Ista closed ranks, but Feet no longer could control its acceleration. Angling up and over-C
The lip of the giant ship, the smallship careened into open space, twisting and tumbling and gravely wounded. Towit knew that if he left to help, the hack would end and the battle could turn against them.
Eyes watched in the Consensus array as Feet clutched at itself with its light-woven tendrils. The body fluttered, flickered, and dulled. It'd lost consciousness.
Visions and Ista were at their side both in the Duality and in The Real, batting away what the smallships could while trying to tug the disabled craft away from the battle.
The Ezekiel continued in its onslaught of tachyons, aiming for the ripped sections of hull contributed by the mass drivers. The pair of destroyers turned again, firing charged missile swarms at the linebacker, before once again twisting around enemy fire, taking minor hits. Thankfully, it was clear the Linebacker was more interested in their allies. The debris field however proved too much of a threat for the ships, causing them to fire one more array of flashbangs and shells before fully backing off towards the dreadnought, assisting in its protection.
The interceptors had reached their limit, disabling the interdiction drones and re-attaching them to their hulls, re-charging them for a second installation of the field, and joined the dreadnought, giving most of the energy to the shields. The full fleet now served to shield the Ezekiel as it launched its full assault, intent to make sure their main ship was kept safe.
Battle was always a push and pull of tactical advantages and loss of initiatives; while you may achieve victory in one arena of the battlespace, it would remove options for yourself or open up ones for the enemy. Operations informed him that the cyber battle space was losing effectiveness with the loss of the final escort; the linebacker had closed off its ‘ears’ so to speak since it had no one in range to speak with.
“A necessary reaction; they seek to turtle up and use their armor and weapons to outlast us.”
The tactical display had multiple bubbles constantly listing data of combat losses for the Meta-Sax and the damage reports coming across the tactical net. The change to closer range fire to deal with the assaulters was leading to results. Regardless, phase one of their tactical plan had been executed, removal of escorting/defensive elements, now it was time for the next phase.
“Operations, focus cyber warfare on spoofing of sensors, false images, difficulty in detection coherency of actual positions and fake vs real. We want their guns, especially their point defense, to have as much difficulty as possible. Next, focus weapon salvos on point defense, we need to strip them of their ability to stop missiles and other projectiles. Focus on the port side, the Sun-Shore has opened the door for us; its time for us to slam it wide open. Enact randomwalking vector Alpha-3-0-2-A, we’ll begin to move and strip them of defenses but it won’t be long until they stop focus firing at the knife ranges.”
The fleet began to move, seemingly in random vectors and paths, but there was a coherence to it if viewed correctly. Salvos continued, but with precise focus on the defensive guns of the linebacker. Missiles were used to occupy the guns attention, slipping through when they could to hit, while lasers burned in, trying to take advantage of any gaps or difficulty in target acquisition. Coilguns were added to the mix, with the faint hope that sheer mass of the munitions could impact and tear the guns apart.
One blow dealt wasn't even close to enough.
In a rippling sequence, torpedo formations tore free from cruiser-borne bays and silos, vectoring in a spiraling dance that flickered and burst wherever it encountered flak. Those that survived made their terminal display like burrowing flies, ejecting spikes of nuclear plasma as they neared impact. Some cut directly across the Linebacker's hull, a barrage of scarring blades aimed to warp or compromise exposed mounts through sheer heat. Others widened existing wounds, spearing through damaged armor and scouring internals caught in their path.
The Sun Shore flagship watched.
Director minds peered out at the world through their host vessel's scopes and comms. Light from distant explosions and gunfire reached them as colorless spikes of spectra-tinged input, with threat assessments and priority markers blooming under even the lightest touch.
It bleeds, one mind said, rolling a marble of combat telemetry in a glimmering visualization of grasping tendrils. Missile launches and data on Coronan CIWS flashed through its awareness in a spreading web of light. It dies now. Or we exhaust too many of our usable munitions.
The munitions are all that works, came the reply. Unless you'd have us batter away with the functioning Akasha.
We're not under the brunt of enemy fire, another interjected. As it spoke, it reached out and pushed the surrounding frigates away, watching the four remaining torches gain distance. With less Coronan fire striking the Sun Shore's element, having the smaller ships screening for their heavier charges was a lower concern. Space out launches to coincide with allied weapons. Work to sync time on target. We use less. More gets through. Enough. Reprioritizing tasking.
With that curt statement, the curtain of fire resumed. Secondary batteries and lasers burned holes in opposing defenses for allied vessels to exploit. Another wave of munitions slid loose in the barrage's wake, with frigate-launched missiles guiding in heavier torps or irradiating enemy flak using jammer-decoy warheads. Slowly, the Sun Shore aimed to reach through the chinks in their enemy's armor.
The AI tore its guns away from the retreating smallships, focusing on the flocking hostiles to its port side, threatening the hull breach, while another cluster of missiles was dispatched in pursuit of the lone Meta-Sax lead craft that maintained a close posture. It saw the flock of missiles, lasers, and tachyons swarming in, and began to maneuver into a portward roll,
It was blind.
EWAR density had overcome its electronic countermeasures, guns quickly retreating to onboard logic chips and optics, firing with little cohesion at any number of targets; even shooting at the Linebacker's own lost hull fragments. The superluminal tachyons speared through the mid-line breach, shredding the internal structure and weakening the starboard hull before the fatigue left it too weak to sustain, exploding in a much more spectacular view than the initial breach. lasers, screening the Sun Shore torpedoes, raked the banks of guns with attention lost, determinedly making an opening for the guided munitions to do their work.
Missiles impacted the weapon banks alongside kinetics, and bladed torpedoes rapidly rendered the most proximal defense screen bare. Finally came those that plummeted directly into the unarmored internal bulkheads of the Linebacker, detonating unanimously and unopposed.
The explosions rocked the gargantuan, gouts of burning atmosphere belching out of both sides of the ship as much as they propagated upwards and downwards, escaping from hatches and hangars and cracks the whole way. Cinematically, the powerplant of the ship and its own ammunition stores erupted themselves, blasting with a force greater than the munitions fired so far by a few orders of magnitude.
The brilliance of the explosion caused by the linebacker flung pieces of shrapnel towards Arkranum's ships, shields moving to defend. After it had passed, announcements about the linebacker's destruction echoed through the Ezekiel, followed by the immediate uproar of cheers, shouts and laughter. This had been a needed morale boost, something to distract from the Cold War that had been ongoing with Atenwal, proving that Arkranum still had some fight in it.
An incoming 'ping!' alerted the comms opened between the alliance's ships,
"This is Captain Armial of the Tsardom. What is our next move? Should we begin with the deployment of ground forces on Czint and liberate it, or should we proceed to the refineries first? I personally suggest that we overwhelm the command centre and cut off the chain of command, I'm not quite sure we could take another linebacker."
The Saxheelian forces recombined around their disabled comrade. With the major threat dealt with, there came the planet itself and the remaining armada of forces that would no doubt turn to attack them.
But that was not their focus. Their focus was on their wounded one, who was carefully ushered into the battered bay of Towit. Ista and Pyrrhic docked as well, leaving the destroyer alone in space as representative of the Meta-Sax forces.
The damage he had sustained was not crippling, but it wasn't insignificant. Another battle would not go well for them, and they were ill equipped for ground invasions. Moving towards the rest of the allied forces, he sent a transmission, "Saxheelian forces have been reduced to this vessel. We are not equipped for planetary invasion. Will support as able."
The behemoth, something which once towered over the Selenicans with a massive size, was now burning. A rousing cheer erupted across the fleet, they managed to take it down! It was gone, their main opposition stopped! However, the excitement was curbed by another order.
"All crew, remain in your combat positions, redirecting fire to other enemy vessels."
It seems the excitement of dealing with the linebacker had obscured their vision to the other objectives -- the landing ships and refineries. After a short delay to get everyone back to position, and the counting of the dead and lost ships, it totaled to one ship lost thus far, a destroyer, its entire crew, and a thousand spread across the rest of the fleet. Such losses were promised to not be in vain.
A short lull in the fighting was noticed, and a transmission sent to the remaining numbers of the CGSS combined liberation fleet.
"Vessels of our force, we of the Selenican Republic propose and idea of our next course of action. Our pace mustn't be slowed, we must keep up the pressure on the Coronan scum. If we allow them time to breathe, they can potentially be able to resist us in the future. If we crush them with the weight of our hammer, they will surely fall."
Following this statement, a bright flash of tachyonic light burst forth from the Selenican guns aimed directly for the Coronan landing vessels, however, their accuracy was hampered by the severe battle damage the sensors had taken.
The challenge ahead was a simple one.
Sever the head from the snake.
While the vast majority of the Third Republic's forces in-system were preoccupied with the new interdicted environment and trying their damnedest to counter their momentum heading away from the world, much less start heading back towards it, their landing ships were running away and the invasion was threatening to break past the straits below.
"Great work," a commlink from below greeted them, the reports of heavy artillery batteries loudly audible in the background. "But you're not done." Almost in-sync with this message from the unknown speaker, dozens of FTL signatures entered the system simultaneously - in two distinct groups. The communications space of the system erupted in code and encrypted messages before IFF identified the new parties. An APP and a SAGA task force, respectively, and already moving into combat formations and burning for the coronal fleet - robbing their attention from the CGSS party involved.
"The parties you just saw arrive won't be able to help us before the Pugs break through our lines on the ground. You need to kill their general and fast, and their communications are all coming out of the coords I'm sending now. Good luck."
There was obviously Ueldi's request to sieze the new assets Corona was so polite to deliver, but the issue of the general staff assassination was on the table. The communication coordinates were in the midst of a massive civilian city along an inland river, invalidating the option for orbital strikes; a clear-cut, glassed section of the city seemed to be the logistics center. To its north, erected in the midst of the ruined regional capitol complex, was an entire division's worth of AI carriers, coolant infrastructure, and habitations.
This all made it very clear that this would be an easy operation, especially as EWAR flooded the battlespace and inflamed the panic that had already set in with the Third Republic rear-line forces. CSRG proxy forces stormed the HQ from the air as coronal anti-air networks wildly sprayed into the sky, excising the command center from the city with force - and the front line faltered as AI-written orders stopped coming down the chain.
Among the stars, the assault ships couldn’t have resisted the theft of their replacement infrastructure if they wanted to. Completely lacking in armament, fast ships were easily able to catch up to them and pluck the platforms from their hulls with ease. Even farther from the world, the third republic battle line was seized upon by an ad hoc SAGA-CONA alliance; the two fleets forming up into a spear as they had at Aedelshaven, repeating the feat created there.
As he watched on, hot tears flowed down Baas’ face - everything had fallen apart with but a stroke. Defeated, he wondered what to do next - he had plenty of fuel for his flagship, and could eventually return to the republic, but surely he’d need to come back with *something,* or the courts would flagellate him.
In the end, he ordered an emergency jump, escaping with the lives of himself and his most elite crew, but losing a massive amount of military power in the surgical operation that had just transpired.
And a wonderfully curly tail. “William,” as the curiously-intelligent coronan officer had dubbed him, was - despite being a pig - one of the smartest beings on the ship. Blue-balled by bureaucracy, he had put what passed for other “intelligent” coronans in the kitchens of their ships, their custodian AI teaching them how to make real food that, in turn, kept the insufferably moronic hordes that occupied the halls happy.
Speaking of insufferably moronic-
“WHY would you try to EAT. WILLIAM?” He screamed at his aide, the blathering, blubbering, crying mess that had the name ‘Huulb.’ It took almost a minute for the stunted blob to respond, hunchback jiggling, bulging left eye twitching in fear. Baas almost screamed again.
“I’M THORRY!” Huulb hissed back, calming the room down. Baas wasn’t stupid. He refused to be. He breathed through his teeth for another few seconds as he forced himself to calm down.
“Apology accepted,” he uttered to the dwarf coronan before turning his attention back to bandaging up the bite marks on William’s leg. Not seconds later, calm, chiming arrival klaxons - designed not to agitate the crew - pointed out the fact that the Third Republic fleet had arrived at their destination.
Two dozen linebackers stood in formation at the edge of Leibr, an independent unaligned that wasn’t very interested in the ongoing war - yet their system was staffed by Triarch and Carnaithian-designed warships, their off-the-shelf powerplants flared into life to meet the obelisks of the non-planar state.
Baas, however, was excited to no end. “Hullb, get to your office, now!” he shouted in surprisingly-fluent common, met by more sobbing as his subordinate began to hobble away. He paid no attention to it, rushing across the hall to a curiously-antique style CIC, allegedly favored by admirals who liked to pretend they were roleplaying as pirate captains or otherwise. He slammed a book upon the, again abnormal, clean holotable, flipping open to a dog-eared page of the history textbook - “The battle of Histrion” splayed brightly at its top. “This one!” he yelled at the command assistance AI, optimized for interpreting and enacting the orders of inbred, microcephalic leaders-by-corruption.
“They’re going to think we’ll split our attention - You’re gonna make sure ALL OF MY SHIPS focus fire on one group and then shoot the other!”
“Would you like me to fully kill the enemy ships?” the AI prattled, coded to be excessively polite. For a split-second, Baas’s instincts SCREAMED at him to answer “yes.” But a smile crept onto his face.
“No, mission-kills only unless necessary.”
“Very well.”
--//--
“You’re kidding me,” the shocked Carnaithian said to his colleague, wide-eyed at his assembly seat. Easily an eighth or more of the desks had laid empty for weeks as the CGSS worked to refill them with new, interested members in the wake of CONA’s walk-out. Before him, however, stood an unlikely friend.
“Unfortunately not, Jolien,” the Volure responded, strained look on his face. Across his lapel, beside his nametag displaying “Arei,” lay the emblems of New Janar, his nation, and CONA alike.
Jolien stayed seated for a moment, looking out to the rest of the debate floor, stunned. “If corona’s wising up, it’s got to be because someone’s selling them AI, right?”
“IRO and GFO databases have nothing on it. Nobody in CONA’s owning up, and don’t tell anyone I said this but I don’t think colonials are that stupid. I’ve even pulled some strings, and none of MAIDEN’s DAMSELs can remember anything of the sort in their labyrinthian gossip.”
“So we need to intervene. How unfortunate that we just let the SRG loose on their own directives, huh?” Arei shrugged.
“We can both say in confidence that CONA’s not going to jump at the opportunity to stop corona from setting itself in the back door of Carnaith, the Union, and the LSFTZ, ignoring the fact that this could spiral out of their control.”
“And I can tell you that SAGA’s banking on mustering everything against CONA… we’ve more or less written off Corona as a non-factor, with their situation and all. That was one part of the propaganda we leaned into.”
“So we need third-party combatants. At least at first.”
“Right. And luckily enough, as a senior, founding member, I have access to the New Powers Review reports.”
“Don’t we all?”
“The CGSS isn’t all public. We’ll need to get together and put out a message, I’ll have some of the Ancnet officers bridge contact with some highlights on the reports.”
--//--
The message was bounced between satellites, stations, and signal-carrying barges. All to meet the eyes, ears, and other communication-sensory organs of recent states to log onto the Ancnet. At least the promising ones.
“Greetings,” it began, the word substituted for the most polite word perceived by the recipient in question by the hugely-advanced translation engine utilized by the Ancnet’s accession protocol network.
“I am representative Jolien of the Carnaithian Omniversal Empire,”
“And I am representative Alei of New Janar. We represent the interests of the Coalition for Galactic Safety and Security. In this case, we request assistance with something that poses a most severe threat to said security of the galactic community.”
“In the last week,” Jolien took over once more, “the Third Republic of Corona - the largest nation in the galactic community - invaded and seized the system of Leibr, a non-aggressive native state notable for being one of the only pre-existing lived-on worlds in the Karzan nebula. The nebula, despite the hazards of such an operation, is occasionally targeted for its slight ancerium deposits.
“This is believed to be the goal of the Third Republic with this excursion into the galactic plane; with the current state of Ancerium prices and Corona’s own self-destructive policies, they are increasingly desperate for this important resource.”
“Which is where you, the contactees of this message, come in,” Alei piped up. “The largest military powers of the galaxy other than Corona are preoccupied with their own conflicts to intervene in force. Small fleets are scheduled to intervene, but we believe it won’t be enough as neither SAGA nor CONA take the third republic very seriously unless appearing in sheer number. We, the CGSS, are willing to offer advanced fleet cross-communication software with the nations that receive this message under the precedent that you use it to intervene in Leibr.”
Jolien stepped forward, a holographic map of the system appearing.
“The third republic has seized every piece of orbital infrastructure in the system, and bolstered it with their own shipped in prefabricated refineries. There’s not a lot, but we assume that the trace ancerium in the nebula doesn’t meet the peak processing rates of these stations. Destroying these is a secondary objective to ushering the third republic out of the region, which would normally be accomplished by merely targeting these, but this particular fleet seems both more intelligent and more persistent. You need to eliminate the command center established on Czinst, the populated world of the system… without bringing harm to its populace.”
Alei, in a gesture of honesty, spoke again. “Nobody will know that you are acting on the behalf of the CGSS, so no harm will come to us if you do harm the residents of Czinst… but we will be watching, and your arrival on the galactic stage will not be met kindly if you make a poor showing."
It had been a very, very long time since the Selenican Republic had been directly contacted, especially on matters of military aid. Their long slumber of being left to their own devices is being disrupted at last, and with that, who knows what the outer galaxy has planned or is capable of. Kar Selia, the sham president of the SR, more of an autocrat than an elected leader, had the message from the CGSS, whose existence was previously just rumors you heard on the street from those rare emigrants, forwarded directly to him.
"We've received a message from the...CGSS? Do we have any records of this?" One quite bewildered future "envoy" asks over the emergency contact line to a secretary, one who had quite the identic memory when it comes to historical records.
"Not that I know of." This secretary replies, scanning the documents on her desk.
Hanging up, that envoy calls yet another line, this one to a higher-up who has authority to speak to the president directly.
"Sir, we've received a message from an unknown outside entity. We do not know who they are past the fact that they exist, yet they're calling us to war!"
"Who's calling?" that higher-up replies with, frantically typing a message to the president about this upcoming news with updates as the envoy speaks.
"Some entity called the CGSS."
"Anything else they gave you?"
The envoy relays the message near verbatim that was received over Ancnet, including all of the relevant info for such a military operation.
"...and the last thing they told us is that they'll be watching and we can't harm civilians."
The higher-up, an admiral who was closing in on retirement, typed out everything he could gleam from the situation and got it in print. Thankfully, the office of this admiral was extremely close to the House of the President. Time was certainly of the essence, so the admiral, a man named Johath Azria, delivered the message to the president in-person. It was bright daylight out.
[+][+]
"As I'm understanding this, this CGSS is asking us to intervene in Leibr with a small fleet?" Selia asks his trusted admiral, snuffing out a cigarette he was smoking.
"Yes, Mr. President."
"I believe it is in our best interests to intervene, then. The Selenican Republic has been dormant for far too long, and we need to open up past the rare occurrence of Ancerium trade." The president muses, staring out of a window onto the nearing-on garish architecture of the House of the President.
"Then, sir, what will we send?
"That's where I leave this to you and your comrades. Under no circumstance can we send a massive warfleet, as that would look highly suspicious, no? Thankfully we have our carriers."
The implication in his statement was clear.
"Sir, I will work to assemble a task force and reply to this call-to-arms as soon as possible. You have my word."
Azria leaves the call to arms he had typed on the president's desk, rushing out of his office. It isn't long until the top strategic heads of the Selenican Republic are gathered and discussions of the best course of action are determined.
After several hours of nearing-on violent discussion, it is decided the composition of the fleet which will be sent. One Farinsa-Class Carrier, two Psioran-Class Cruisers, and five Yafrei-Class Destroyers alongside the standard compliment of troop and arms carriers.
Standard contact protocols had been initiated the moment that Ladon had arrived in this odd new galaxy. They had been met with so much.. noise.. that it had taken them some time to parse it out, but now, they had a clear idea of what was transpiring.
Yet another war, but on a scale far beyond their own home galaxy's abilities.
And now, some of the beings of this place were calling upon the Clade to engage in conflict. An action that was.. detestable.. to the pacifists of Clade Ladon.
There was, of course, the rational decision to participate for the singular purpose of earning the social cache positive implied by the aliens request. Though, for an supranational entity, it seemed odd to Ladon that they would seek out newly arrived entities.
Of course, there was the deniability, but also the opportunity presented for the CGSS. Figure out which of the 'new arrivals' was valuable, cultivate them. Yes. It was a familiar pattern in the memory of The Flow.
Ladon sent the pulse along the neural pathways of The Flow towards their shipkin, which spooled out to the rest of the Clade. The precepts of ancient noema dictated that action should only be taken to preserve life. In this case, the Entity saw an opportunity to do this, while also spreading their own memetic presence. One which, however, run aground amongst their own and their clades pacifism. If they participated in battle, people would die.
Possibly many people.
But if they did nothing, there was a great potential for many more lives to be lost regardless. Who was to say that there would not be a participant who would not value life? Who would simply exterminate the population? It was impossible to tell so freshly arrived in this galaxy and its strange physics and bizarre dimensions.
The Consensus that was locally established by the 2 million souls of the Clade debated before finally reaching agreement that ships must be sent in acquiescence to noema of the past.
Ladon and his old friend, Towit, finalized the decision with the Golreeq-era destroyer volunteering to participate. Long having since removed the majority of its weapons, the vessel was still a formidable EWAR/EWACS platform and considered itself capable of achieving the desired result of net-low/no loss of life.
So, the Meta-Sax sent a message:
"Ancient noema dictates response of action when called through ritual invocation. Invocation tested in Consensus and metaxy established. Respected-elder ship will host aid to disrupt target-designate opponents of meta-entities of host-galaxy. Participants of Clade Ladon will support, not extirpate."
With that, the destroyer detached itself from the bottom of Ladon, breathing on its own in the depths of space for the first time in two-centuries. Three smallships of the Tryst classification joined it in formation before they winked into the accelerated warp velocities unique to this new Ancerious galaxy.
Deliberations in the Myriad-Sun Shore typically didn’t take longer than fifteen seconds.
This event took longer than four hours to process.
Naturally, it had taken even longer than that for the issue to actually reach that point. Since the message was first intercepted by communications relays at the edge of Shore territory, it had taken something in the order of a day until the contents had actually made it to a system meant for evaluating foreign contact. From there, the process accelerated.
Tyrant Dawn had been contacted; the CGSS message had sped up through the Sun Shore’s internal hierarchy with alarming speed, each lower-tier subjectivity tapping the one above it for further input. After all, the technology being offered seemed to be meant for a military context.
However, at its core, it also signified even more.
It would mean the use of Shore forces offensively. It would mean the commitment of troops and warships, not merely materiel support.
In other words, the caution that defined Jinzhi foreign policy up until this moment would be broken. They’d long been relatively sparing with outside contact, limiting matters to trade and cultural exchange.
But now, they were being called on to offer arms.
Therefore, it was natural to request Tyrant Dawn’s aid in creating a consensus. It, the mind that held the Jinzhi race’s collective memory in warfare, would also know the when and why of warfare. The situation was different, but the heuristics were certainly applicable.
So four hours were spent.
Finally, the blinking sphere of light and computers had spoken. Alongside Congregation Sunrise, which had determined that the use of force was justified, the direct-command mind ordered the formation of a task group. Almost as soon as attention and computational resources had been centralized, they were once again split apart, sent to the faraway corners of the Jinzhi nation.
Wasting time wasn’t bearable for minds like these.
-- --
”UNCHARACTERISTICALLY TALL ORDER”
”DO YOU AGREE”
A stream of bits hit the ship mind like a faint point of heat. Indeed, there was heat, the residual energy of an encrypted tightbeam signal wafting away into space as infrared radiation. Ultimately negligible in its material existence, but not in its implication.
“Agree?”
As if stretching its limbs after a long sleep, the destroyer woke its main reactor and splayed open its main radiators like gills. The mechanisms themselves were nearly silent, but the hum of active cooling soon filled the constricting, labyrinthine internals like a high-frequency heartbeat. Capillaries of liquid metal acted as a circulatory system, passing unwanted heat from the core of the vessel towards cooling mechanisms. Using it now was pointless, but the ship could also dump its entire thermal load into its heatsinks and cool until it matched the background radiation of space, as if holding a breath. The entire system was alive in the nigh-biological sense. A fluid Jinzhi brain, itself parallel to and derived from smaller individuals, governed the vessel.
All in all, the destroyer’s effective “crew” came out to a number smaller than four dozen, although that estimate ignored the maintenance drones and non-sapient AI attached to it. Not much. But it wasn’t going alone.
”BLOODLESS WAR”
The other ship mind was still intruding. No, not intruding; communication was appropriate and necessary here, not an irritation. The offending process was crushed in an instant.
“That’s not what they’re asking for, and it’s not what we agreed to.”
There it was, in the distance, faint in the scopes. More drive flares, burning hot. At this resolution, they couldn’t be distinguished, but the message’s embedded information gave a number to the remote pinpricks of azure light.
Fourteen ships.
Yes, there was more data in the stream, behind the direct contact. Rendezvous point. Orbits. Fleet movements. Reassignment. New duty. Fragments, the immediately relevant: CZINST, 3RD REPUBLIC, ANCERIUM, SOFTWARE, ORBITAL, COMMAND CENTER.
Two Nomad Moon-class cruisers, five Sleep Arc-class destroyers, one Akasha-class (wasn’t this one supposed to be on the other side of the system?), six Vesper-class frigates. Not bad. With the destroyer itself, another Akasha, that’d make fifteen. But the Sleep Arc ships seemed to have been refitted as assault landing craft, so maybe it wasn’t actually that much firepower.
”MINIMIZE CASUALTIES”
The other ship mind probed again.
“Tyrant Dawn knows the philosophical difference between that and ‘bloodless’. You and I don’t. The communications software is worth it. We’ll engage as instructed.”
It would be a few hours until the destroyer reached its compatriots. Then, they could prepare for the jump together, sync their wormhole drives to cross the universe. There was a curious dread to the whole endeavor, now, not that the Jinzhi cells swimming within the destroyer’s core even possessed such an instinct.
More abstract.
Rational.
The Vesper voiced it first.
”CONCERNS: FUTURE INVOLVEMENT”
“It’s what we were built for.”
The destroyer snapped its comms array closed.
Yes, for the first time in over a century.
A fight.
"...poor showing." He replayed the message a few times. Was it a threat? Tsar Zimeon walked back and forth in Apotheosis' room, pacing on the marbled floor.
"If I may so kindly offer my opinion, my one purpose here," Its voice boomed in the room, instantly grabbing his attention. He stared at the large head, the centrepiece of the room. Apotheosis was an AI that advised his every move, created centuries ago, it has been nothing but loyal to the royal lineage of the Tsars. It was suspended in some sort of void, a large empty space. It was only a head, but millions of wires and cables jutted from it, ensuring that it stays powered.
"Do as they say. This is an excellent way to get us back on the galactic stage, after our less than favourable previous interaction with CONA and SAGA."
"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice. They definitely meant something with that last line. It's a threat to those who intend to hurt the populace, but also a threat to those who choose not to participate."
"I think you're overthinking it." It continued, interrupting him.
"Maybe you're right." He paced the room a few more times. "Apotheosis, please call in the council." It didn't give him a response, but the preparations were instant. Chairs appeared from beneath the ground, a large table materialising from nothing at the centre of the room. He took his place at the very front of the table, his back to Apotheosis. Within minutes, the entire council was sat at their chairs, waiting for his call.
║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║
Ten ships began making their way up, their gravitic drives activating to begin their ascent into the atmosphere. As they ascended, their sails expanded, propelled by laser lines, as they finally escape Amun's grasp. The interdiction stations in the system de-activated, and several chains of relay nodes threw them out into unaligned territory, they were now out of the safety of their homeland. The ships made their way to the closest tachyon currents, unfurling their sails again as they began to make their way to Lebir.
The Ezekiel dreadnought lead the charge, followed by two battleships, three destroyers, and four corvettes.
║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║
Tsar Zimeon approached the stage, a plethora of cameras facing towards him, hundreds of eager journalists waiting to capitalise on his announcement. He let out a bit of steam - literally, clouds of white escaping from his mouth. He then stood high, and looked towards them. He knocked twice on the crystalline podium, and that was their cue.
Several flashes blinded him for a little, but he stood there, unfazed, waiting for the lightshow to finish. This was definitely not his first time on stage.
"After deliberations with Apotheosis and my council, we have decided to get involved with the situation in Lebir." He thought about including the fact that they were urged by the CSGG, but it was clear they didn't want their name to be involved, so he decided against it. "We have come to this conclusion in hopes that we will be able to support our fellow natives, in a way that allows us to remain neutral for the entirety of the Third Ancerious War."
"I will not be accepting questions currently." He tapped twice again, another signal for the recordings to end. The press was dismissed, and he began making his way back to the palace. He made sure that the announcement was made after the ships had already left, to ensure that by the time the press got to the situation, it would be after the invasion had begun.
Life was difficult for the member nations of the Solar System Alliance; they had formed in response to the Ancerium crisis caused by the attack on the galactic mining fleet and the outbreak of the Third Ancerious War. To avoid outright disaster for their respective populations and to try and avoid joining the conflict to shore up their economies, but the process of making a national government and where to draw the lines had inflamed the fault lines of tension and interest between the member states. This was only exacerbated when the CGSS message arrived to their outer communication stations and were relayed by QE nodes to the capital world of Tavvis. While being little more than a basic colony until chosen by the SSA to build their capital on, they had built a large station to serve as their administrative hub for the government, and it was in one of these chambers that the leaders of the SSA met.
The Anchor Chain Council; compromised of the The Terrane Director of the Talidan Republic, the Chief Steward of the Svaankor Mining Guild, the chosen Feyl of Nasreus, the Admiral of the Vivtos Space Fleet, Administrator of the Arcnian Salutary Facilities and Chairman of the Procyon Group. They had just finished listening to the message and, for once, silence reigned in the council room. To no one’s surprise, it was Administrator Alina Dietiker, of the Arcnian Salutary Facilities.
“We have to do something; we can’t just sit by as innocent people are invaded by Corona to cover up the mistakes of their contracts-”
A scoff interrupted her, causing her to glare at the owner, a man in an ostentatious military outfit that looked to be from stage play than a real uniform, his name plate read as Matteo Jiliani, Admiral.
“We can go off and play hero, as you so like to do, but with what money, ships and Ancerium reserves are we going to use? In case you have just been checked out for the last hour of ‘polite debate’ we have been doing, we are facing a severe crisis of not being able to have our civilian fleets able to continue doing contracts and bringing us the money and resources we need. Anything we spend on this effort is less for us and with nothing to replace it.”
“They are offering us advanced technology, and this CGSS is basically the only galactic organization we have that we can appeal to. If we do this for them, we can see about getting assistance!”
Matteo rolled his eyes and pulled out a container from within his coat, taking a long swig.
“Yes, the very same organization that saw a huge portion of its membership walk out and join CONA. That speaks very well to its stability and ability to help. Technology isn’t going to help survive this period, ma’am, we need the resources and capital to make it to long term operations.”
The Chief Steward stirred in his seat, loud enough to draw their attention and spoke up.
“It’s true, Admiral, but we can’t forget that our native brethren are being accosted by that degenerate pimple of a state, the Third Republic of Corona. They are being invaded and turned into yet another facility for Ancerium. They haven’t even declared for either alliance that is battling them; by the Void, someone has to do something and we certainly can’t rely on SAGA for aid-“
Terrane Director Nevaeh Hawkins spoke up next, her posture and tone tired. “Gabriel, this message is from both a CONA and a SAGA member state, this is an issue beyond ‘Us or Them’. But Admiral Jilani and Administrator Dietiker are correct in that we don’t have the resources to spare, and this can cost us, in not just resources but lives. However, if they are willing to just hand out advanced technologies as incentives, we may be able to bargain for more help if we put on a good effort.”
Matteo’s large form turned to face his opposite and there was a tense moment of staring. “Are you offering to pay up the resources needed for this?”
“We are a united state now, Gabriel, we need to work together on this, otherwise this venture was entirely pointless, and we must accept being crushed individually by what is going on. I suggest we spread the resources required across all of us, ensuring the pain is as minimal as possible and make the gains that much more effective when achieved.”
For the first time, Klaus, Chairman of the Procyon Group, spoke, having been pushing a pen across his portion of table with another pen.
“Resource allocation is all well and good, but you’re missing a key point. This is a military operation; to speak of, only three members have any military forces to speak of; Talidan, Svaankor and my organization in the Procyon Group. And to be blunt, of the three of us, Procyon is the one with the most personnel, material and platforms, and the experience for this. This is an assault on a target, we go in, break through the enemy fleet, hit the enemy CIC and destroy the refineries. If anyone is going to be doing this, it will be the Group.”
Both the Terran Director and the Chief Steward began to raise their voices, but he held up a hand again, adjusting his tie before speaking again.
“We cannot afford a massive force to be sent out, and further, the galaxy has become far more dangerous than ever before, we will need these forces to stay and protect. Procyon can spare the forces needed for this and we will be sharing the communication technology we received. This needs to be our best foot forward if we are to get the respect and foot in the door with the CGSS. We can all provide the resources, but Procyon will handle the military portion, that is what we are built for.”
He watched their expressions tighten and had to prevent a chuckle from going out; both Talidan and Svaankor knew this was an opportunity to increase their hand in the power game going in the formation of the SSA. However, both knew their militaries were not as large, organized or trained as the Group’s, and any attempt to sabotage this would mean removing one of the only lifelines other than joining SAGA or CONA they had. Procyon would be one step closer to its goal of being the power behind the throne of the SSA.
There was motion out of the corner of his eye and he turned, only for his neutral expression to drop into confusion, mirrored by the other four in the council, as Fejer Amália Nemes had risen her hand. The Nasreus Feyl had barely spoken at these meetings, unless it was in matters regarding their colony or psionics, and usually just voted to support Talidan, their patron. Now, they had something to say; the Chairman could feel his stomach drop as he was forced to acknowledge their right to speak.
In a quiet but firm voice, she spoke, “It is true, Chairman Harlan, that your forces are the pinnacle of what is available to the Alliance at this moment, but are we not trying to build a nation together, a unity of purpose, will and spirit? Our flag shows our hands clasped together as a united chain, and we are the embodiment of that chain, the anchor for our respective peoples. We must work together if we wish to build this nation as we have committed to; thus we propose that forces from Svaankor and Talidan are used alongside Procyon, to enhance our ability to fight together.”
The Director and Steward both seemed to relax, while Klaus felt his hands clench; if he went against this argument, it’d seem like the Group was never interested in the Alliance effort to begin with. Damn these psi bastards. She continued speaking, however.
“We also propose that the Group remain in command of this effort; we need to maintain a clear view of the field and they have the most experience of the three member nations with a large enough force for this. Their experience can be shared with the Republic and Guild forces here.”
Klaus eyes narrowed even as he let his body relaxed; the red eyes of the Fejer was staring at him, and he could only wonder what his opposite was thinking. Talidan and Svaankor were not going to be happy they were forcing them to command the overall force but they were still giving the political edge to the Group.
What game was she playing at?
There was more arguing, mostly about disposition of forces, but this was just petty details; the major strokes had been done. It was determined that, since they had similar doctrines, that the naval force would be a mix of Talidan and Procyon, while the ground forces would be Procyon with Svaankor support, using the heavier doctrine of the Guild to aid the groups mobile and EW warfare style. Now, the ball was in Procyon’s court; all they had to do was make the landing stick.
***
Rear Admiral Marcus Freitag stood on the bridge of his ship, the PGS Swift Spear, one of the two Assault Carriers that would be leading the assault on Leibr. He had been given his standing orders from the Chairman and what the disposition of his forces were to be. They were to have his Assault Carrier and its sister ship, Swift Blade, two Group Cruisers, the Orion and the Daedalus, two Talidan Destroyers, the Arkann and the Huslan, and four Procyon Group Frigates, the Duskblade, the Dawnblade, the Voidcutter, and the Starskimmer. Together with a force of landing ships from both the Group and the Guild, they had their strike force for the mission. He was to coordinate with Captain Christopher Walker for the Talidan ships and Lieutenant Colonel Isabel Mendoza for the Guild’s group forces.
They had, over the course of a few hours, gathered the forces arrayed with surprising speed; it was an open secret that cooperation was at strained levels between the members, but once they decided on something, they had laid aside their differences to execute the mission. This has given Procyon the opportunity they needed but now it was on him to ensure they made good of that opportunity to show they deserved to head the military forces for the SSA and to give a chance for them to get some outside aid.
“Sir, all ships are reporting green, the Arcnian Foundation personnel have finished the upgrades of our communication equipment as per the provided designs. Tests are completed, and crews are ready; we’re just waiting for your go.”
An intake a breath and a nod; it was time. “Open a fleetwide channel.”
“Channel open, sir.”
All across the fleet, the internal communication speakers would begin to blare and the Rear Admiral’s voice began to sound,
“Personnel of the Mining Guild, Republic and the Group, today we are embarking on the first test of our newly found Alliance. Today, we show to the galaxy, and ourselves, that we can step out from the shadows of the giants that surround us and seize our own destiny. To show that the chains we are forging are stronger than any weapon, any fleet, any idea beyond our bonds of community. We go to aid our fellow natives from the corrupting fingers of Corona and show our worth to all who can see. If we work together and do our jobs, together with the other nations who respond to the call, we will be victorious. With Many Hands, We Grasp the Future!”
The bridge crew cheered and he could hear cheering from across the fleet and he smiled. Perhaps this wasn’t a futile effort after all. He motioned and the command was given; warp bubbles were generated and the ships shot into beams of lights and flecks of stars before disappearing in a flash. As they traveled, the Lieutenant Colonel of the Guild forces stared at a message on her command holopad, the words few but clear, orders from the highest levels.
‘Should the operation begin to fail, do all that is in your power to ensure the blame is on the Group.’
***
The ships would be first detected as incoming FTL signatures, Alcubierre warping of space time, before they arrived in flashes of light, streaks of energy coalescing back into the forms of the ships. Ten combat ships made up the SSA forces, with landing assault ships in tow for the ground forces. Flashes would be seen as the coilguns would start firing, but it was not weaponry, but cold launching of drones to be sent out, as the beginnings of the Very Large Array [VLA] would start, gathering data on the system and the ships around them as they waited for communication or signs of other arrivals.
It could be seen as a miracle that the coronans hadn't destroyed the local Ancnet beacon... or much other infrastructure, for that matter. In fact, the damage was incredibly specific for what intelligence about the Third Republic had been passed on to the new arrivals.
Leibr wasn't a large system. It was actually quite young, astrologically, with only two worlds. The planet of Czinst, as mentioned, housed most of the population and a blockade of gargantuan Coronan linebackers - a hundred kilometers in height - hovered over its alpine surface, the fallout stormfronts of bombardments in remote locations visibly crawling through the atmosphere. Likely anti-orbital installation. The other planet, Remo, was a gas giant whose sheer size - that of three jupiters - had meant that the majority of the remaining non-stellar mass in the system shared its orbit, moons and cloud frequently pockmarked by new meteorites. Surrounding it were the critical refineries, small as they were as far as major installations went; protected by defense platforms, they were well-protected from such stellar bodies, and they had been spared from the immediate invasion due to the very fact that Corona couldn't safely dislodge the defending platforms without endangering the refinery.
Scattered throughout the interim were the drifting hulks of multinational export ships. Carnaithian, Triarch, Yamanakako, and more off-the-shelf designs lay dead in the void. But they were not destroyed - rather, they had been thoroughly mission-killed. Some power was still detected coming from some, but a few were so visibly damaged that it was unlikely for any major surviving crews to be present.
--//–
Baas watched the details of the ground war with anticipation, excitedly zooming the view around the holotable as his ground armies shattered defensive position after defensive position. The defending military had already mostly abandoned the cities, hoping to draw the Republic's bailiffs into the forest and avoiding any bombardments of civilian populations. He knew this much. However, he did need to get into those cities. He had tasked multiple ships' AIs with sorting through the hordes of coronan soldiery in an attempt to identify the best-adjusted troopers for special selection. The pyrrhic invasion had already culled at least five divisions' worth of idiots, so he hoped he'd have some troops with decent combat instinct to pick from. Of course, they still wouldn't be smart, but at least they'd know how to shoot.
"Judge," the AI core suddenly announced into the command room - startling William from his slumber in one of the chairs, "A small fleet has been detected jumping into the edge of the system. How would you like to respond?"
--//--
"We're glad you made it."
The preceding message from the CGSS seemed a little superfluous given the circumstances. Once the ships had made it into the system, databursts were cast to them from the local Ancnet beacon, containing both a code adapter algorithm as well as the promised coordination software.
"As previously stated, we do not know much about the situation in-system. Our recommendation as of now is to affiliate with one another. Despite coronan presence, we doubt they will be capable of a prompt response to your arrival. There will be no live communication from this point until further notice. Good chances to you all."
Oort Cloud of Leibr System
Towit and its three smallship companions reduced their warp velocity as they approached the Oort cloud of the Leibr system.
Deploying sensor drones, Towit began to feel its awareness of the surrounding system take a more defined shape in its minds eye. Nearby asteroids that were material rich were tagged by the drones for dissassembly and assimilation to augment the ability of each vessel to replenish their composite shield microships should they fail as well as to ensure they had an adequate stock of defensive missiles.
Protean shifting had taken place while they were underway, with each smallship - Ista, Happy Feet, and Phyrrich Visions - selecting similar strategies. They would screen and protect Towit while the larger bioship focused its mental energies on disrupting enemy forces and augmenting allied ones.
Speaking of allied forces..
The pod of ships turned their attention to the other alien vessels that would compose the task force. It drew a burst of conversation over the Duality.
They had chosen a simple field with purple trees and a red sky - Ista's homeworld, Towit thought - as their coordination center. Ista herself was lounging on her side, the vibrancy of her own purple skin echoing the nature of this memory-world, "There sure are a lot of them.."
Towit nodded, the old haleelian still pushing its sense horizon further, "Yes. Four or five other factions. Shall we use standard FC protocols?"
The other three affirmed in unison; consensus easily reached. As Towit sent out a single sensor drone to the peripheries of each factional fleet, Happy Feet spoke up, "Will we coordinate directly with them? It will be challenging, even with the aliens coordination protocols so graciously given by this organization."
Visions illuminated itself in agreement, "Unknown species and unknown classification. Complexity of task before us is significant."
Towit nodded, "I acknowledge this. Yet, it is still our responsibility to aid and attempt to reduce loss of life. We each volunteered to that effect. Regardless of the challenge, we must needs rise to the occasion."
Ista affirmed this opinion, while the other two remained neutral. Consensus was not reached.
Regardless if they were united on every granular opinion, First Contact was still priority number one. And Towit could say with upmost confidence that it would be the most unique in Meta-Sax history.
As each drone got into range Towit sent out a pre-recorded message using this galaxies networked common languages: "Greetings and salutations to the New. We are Meta-Sax of Clade Ladon. Ancient noema dictates rituals of engagement - yet this instance is unique. The rituals will be forebeared unto the future."
"Contest of great skill awaits us all. Towards this, we speak of our abilities: one locator EWAR array, three support supplementary nodes. The ones who are here do not extirpate. Will support, aid, and reduce harm."
"Coordination with peer-groups paramount to success. Request integer-level 2 communication with shipselves."
Anxios System, Ancerious Galaxy
The ships of the Selenican Republic, few in number and small in size they may be, were lined up just on the border of the Anxios system, preparing to jump to Leibr in order to assist against the Coronans. Onboard the Farinsa-Class, which was designated as the flagship of the small strike group, was one admiral Feleka Okala. Okala was a strange man, having, in the past, nearly completely ignored Selenican doctrine during war game exercises which allowed him to win that particular fleet problem. Considering the urgency of this mission, things would need to be much more by-the-books and less out of control.
"Admiral, sir, we're receiving a message from the Capital." one of the bridge crew says to Okala, whom previously was inattentive of his crew.
"What're they saying?" Okala asks, suddenly snapping back to the situation at hand from his daydream in staring out of the bridge window.
"They are ordering us to jump to Leibr as soon as is possible."
"Well, relay the order to the rest of the fleet and the engine control room. Time is of the essence."
"Aye, sir."
This bridge crew member, getting up from his seat violently, rushes just a bit down the hall and gets the communications officers to relay this order to all ships in the small task force. Just a minute later, all ships crank up their FTL drives and lock targets on the outskirts of the Leibr system. Rumor has it that there will be many other small taskforces here, all equally from recent risers on the galactic stage. A sudden dead silence goes throughout each ship as they blink out of the Anxios system, having left not one safety untested and all crew exercises halted.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
The Selenican task force, codename "Hognose" or "TFH," finally reaches the system which the Coronans have occupied. The Coronan linebackers loom large in the sensors of TFH.
"We have to defeat those monstrosities?!" Okala exclaims, met with similar shock and confusion from the other ships of the task force.
But, having beat the Selenicans in being here first, were an unknown ally; the Meta-Sax. First contact with outside powers was more than always diplomatic in nature, and on-the-fly operations were not the Selenican's strongest suit. The message they sent, a quick burst of information, was quickly intercepted and read by the Selenicans.
"They're asking for cooperation and a detailing of our skills, huh? Well, nothing wrong with cooperating with an ally." Okala remarks after reading the message for himself, and the following is transmitted to the Meta-Sax ship.
"We bid you a warm welcome ourselves. We are the task force sent by the Selenican Republic, in order to defeat those whom have attacked this system. We acknowledge the treat and danger our enemy poses, and are more than gracious for the assistance your ship(s) can provide. We are able to supply fire support from range through Taychonic weaponry, along with the capabilities that our carrier, STA L'kela, can provide."
Data scrolled down the holographic tactical screen before the Rear Admiral, ever expanding and increasing in detail as the VLA launches continued, and the drones began to extend and utilize their sensor suites to their fullest extent. One of the bridge officers, face staring ever forward at his screen, hands moving all over his console, while reading out the results.
“Leibr was hit hard, but what tactical data and historical information the AI were able to pull before operation start indicate the Third Republic is usually sloppier than this. The local AncNet beacons, local communication beacons and other orbital infrastructure vital to commerce have been left intact. Whatever strike happened here, was fast, efficient and preplanned.”
He nodded along to the assessment,
“Have the battle algorithm updated accordingly and link up to the VLA to ensure we get data as fast as possible from the fight ahead. What’s the status of enemy forces?”
The officer, already working to enact the first order, inputting commands to their Tactical Analysis System or TAS, to begin preparing offensive and defensive options while reviewing the AncNet data dump on the Coronan’s received before the jump.
“Enemy force is stationed in blockade formation above the planet of Czinst, as the CGSS intel predicted; the data is still fuzzy but we’re seeing signs of ortillery from orbit hitting key installations, precise removal of anti-orbital infrastructure and options is the likely intent. The other planet, the gas giant Remo, has the local refineries, replete with defense stations, still intent and out of enemy hands. A possible future target but not the focus yet. The casualties of the defensive forces here are also supporting the intelligence regarding the capabilities of this Coronan force; the vessels either had their reactors or power systems targeted or were overwhelmed piece by piece until they could no longer properly fight back or at all.”
Before the man could continue, a ping sounded and another officer cut in,
“Incoming communication from the AncNet beacon, cyberscans match the CGSS handshake protocols.”
Marcus leaned forward, interested to see what their contractors wanted:
“We’re glad you made it. As previously stated, we do not know much about the situation in-system. Our recommendation as of now is to affiliate with one another. Despite Coronan presence, we doubt they will be capable of a prompt response to your arrival. There will be no live communication from this point until further notice. Good luck.”
A thank you but try not to die message, that was helpful. The code adapter and coordination software, on the other hand, was more what they were looking for. With a gesture, the Ops officer began to coordinate in getting the update installed, after a proper security scan and check, to update their sensors and communications to properly integrate with the others. A few key presses had the holographic display shifting to their new ‘allies’ around them and processing the incoming data as well.
Messages began to come in as their fellow warriors in arms began to reach out as advised, and Marcus leaned forward to speak.
“Operations, is the communications update complete?”
“Finishing final checks and installation now, sir. TAS is beginning to work on the incoming messages.”
Cyberwarfare was an ugly and vicious theater of the battlefield, and one which unknown factors could not be taken lightly as any chance to fight could be lost by simple packets of data. As the messages came in, they were scanned and run through cybersecurity, virus and packet scans, handshake protocols and more before being cleared and the translators bringing the languages and digital structuring more readable by their systems.
The first was curious, from the very beginning; the Meta-Sax of Clade Ladon. These would be new arrivals, so the AncNet information dump would not be applicable here. First Contact protocols it would be, a hand pulled a part of the screen closer to see the text from the Procyon’s protocols for such a scenario and looking between that and the message they received. An odd choice to send a fleet that refused to do any damage to the enemy; moral pacifism was all well and good, but this failing state came and invaded home territory for no reason but their own benefit, if you weren’t willing to take up arms in such an easy propaganda/moral victory context, your usefulness as an ally was limited. Still, they wanted to support, and they could at least draw fire away them at
at worst.
The second group they had not yet heard from yet but he could see evidence they were in communion with the Meta-Sax. Straightening himself, Marcus prepared himself for showtime.
“Comms, relay the following message as I speak it, dual channel, highest encryption we can muster.”
“Channel open, sir.”
Greetings to our fellow threat responders, I am Rear Admiral Marcus Freitag of the Solar Systems Alliance. Attached with this message is a databurst of relevant tactical information on our capabilities. In short, we are a precision force from range, removing enemy capabilities with well-coordinated strikes. The situation indicates the enemy may be using similar tactics, so we will have to adjust accordingly. We only have so much time before the Republic reacts properly to our presence, so we need to decide if we’re dealing with the CIC on Czinst or the refineries first.”
Even as the message was sent out, the fleet began to condense itself into a formation, tightening its point defense arcs, pilots were rushing to their strike craft and final checks for weapons and systems were being done and redone. Enemy capabilities were unknown beyond general space internet searches, so they were in the dark here.
Towit and their peers waited for some time in the relative differential of space-time that they currently inhabited mentally. They tossed around various ideas based on the limited sensor data currently available regarding hostile positions and then compared them against the existing ship assets that formed their alien peers.
In many ways, it reminded Towit of a historical battle from early in the old Confederations history, though of a vastly smaller scale. Megaships and megastructures that were intimidating, but ultimately inferior craft.
He hummed softly, recalling with distant laziness an old tune from those days while Happy Feet mused, "Well, there are more of them now. Shall we guide and guard?"
Visions illuminated itself, "Protect life."
Towit, though, shrugged, "As much as we are able. The calculations are not in our favor of a bloodless battle. Such a concept itself is conceited and arrogant."
Ista interjected, moving the sense-horizon of their conjured world-space to a view of the actual real-space their physical bodies inhabited. Towit stood out easily as the far larger of the quad-array, while the three nearly-identical smallships formed a delta. At a larger distance were the Selenican ships. The information was interesting; tachyonic weaponry? They had never heard of such a thing. It only served to highlight the gross variances between the home-universe and this one. What else remained to be discovered, Towit could only imagine.
"A carrier and presumably long range fire support. It should be more than sufficient. We should adapt ourselves to disrupt enemy targeting and feed precise location data to them."
Ista's theory was sound. It brought Towits eyes to the others who had just arrived. It seemed to be a very similar task force as the ones the Selenican's had brought. Which meant they had very much amplified the existing stratagem.
Sensor drones peeled back in real-time as the Meta-Sax moved their bodies in space to array with the others. -
"Meta-Sax protocol in such combat situations demands disruption of enemy potential entosis. Enforcement of realm-space counter-engagement envelopment will be our priority. The array will feed shipselves with integer-12 coordination impulse to effect greater metaxy across constellation."
They sent the information across the provided coordination feed - essentially, they would take the front of the fleet formation, spreading themselves into a wider delta while coordinating anti-missile and anti-smallship fire. They then would use their wide sensor drone networks and protational field boundaries to detect then disrupt enemy firing solutions. This data would be counter-fed into allied ships so that they could predict and counter-attack accordingly.
"Relative-space speeds are non-linear compliant for Meta-Sax Clade Ladon. Shipselves will quick-respond to needs of constellation. Liminal rejoicing in the acknowledgement of the New."
To the Sun Shore cruiser, traversing a wormhole was like a singular, kaleidoscopic dream. It wasn't quite the same; the analogy only worked in communicating a drastic shift in cognition and perception. Sleeping things were helpless, only half-aware, or acting on impulse. But this task took almost absolute awareness; it was a momentary grasp of transcendent understanding and supreme competence. In some strange ways, there was pride in the act of plotting a wormhole transit. Even for the Jinzhi brain aboard, which had never experienced the equivalent maritime undertaking, the image came to mind: a lone vessel breaking through turbulent and violent seas with no guarantee of return.
Of course, it wasn't alone, and there had been no real risk. The fleet - totaling ten warships and five assault craft - had networked together to share the burden of the task. Parallelizing wasn't a silver bullet, but it helped correct for imprecision and hardware errors. Ultimately, the ships plunged into knotted spacetime without complaint or concern.
There was no crossing a threshold, no moment of light and violence. It was stunning, mind-boggling, but nearly instantaneous. The fleet was just there, awash in new starlight. New radiation. The feeling of a different solar wind on metal and carbon skin.
And it was loud. The Jinzhi crafts weren't the first.
It appeared that these alien associates loved to talk.
-- --
After deliberation, they'd designated one of the Nomad Moon cruisers as the flagship. It wasn't entirely suited for the role; the Sun Shore built these warships for bombardment and fleet screening, not command. But there were no dedicated command platforms in the vicinity, and it'd do. Like all Jinzhi-designed warships, the vessel resembled an angular spire chipped from black stone; finely contoured and slightly asymmetric, a mass of angled stealth paneling and curved surfaces distorting its silhouette.
It might have seemed impossible that intelligence had constructed something so chaotic, but it served nothing but function. Passive sensors could miss it entirely from the wrong angle, and the arrangement optimized armor positioning.
The cruiser's payload was already active. A swarm of small, tubular drones darted about, reaction thrusters buzzing. They served as tertiary communication antennas and intercept platforms, a distributed cloud of eyes and ears.
First, the Nomad Moon listened.
Unorthodox, in many ways. But there were some welcome surprises - tachyon weaponry, pacifist allies, strike craft, and a rather unexpected sense of newfound camaraderie.
Because we are all comparative unknowns? Shared purpose?
The cruiser considered.
However, there is no guarantee that our relationship with these entities will remain cooperative following the resolution of this incident. Conversely, this endeavor could also assist in future engagement. The risks are losses and exposure of strategic and tactical capabilities to outside parties.
Dialogue. Resolve.
Decision. Eight in favor, four against, and three abstaining, with appropriate weighting based on processing power and subjectivity depth. The cruiser prepared to transmit.
"Myriad-Sun Shore. Dawnline Exoatmospheric Command. Cruiser Yishan. We have listened. We are speaking. Present capabilities incorporate long-range missile bombardment, electromagnetic accelerator armament, proton accelerator armament, patrol drones, and electronic warfare. All warships employ limited degree of observational reduction technologies. We will assist when appropriate in engagement. The contribution of other parties present is valued. We will provide further tactical information when relevant."
Curt. To represent themselves, they'd chosen was a vague, airy tone that a human would recognize as female. The message carried an undertone of disquiet; it didn't seem that the Shore vessels were willing to take the lead on discussion or place themselves in a position where they'd be forced to commit to any particular tasking.
Captain Armial paid close attention to the message from the CGSS, disappointed by the final line. Xe had hoped to at least have a chance to communicate with the CGSS, but it seemed they were really limiting their involvement with the situation. Xe looked towards the general accompanying xyr on the ship with a soft glance. The general looked back, stone-faced, both literally and figuratively "Is there something the matter, Captain?"
"Nothing at all, we're about to enter Leibr, I wanted you to alert the crew."
"Right away, Captain."
The intercoms of the Ezekiel flashed on, screens materialising on the ship, displaying the general's face.
"This is your general speaking, we are about to enter Leibr, I expect stellar performance in this battle. We will do our best to limit casualties. As a final notice, remember that we are only to attack marked ships, as to avoid any friendly fire, wouldn't want to hurt our allies in this battle." The screens closed as fast as they appeared.
The message was echoed to the remaining ships, as they finally arrived at their destination. They left the tachyon current, all ships opening a wormhole that led them straight to Leibr.
The Ezekiel was the first to come out, now accompanied by alien ships that Arkranum had never before seen. They had come right in time to receive the transmission from the Meta-Sax.
"Greetings, we are the people of the Tsardom of Arkranum. I am Captain Armial of the Ezekiel, it is a pleasure to join you all in this battle. I have attached documents detailing our weaponry and defensive capabilities, I look forward to marching into battle with you. May you have Tsar Zimeon's blessing."
The Ezekiel was a behemoth of a ship, a craft built like a cathedral, armour held up by pillars and engraved with flowery designs, geometric patterns encompassing the entire ships. Its gigantic tachyon sails began to close, as to prevent their damage. It was equipped with a large tachyon arrow at the mouth of the ship, with railguns lining its exterior, as well as heavy cannons and lasers.
The Meta-Sax group send another transmission, "Noemata apotheosis implies glorification of stratagem to isolate and clear refinery space. This will allow collective-neutral-allied shipselves to explore coordination without operational risk. Build metaxy. Establish semiosis baseline."
Baas watched as dozens of new contacts entered the system - near-simultaneously, and in the same area as one another - and were updated into new positions by the scanners of his fleet. A concerted effort. But they weren't recognized. While Coronans, themselves, were more often than not stupid, their computers were incredibly capable to make up for the deficiencies. Of course, an overbearing judge or two usually fucked that up regardless... But he was different. William sat at his feet, content as could be, and Huulb excitedly groveled at a seat adjacent to Baas's own.
He stroked his traditionally-attractive chin in thought. That was in human terms, not coronan - if not for his eyes being on different vertical levels upon his face, and the matching assymetry of his shoulders, his relative lack of deformities may have found him as passable in human settlements. Unfortunately, he was still recognizably coronan and was rejected by his own people for being a misfit. He felt himself getting angrier and reminded himself to stop clenching his jaw... to jut out his chin and fix his slouching posture. He was better than his people, and he would lead them to victory.
The third republic had twelve linebackers to play with - quadruple that number was present in escorts, and another half-dozen assault ships. Baas wasn't about to split his own force and allow a potential mismatch of forces as if playing chess. No, he would be smart about it. He expanded the advanced options for the control panel in front of him, splitting orders between five sixths and one of his fleet; two linebackers and four escorts would stay with the assault ships in orbit to defend them and provide fire support, while ten capital ships and forty-four escorts began to spread out into a wide shield and slowly advance towards the newcomers. He was satisfied for now - and was excited to see how the enemy would respond.
But one thing had been overlooked... the invaders had never interdicted the system.
Towit spotted the movement first.
"There. Parts of the alien task force are in motion. It appears two of the largeships are accompanying a collective of sameships. The rest are spreading out towards us."
Ista moved through space in real-time, sending additional drones and probes out to distinct points in space between the approaching group and themselves, "I've deployed additional warning beacons and have nodal connection. Sharing."
The sense horizon expanded slightly, giving them blips of definition of space-time. It would be useful for when they needed to throw some of their more exotic abilities around to have a firm grasp on the nuance of the star system they were in. The remaining smallships remained in array with Towit, who opened a channel.
"Allied-designate forces notice: neutral/hostile elements in motion spreading in pattern indicative of encirclement. Analysis of space-time metric indicates viability for protational expansion through linear acceleration-state. Meta-Sax doctrine will seek to disrupt formation system. Further recommendation to secure refinery-space prior to enrapture-entosis of neutral/hostile element."
Disrupting at scale would be too great a burden on the small group of Meta-Sax, especially at these distances. Should the Coronan's close, however, the fleet would be at a disadvantage due both to numbers and assumed firepower. Thus, creating moments in space-time that are anomalous enough to make the foe warry would be the goal. Towit briefly wished he'd embraced a more radical morphological shifting to make this less stressful on his shipbody, but they could only make due with what they had.
As the array focused their collective intelligence on the math at hand, they waited to see how their allies would respond to the communication.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
The lumbering giants of the Coronan movements were spotted and relayed across TFH by the carrier, which possessed the strongest sensor suite of the craft. Certainly, with these hulking giants, their movements would be very slow, and very, very deliberate.
"Sir, receiving message from Meta-Sax." A comms officer relays to Okala, forwarding the Meta-Sax's message.
"And I'd agree with them. Staying still would be suicidal, all the cards in enemy hands. Get two squadrons of fighters out for a combat area patrol, NOW. Have one stay with the Meta-Sax and one stay on us." Okala commands, staring intently at a screen which is reading out the little information known about these behemoth ships. Of course, their speed and size are apparent, as is their sluggish acceleration, but...with such size, must come lethal levels of weaponry. Getting too close, like with any engagement, would likely prove to be detrimental, but staying at such range would mean that the missiles of the SR would be extremely ineffective. Only the Psiorans have tachyonic weapons, and who knows how effective they'd be against these ships.
"Sir, your orders?"
"Make sure the Meta-Sax know of the combat area patrol, and get our carrier and other ships somewhat out of the way, primarily wider than in such tight formation. Keep the Yafrei-Class at the front, Psiorans backing them up."
"Aye aye, sir."
This comms officer then rushes back to his post to relay the fleet orders to the captains of the ships, the buzz of the equipment ringing loudly in his ears. A dim red glow begins to brighten out the back of the thrusters of the Farinsa-Class, with the other ship's captains heeding their orders with the tight jump formation being traded for a more traditional battle formation. These fleet movements are relayed to the other ships of their allies, tight comms will need to be kept if they wish to defeat this numerically superior foe.
"Hmm...Meta-Sax recommended we go for the refineries...I wonder..." Okala muses, staring out of the bridge's window to that target. "Redirect the formation to aim towards those refineries. Can't risk being encircled."
"Sir, all due respect, but isn't our goal here to defeat this enemy?" the captain of the ship asks, having previously kept his words to himself. "We aren't here to capture some refineries which we likely won't be able to use."
"Captain, this is a crucial target, we need to avoid encirclement and play to our strengths against these behemoths as best we can. And I, as your commanding officer, order you to point this ship towards the refineries and fire the thrusters." Okala replies, a somewhat angry tone in his voice.
"Aye, sir."
Following this incredibly short discussion, orders to redirect the fleet towards the refineries are sent, and received well, as most of the ships were already moving in that direction. Fleet redirection updates are sent to all of the allied warships.
The communications shot in, one after the other, as the impromptu task force worked to determine capabilities and the next course of action. It was rapidly evident that the refinery was that best course of action. Reviewing the messages, the Rear Admiral could see the Meta-Sax would be best for cyberwarfare and protecting their communication and coordination, the various other factions seemed to specialize like the Alliance in long range combat, which would be good against the Coronan’s. Assuming they could prevent them from closing with their massive vessels that is.
Almost as if they heard him, a ping sounded and the comms officer began speaking.
“Movement detected from the Third Republic force!”
“Show me.”
The tactical map updated to show ten of the linebackers and forty-four of the escorts peeling off the defensive formation and blooming into a loose shield, clearly on an interception course with their battle group. Six ships remained to defend the assault ships they have in orbit.
“Hrm, the first move; they have the numerical and tonnage advantage and even the Coronans aren’t stupid enough to miss that.”
Beeping informed him of more communications, the Meta-Sax were concerned with encirclement and would be conducting cyber operations to degrade the enemy, with more intention to push on the refineries. Their allies seemed to agree on the same and began moving.
“Ops, status on the VLA deployment?”
“97 percent complete, completing final series of launches now; projected full signal clarity within 10 minutes.”
“Very well. Send a full encryption data package on our capabilities, the greatest hits, they don’t need any of the specific details. And-“
He paused, leaning forward as his eyebrows furrowed while staring at the tactical display. The officer paused and turned around, confused at the pause.
“Sir?”
“The Coronans…they haven’t turned on their interdiction systems yet. It is possible it is a tactic of this AI, but it could also be a message to tell us to leave while we still can. Or…”
Anxious fingers tapped the arm of his chair as thoughts whirled through his mind before a decisive nod.
“Open another encrypted channel to the fleet; I have an idea. Might be a bit risky but it could help confuse the enemy.”
”Allied ships, we have noticed the Coronans have failed to deploy interdiction in the system yet. We have a potential opportunity to do a quick strike on the assault ships, degrade their ability to support and reinforce their attack on Czinst, as well as provide better odds for our eventual assault on the CIC. We recommend preparing a tactical firing package to jump in, unload on the assault ships and pop back. This can confuse, or at least, force the enemy’s attention in two places, giving more time for our refinery assault to progress. Further, we can jump to the refinery as this is happening and once our forces return, activate interdiction. Uploading recommendation operation plans now.”
Marcus hoped they’d be able to make use of the opportunity but the prospect of getting any closer to the Coronan linebackers still gave him pause, and they had to consider this was a trap of some kind.
“Once the VLA deployment salvos are complete, move the fleet to a loose defensive formation to maximize missile and laser defenses and deployment and begin moving to the refineries. Based on the tactical movements I am inputting, I want jump vectors and firing packages prepared. We need to maximize our entry and exit as much as possible, we don’t know how long before their interdiction comes up once we begin.”
The cold augur's eyes twitched. Lenses and computers refocused, glaring out into the open abyss of space. The enemy fleet was moving, burning for an intercept. Something like concern flooded the Nomad Moon, the byproduct of internal pumps increasing pressure and systems warming. But there was nothing; the calculations were just hypotheticals. The projections were merely futures to avoid, not specters of fate. There was plenty of time to plan, react, to decide.
Still, mass and firepower were variables the Sun-Shore fleet could not independently match. It was fortunate that they excelled in longer-range combat, although the number of c-fraction weapons available was disappointingly low. A different fleet composition would've excelled. For now, the Akasha destroyers would have to be their fleet's core.
The Meta-Sax are advocating for an attack on the refineries. If possible, we'd like to draw the bulk of enemy forces away from their posting and break up their formation. Additionally, their failure to employ interdiction has rendered their assault ships vulnerable. These are acceptable parameters for engagement. Follow the set trajectories. Scatter emission decoys at auto-generated intervals and cut propulsion once appropriate orbits are achieved.
At that command, the fleet moved, a disparate swarm of black shards sliding through starlight. The Dawnline warships began their acceleration burn, torches flaring brightly into the void like azure tails. Smaller plumes split off from the fleet as it moved, miniature clouds of tube-launched decoy drones skittering off in a vaguely coherent scattershot. With luck, it'd create extra noise for the Coronan ships to sift through, allowing the Dawnline fleet to leverage their stealth plating.
So far, so good.
However -
"Requisitioning clarification on pending action. Preparing a superluminal jump will produce detectable emissions," the cruiser suddenly spoke. "Should we opt to engage the assault force, it is feasible that the Coronans will alert their rear guard. Unless the respective sensors are incapacitated or rendered ineffectual, this element of the proposed attack is a gamble. We do not contest the motion should the proper disruption be available. Henceforth, we request clarification and cooperation from allied forces regarding these capabilities."
The Ezekiel's gravitic drives suddenly activated, the ship turning towards the incoming fleet. The front of the ship would begin rotating, the tachyon arrow charging up.
Incoming Message from the Ezekiel "We've readied our Tachyon arrow, we'd also like confirmation on whether or not we should begin to fire at the enemy. We can also put up an interdiction field if necessary, or use our drones as decoys as well."
The destroyers surrounded the Ezekiel and positioned below, above and next to the dreadnought. Their primary focus was to defend the main ship.
"I'd recommend jumping in and out as well. Our ships are equipped with quantum drives, we should be able to get in and out rather safely."
Armial ended the transmission. Xe looked towards the numerous screens surround xem. A radar beeped away, informing them of the Coronan ships, not that this was new information. The captain was honestly at a loss to what to do. If it was only xyr ships xe needed to worry about, the solution would be easy. However, now xe needed to figure out how to co-operate with these other nations, many of which they'd never heard of before. Xe looked towards the information about their ships the Meta-Sax had relayed, and opened another communications channel.
"Meta-sax, we would to request more information about your spiral burns."
Happy Feet took the initiative to respond, as their peers were occupied calculating the euclidean geometry of the spacetime they were altering.
"Meta-Sax 'spiral burn' is strategy of acceleration through an axial spiral towards enemy at highest velocities. Maximum capabilities depend upon local star-system topography. Primary method via warp fields, secondary through reactionless engine system. Query; fleet-task-array decision is direct attack on foe's back line?"
Another communications request opened up, emanating from Remo's orbit. The gas giant, as large as it was, wasn't home to a lot - its most important assets were the refineries in the lagrange points of the world, and those were nowhere near it. Yet the hail did, in fact, come from the vicinity of the world itself. Before anyone had the opportunity to argue with themselves over the safety of accepting the hail, a small databurst - unencrypted - hit the formation.
"Locals at Remo and Refineries. Friendlies."
If nothing else, the lack of cursing and the clear use of galactic basic meant they were telling the truth.
--//--
Baas boredly watched as his ships slowly dragged themselves away from Czinst, away from him. At least comms would be quieter, not that he really listened to it. The intruders had yet to do anything - surely dumbstruck by the efficacy of his fleet action. Or just dumb, he allowed himself to chuckle to. He turned back to the view of the world below; massive wildfires had all but burned the entirety of a continent-island already, the sea between it and the larger landmass halting his forces. Commanding AI were desperately trying to simultaneously convince the tankers that their machines were, in fact, capable of submerging, as well as tell the flight crews that they couldn't make any assaults independent of the ground forces.
He dragged his hands across his face, groaning. This was boring on both fronts. He eyed the space station careening around the planet at a higher orbital plane and wondered what it had in store... without much more thought, he ordered the deployment of a battalion to the construct.
Towit and his peers observed the rest of the allied forces sortie into their respective positions. It would suffice for now. In the meantime, Towit himself deployed some of his parasites.
The little fifty meter craft had formed some of the growths on its skin - growths that seemed entirely normal up until the moment they suddenly went flying off into space. The non-sentient weapons were more or less extensions of its will - a relic of the old wars. It guided them into a tight formation within its own shield web and pondered how to best effect the formation of attacking craft to aid the allied offensive.
More drones deployed while Ista's sensor network pinged different velocities of the enemy ships.
Some of the allies had proposed launching an assault on the core of the hostile formation near the planet, which was logical. A two pronged assault - one on the refineries and one on the planetary blockade may be sufficient to disrupt the enemy formation. Meanwhile, Towit could cause a bit of chaos through his EWAR advantages.
The smallships would participate as amplifiers in this case and formed a defensive array. Towit concentrated, expanding his outer skin further to give his parasympathetic systems the best resolutions. Then he directed the cone of influence in the direction of a third of the incoming ships. Radio waves, gamma wave radiation, photonic bombardment, LIDAR disruption, gravity wave ossification, and as much junk data as the four ships could collectively produce filled that area.
With luck, one of the smallships would find an opening in the enemies sensors, leading to a pathway into the starships computer systems. If they got to that point, Towit had no doubt the minds of the Meta-Sax could peel away at the cyber defenses. It would be but a matter of time.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
"Enemy is going full burn towards us! Speed not estimated to be extremely high, however." One of the spotters shouts into a microphone near their station halfway down the spine of the carrier. The voice is carried through the mic to the main bridge, directly into the commander's ear.
"Sir, we should redirect course from the refineries. The signal we got from them says that they're friendlies, and most importantly, probably civilians. We can't risk firing on them or drawing the Coronan's fire." the commander of the ship talls her superior, Okala.
Hunching over a table with a rough map of the system and the estimations of positions of enemies and allies alike represented by small plastic or wooden pieces painted in a variety of colors, the admiral is seen staring hard at the projected Coronan path.
"We can't split our forces. If we do, as was the initial plan, we would be swept from space in a second. Leibr's defensive forces should've told us as much. But, we need to lure the Coronans away from the planet..." he says to himself, pressing his hand against his heat-sensing pits. "There's no interdiction field up...wait."
"Sir?" the commander asks, not quite sure what her superior officer is thinking.
"We're going to draw the Coronans away from that planet."
"How the hell are we going to do that? They're extremely slow, extremely dangerous vessels, and our assault ships would get massacred by them. And wouldn't our allies need to assist us here?"
"Of course, we'd need to collaborate with them, but our goal in this battle isn't to defeat the Coronan ships - it is to get that Command HQ. And we won't be able to even protect our assault ships if we charge into battle. As such, we need to draw them away, and stay out of combat range if at all possible. Relay the new plan to our allies, and we'll wait for their response."
"Aye, sir."
[+][+]
With that, the commander of the carrier shouts at one of her less useful comms officers to get the order out to the other ships of the CGSS coalition, with this bold plan and all.
---
//TRANSMISSION BEGIN - CGSS COALITION FORCES//
Onboard the Selenican flagship, an admiral of ours by the name of Okala proposes a radical change to the plan. Instead of attempting to secure the refineries controlled by the Coronans, as civilians are present and the harm done to them would invalidate the mission, we propose as the Selenican Navy that we draw away the Coronan forces from Leibr itself and the assault can begin from there. Once you, our fine allies, are in orbit of the planet, it is an absolute nessecity that you force interdiction up to prevent a speedy Coronan response. Our job in this operation will be to keep the Coronans busy and preoccupied while our combined ground forces begin the assault to liberate Leibr.
//TRANSMISSION END//
---
In accordance with the new plan, thrusters are set to full readiness while the hum of guns prepared to fire sings throughout the ships' thin hulls. Shields are checked off and the CAP returns to their carrier for refueling.
Marcus kept his attention between the communications and the tactical display, watching the enemy fleet slowly coming their way and the updates from the allies. The differing plans and ideas showed they were not fully sure of how to proceed. TAS had completed a check of the combat data provided by the CGSS and confirmed the Liebr defense forces had tried a flanking, divide and conquer approach and had been annihilated in short order. Further, the Coronans looked to be deploying some forces to one of the space stations in orbit, for some unknown purpose.
“Incoming transmission from the Selenicans!”
“Put it through.”
//TRANSMISSION BEGIN - CGSS COALITION FORCES//
Eyes close in frustration; the refinery assault was a bust, since the locals were still in control, so they couldn’t use the defense stations to help their fight without risking their lives. This felt like making the same mistake, but he couldn’t think of any other plan and the Selenicans made it clear in their actions as well as words this was the plan they intended to follow.
“Inform all ground forces to ready for combat operations and possible hot drop; I want them ready to deploy as soon as the opportunity becomes available. VLA status?”
“Completed and transmitting at full strength.”
“Focus the array on tracking the enemy and assisting our cyber warfare. Prepare our suites so we can jam and confuse the Coronans as much as possible when we begin the assault. Inform all air wings to prepare as well, and all crews are to be ready for a jump at any moment.”
The staff at Remo were used to waiting at this point - the anxiety-inducing wait for malformed Coronan assault marines to make their way to the outer world had made sure of that. What they didn't expect, however, was the momentary stoppage of the new CGSS arrivals. Sensors could tell them, unblinded by any EWAR, that jump-drives were being recharged.
"Let me be more clear then," the lead officer reiterated with a new, and this time encrypted, message. "I am LDF admiral Ueldi. Seeing as you're anybody other than the coronans, I'm quite happy to help you put your more-limited resources to good use. First hint? I wouldn't suggest jumping on their command group just yet; Sending combat data. Third Republic ships are sluggish and short-ranged, let them put more room between the combat group and the fleshy underbelly. Second hint...
I don't give a damn about the platforms at this point. They're unmanned. I haven't wanted to track the ire of the invaders, but they care a hell of a lot. Civilian government's probably fucked at this point, so I can't get sacked for it - shoot the platforms and we'll just steal the pugs' platforms off of their assault ships to replace them. Maybe they'll throttle up and damage their drives trying to get in range. A shorter wait probably sounds nice to you lot."
--//--
The waiting game was annoying Baas at this point. He watched in disappointment while ground forces continued to grapple with the simple strait between islands that had held them up for days at this point, corpses of gargantuan, city-sized tanks creating new reefs and islands in the shallow waters. He boredly glanced at the cafateria hours posted up by his AI; maybe he'd grab lunch.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
"Seeing as the refinery platforms are unmanned, there goes my primary concern about irritating the CGSS." Okala says, with a very noticeable amount of relief in his voice. "Aim secondary weapons at the refineries- we don't need to worry about the civvies now."
"Aye, sir. Relaying order to the rest of the fleet and allies."
//TRANSMISSION BEGIN - CGSS COALITION FORCES//
With allies made aware of the serpent's plan, a small volley of orange tachyons zip out of the secondary defense turrets onboard the vessels, aiming for non-vital parts of the refineries, though with the sheer energetic force, these particles end up hitting a wide variety of targets, piercing through the refineries with great power and disrupting their function. Of course, the FTL batteries are being charged, ready to zip halfway across the system with allied forces and their assault vessels. Only time would tell the results.
Towit watches as the SR forces move off to engage the refineries. Truth be told, the order of battle was a bit too chaotic for his tastes. While accustomed, to an extent, with the unique variances of other beings given that a bioship was a fully independent mind (which occasionally meant he had to herd cats) it was still at least driven by a singular objective.
Which the fleet appeared to be.. struggling with.
Yet, everyone could not simply go their own way, they needed cohesion to succeed. With a mental sigh, he wished he had the skills required to interface better with NSL. He made a request in the Consensus for time away when this mission concluded to do the needed research so he could talk to these people without needing to hamfist his way around common languages and bad analogies.
The spatial 'mines' they had placed to slow the enemy down were removed. If the goal became to let the enemy come to them, it behooved them to not mitigate that process.
He felt a poke at his side and opened his eyes in the subdomain they had made at the start of this. Istah was smiling at him, "Don't be so impatient with them."
The old ship bristled, "I am not impatient. They're simply too chaotic."
She shrugged at him, a coy grin teasing at her lips, "Hm, well then, let's speed it up!"
He blinked, feeling her expand an array towards the foe and send out a broadcast towards the Coronans, "We understood that entities like yourselves were of a plodding and pondering quality, but surely, this is beyond the pale. Verily, we will pass of old age before you make appreciable progress."
Towit tensed up at broadcast, but the young Istah had already sent it before he could really stop her. With a growing sense of dread, he flushed the protational boundaries and tuned his reactionless engines to their greatest potential speed, "Foolish child."
She looked at him with fondness, "Doddering old man."
The present Meta-Sax ships all prepared themselves, just in case.
Changing the plan and dividing coalition forces at this stage?
The Sun Shore warships and their collective minds bristled uneasily at the sudden shift in tactics. The SR's apparent brashness and immediate pivot to proceed along a new plan exceeded the boundaries of what a Jinzhi would consider common sense. Still, they reluctantly stayed their hand, sitting on warmed tactical systems and jump drives.
Prepare for execution. All vessels report condition BRIGHT. Synchronization of tertiary drives complete. Process for transition to excited state report complete. Recommend preparatory mobilization for close action engagement. Behavioral constraints will conform to these parameters. Eliminate hostile functionality in these areas: maneuverability, air defense, and blind-deaf resistance through sensor access. There will be no consensus on these parameters. All are to comprehend and operate accordingly.
With that final check, they moved on from planning. Like a vulture's favored knives, the vessels hung in space, bristling with concealed armaments. Internal magazines and feed mechanisms hummed to life. Casaba-Howitzer and sensor-dazzling colloid dispersal warheads now sat within the launch tubes of each Sun Shore cruiser. Their escorts merely tuned their reactors, channeling power to electromagnetic accelerators; each was now ready to fill the sky with a rain of metallic darts and streams of false lightning.
"We offer no prayers," the commanding Nomad Moon relayed to its allies. "Merely live. We perform as expected. May all live to see the next phase of the crescent."
With a flurry of communications, the battlespace situated had cleared up a lot more to Marcus’ liking than before; the platforms were free targets and the combat data they had received confirmed they needed to draw them out more before committing to the strike. The Selencians began their assault, opening up on the platforms in earnest, more precision strikes than all out assault but damage was damage. That was the signal for them to finish their preparations in earnest.
Pilots had rushed to their strike craft and were running their final checks and rerunning them, ensuring all equipment and software was at full efficiency, flight crews were doing final refuels and last minute repairs. The assault forces were conducting checks of their own, of their equipment and vehicles and staging in the craft that would deliver them to their targets. The data pulled from the known AncNet about this system, the combat data from the local forces and what they had been managing to get from the VLA were compiled and were being studied for possible landing areas to get to this C&C operation on Czinst.
“Initiate data stream link to all allies. Any updates we get from our VLA, they’ll get them as fast as we do; we can’t have any surprises or confusion.”
“Aye sir.”
If accepted, they would be given access to their sensor network, which was being heavily focused towards the planet. Ignoring the Coronan force made them uneasy but they could only hope they would be out of the area before they full arrived with their firepower.
Final preparations were nearing completion, it was all just waiting for that go signal now and watching the Coronans react to the strike and the smack talking.
Following the Selenican's cue, the Ezekiel would in turn activate its own Tachyon weaponry, firing multiple volleys towards the same direction as the allied ships, causing similar damage. The quantum drives on each Arkanum ship would charge up, preparing to jump the system alongside the Selenican ships.
A transmission followed the call to action.
"As soon as our ships jump, Arkanum's fleet are to set up interdiction, I would recommend bringing up any concerns with this course of action now, before we begin preparations"
The interdiction drones would relocate back to their home ships, ready to jump. A priority was set to the shields in case of a Coronan counterattack, with the priority being protecting the Ezekiel from incoming damage.
Baas boredly tapped his fingers on his jaw as he watched his fleet approaching the new arrivals. They kept doing... random things. Whirlpools of spacetime in his ship's way that were removed just as quickly - One group spooling drives, followed by none, followed by another, followed by all of them. And then they started shooting - not at his forces, but at the locals, doing his job for him. He smiled for a moment.
Wait.
WAITWAITWAIT -
"NO, STOP, STOP IT!" he suddenly cried out, smashing at the command table and startling William and Huulb alike. The taunt arrived shortly after, quickly bring simplified by his AI;
"'We know you're slow, but this is stupid. We'll die off before you get to shoot us.' Assault force is redlining their engines for swift intercept."
"GOOD! They're ruining everything!" he yelled, thinking on what to do. "get our own engines ready to fire! Jump us into the middle of them!"
Surely enough, the assault force's gargantuan monolithic ships quickened their hobbling towards the CGSS's assets; More than one drive faltered and was put under repair due to the strain, and some uselessly desperate gunfire began to spray across the vast distance to the arrivals.
--//--
"Good work. Give them just a minute before you all jump in - inertia's a bitch on ships that fat. And please remember not to blow up the refineries they've got tied to their assault ships."
Admiral Ueldi seemed worth her salt.
Leibr System Outskirts, Ancerious Galaxy
It was almost time for the jump to occur. The Coronans were incensed at the attack on their refineries conducted by the Okala and Ezekiel's vessels, as clear as the sky to any onlookers.
"Okala. We need to put up defenses as soon as possible, the enemy can and will jump at the first given opportunity." The commander of the flagship speaks, his deep voice and stern words echoing throughout the bridge.
"What makes you say that, commander?" Okala replies, already pleased at the current situation.
"We don't know when or to where these enemies are jumping. We must use discretion."
"I like your thinking, commander. All units, redirect sublight thruster power to 80%, all saved power is to go into shields and point defenses."
With little delay the already glowing barrels of the tachyonic shielding projectors and plasma shield projectors begin to brighten. It's a tense moment, waiting for the enemy to go. It wouldn't be but long, though, until the crews jump to the planet itself. Any and all last-minute repairs, as some of the less fortunate ships had some machinery break, were to be carried out. A message to be sent to the CGSS Allies goes out:
"While outnumbered and outgunned, we shall liberate the people of this system from the grips of tyrants and prove our worth through sheer force of will alone, for space itself will be our shield and time our ally!
Coronan ships lumbered through space as the Meta-Sax started pulling in assets. Nearby drones, buoys, and other materials were retrieved in preparation for a quick hop across the system, or for direct ship to ship combat.
In either case, the more sensitive organisms needed to be enshrined in suitable wetbays to protect them.
Pyrrhic Visions dawdled at the task. It wasn't that they were particularly excited, nor frustrated, or indeed even flustered. This was a bit of a game to them. A projection of something that they did often in the simulated subdomains of The Duality. It wasn't like it mattered either way. Whoever won here didn't factor into the greater calculation that did hold meaning to Visions.
The others with them played their parts dutifully. They talked and strategized and plotted on how best to escape from the deluge of enemy fire. The quaint little area of plainland they'd whisked up was even more amusing to the nihilistic shipmind. But what really took the cake was that Towit and Ista actually cared.
What was the point? This little battle was barely a blip. They should expediently end things as quickly as possible so that Visions and their subclade could go back to tinkering with the more important things in life. Namely, other life.
Drones sent pings along Visions nervous system letting them know that they were all in their wetbays. Towits voice echoed in their mind, bridging the gap between that absurdly colorful field and the true-nature of the Meta-Sax. They preferred it as it really was: a miasma of the unknowable, a rainbow of untold universes, a cold and empty dark where once shone infinite stars.
Alright, so maybe they weren't coping well with being cut off from Home. They had the wherewithal to admit this much. But that didn't mean that they wanted to fight the local wars or get involved with local politics. Ladon non with standing, it was NEVER a good idea.
Yet, Visions still dumped power into the core. -C
Still followed the Consensus that they themselves simply threw votes towards. Should we go left? Sure. Right? Why not. Along the grim tide they would go, where else could they? The Clade was the only echo of Home.
With a dozen eyes, the smallship gazed at the incoming Coronan vessels. Big, wasteful, poorly maintained. Certainly, the organisms controlling them were the result of some experiment. A failure of some fashion.
Ista called out to them, snapping Visions back to The Real.
Pings had grown across the sense sphere by an order of magnitude. The enemy had accelerated, but a number of ships had blown out their engines. It seems that the gamble to shoot the refineries was paying off in the most fascinating ways. Who would have thought that something as simple as blowing up their precious prizes would be sufficient to get them to throw caution to the wind?
Towit, Ista and Happy Feet pulled together into a tighter formation. Visions joined them, sneaking itself below the aft pylon of the biodestroyer. It made their sense profile slimmer, but also allowed them to maximize efficiency for a short-range acceleration.
Star hopping was always tricky when in battle. Usually reserved for tactical combat craft, like Towit, so Visions listened to their elder as they spoke.
"We'll need to get up to 80 PSL. No more. Otherwise acceleration effects will be difficult to deal with in conjunction with the fluidic motion. When we arrive, deploying our drones and creating as many layered shields to protect allied ships will be the best approach."
"Offensively, we should be able to use the chromatophore lasers to cut off the weapon mounts on these behemoths."
Visions bristled at the suggestion, "What are we to do to defend ourselves then?"
Ista, helpful as ever, "The protational fields should suffice, and if not them, then our speed. We are smaller and swifter by far."
The Consensus was swift, and Visions acquiesced. To the Maw they would go; as one.
Ineffectual as it was, the Coronan fire streaking through the void spoke loudly of their present state. Even then, segments of their opposition wrung useful telemetry from the desperate barrage, germinating predictive algorithms for point defense targeting and shield distribution. The procedure was instinct. Innate geometry and spatial reasoning pushed to a synthetic, electrochemically spiked fury.
They're panicking. Pushing systems to the brink to play catch-up.
There was something smug lining the thought, backed by distant malice.
Good.
Meanwhile, within the cramped interiors of each Sun Shore vessel, the ordered chaos of scurrying bots and munitions carousels marched on. Four-legged towers of polymer and metal rolled on magnetized tracks from head to stern, slipping past one another by mere centimeters in their mad dash between tasks. Now and then, a drone peeled off from the group, digging into a blinking access panel with an extended manipulator.
They worked in heavy darkness. The environment always resembled a network of veins more than the corridors of a spaceship, with jungle-wet heat and brutal geometry infesting every deck. Even built to exacting mechanical specifications, the organic nature of the space was always evident. The fact that its inhabitants were anything but remained even clearer. These spaces were nightmarish, a maddening world only understood through the strange logic of its mechanized creators.
But it worked. With only the barest concession here and there for alien sentiment, the warships flew on.
Ingress denial preparation complete. Air defense schema construction is incomplete. Recommend secondary analysis on algorithm integrity.
Yet still, there was the closing of the metaphorical distance between predator and prey. Shortly, they'd test that distance.
Full sprint, jaws open.
”We know you’re slow but this is stupid. We’ll die off before you get to shoot us.”
Marcus snorted. Insults, really? It was amazing the Coronans held on this long if this was their attempt to goad a response. He leaned forward and spoke again,
“What is our jump status?”
Operations responded immediately, still working as they did so,
“Almost complete, ninety-eight percent, we have calculated firing solutions based on data of their forces positions in orbit and are coordinating with our allies on jumping positions so there are no collisions.”
“Good, status of ally jumps?”
“By sensor readings, they are preparing to go on the Admiral’s time table as well.”
Now came the worse part, the waiting. Final preparations were being completed, but they had been preparing for this already and there was only so much they could do. Systems were checked, double-checked and triple-checked, prayers were uttered, the ground forces ensured all was ready for deployment once they arrived for a hot drop.
They just watched the inching of the Coronans forces, now roaring forth, engines redlining and space filling up with wasted ammo as the Selenicans began their assault on the refineries. Their transmission came in and Marcus had it sent to every screen in the fleet.
"While outnumbered and outgunned, we shall liberate the people of this system from the grips of tyrants and prove our worth through sheer force of will alone, for space itself will be our shield and time our ally!”
When the time came, and the Coronans jumped to the refineries, the Admiral nodded and comms all over the fleet sounded:
”Begin Jump!
Space warped and twisted as the Alcubierre drive bubbles grew into existence and the ships launched forward at impossible speeds, moving to their designated spots in orbit. The testing each other’s defenses stage was over, into the fray it was now.
The Ezekiel and its accompanying fleet were now ready, the ships re-arranging themselves, disintegrating and then reappearing at the planet. Captain Armial watched xeir fellow allied ships move in, and then gave a brief countdown. The fleet waited with baited breaths for what to do next, a wait which ended as the command came in. The destroyers would re-release their drones into the unforgiving vacuum of space. Armial waited for the last of their allies to arrive, and then the drones did what they were made to do, set up interdiction.
A ping announced another dialogue from Arkranum, "We have set up interdiction, this will hopefully prevent them from making it here too quickly. I am unaware if the Coronans have access to normalisation, but for our collective sake we should hope not. May you update us on our next course of action?"
Armial kept the communication channel open, waiting for someone to respond. The sensors searched for Coronan ships, only to be met by their own allies' ships. They were safe, for now.
Baas's ship ignited in FTL signatures half a minute before the CGSS force dashed across the system to the orbit above Czinst, and dropped in their midst almost simultaneously with their exit - its gargantuan form dwarfing that of the interloping composite force. He watched them all flash into streaks of light, disappear, or otherwise mold the universe to their own will to strike at his forces on the capital world of this system.
"NOOOOOOOO!" He screamed, punching the screen that showed him the estimated count for his FTL to be ready again, the reinforced device not even cracking in response - designed for such misuse. The ten ships that had been rushing to meet the CGSS force reacted sluggishly - not even cutting their forward momentum until Baas ordered it to be done, their obese forms slowly pivoting on the spot. By the time the allied fleet was out of FTL, the coronans hadn't even begun counterburn, some even charging FTL drives in futility amongst the allied interdiction.
The assault ships, as such, were left only sparsely defended - One linebacker and four escorts, and they had not even ignited drives yet. Startled, the hundreds of engines on the capital ship sputtered to life and long-range autocannon fire began to spray out; the escorts were quicker about getting themselves going, beginning to burn for the allied ships, while the reaction on part of the assault ships ranged from beginning a sluggish burn away from the combat to maintaining their orbit over the planet below.
The world below burned; An entire continent had been swept by wildfires and warfare. Even from here, the gargantuan silhouettes of ultraheavy tanks and heavy lift assault aircraft were obvious on high-resolution sensors, their offensive currently broken by a narrow strait to the next landmass. The dead giants could be seen collected on both coasts and even underwater, with entire depots of the titans being held in reserve closer to the nexus of all inter-orbital traffic to the Coronal assault ships - what was assumedly the Coronal command center, growing like a cancer from the suburban outskirts of a city whose buildings appeared burned-out and half-crumbled in the face of wanton assault.
Towit felt the rush of power through his body as the forces of acceleration took root. As one, every Meta-Sax reached the designated PSL speed, maintained it for three seconds, then dropped back into normal space-time at the coordinates they had intended for. Allied ships were nearby and the enemy had left as anticipated.
Which meant it was time to attack.
Spewing out all the drones in his copious bays, Towit and the others moved to attack position against the linebacker.
"Remember, target sensors, engines, then weapons. We'll make it a dead hulk in space."
The smallships chimed their acknowledgement while Towit lead the attack. The Saxheelian vessels used their reactionless drives to accelerate to attack speed, heading at a parabolic angle to avoid the random fire being thrown in their direction. Meanwhile, lasers up to x-ray level were fired from the pores of the naked ship skins. The composite shields, typically always bent around the vessels, had been sent out to defend the nearest allied capital ships.
It was a risk - on one hand, it meant concentrated power from their beam weapons could easily translate through to the enemy vessel. On the other, they only had the protational gravity shields to defend them now, alongside their armor.
Towit raked dozens of lasers across the hull of the Linebacker - some to disable, some to sense, some to hack into the ship systems. Given their technological sophistication, he doubted very much they'd withstand a sustained cyber attack, but that would remain to be seen.
Ista, Happy Feet, and Visions in turn swept back and aft, climbing up the column of material, lancing lasers at the engine assemblies at speeds a fighter would envy.
Whether they succeeded or not would remain to be seen, and as for the escorts, they would leave them up to their allies.
With a red burst of light, the Selenican ships shifted over to orbit above Czinst, with the momentary presence of the main Coronan force jumping away to their previous positions. It had worked, the ploy had succeeded! An eruption of cheers on the Selenican vessels is heard out, but, the joy is short-lived. A Linebacker, even one which had yet to fire its engines, was still a dangerous target, and the escorts were by no means negligible. It was time to fight, and fight they would. Okala would rise from his seat, a small, comfortable seat of blue fabric, resembling an ottoman, to command his forces as he always was taught - from the front.
"All Selenican vessels, aim tachyonic and electromagnetic guns onto that giant!" Okala shouts into his temple-mounted microphone, connected to the covered-over ear caps of his subordinate commanders. "I want it dead in space before we worry about the escorts, then we'll mop them up."
"Aim guns 14 degrees off center, target its engines FIRST! All CIWS batteries, stay ready. We'll need to smack whatever is sent our way out of the stars." one commander relays to his crew, stationed aboard his Psioran-Class, nicknamed "Wild Child" by other crews because of his reckless commanding which has often seen him reprimanded by higher ups on exercises.
Messages like this are similarly heard across the entire Selenican warfleet, with the assault ships remaining behind the Farinsa-Class Carrier Okala is stationed upon, which opens fire with its side-mounted tachyonic lances aimed right for the Coronan Linebacker's engines, to trap it in place.
All ships in formation, including the non-tachyonic equipped assault ships which only have turreted railguns, opens fire at once, the blinding orange light of the tachyonic lances speeding through space close to the speed of light matched with the pressure wave from the barrels of the assault ship railguns, the force of fire rocking the ships.
The first shots have been fired.
The fleet came out of FTL in bursts of light and lines of color realizing into the forms of the Alliance ships, the Alcubierre bubble popping and fading away under the relentless tide of physical laws reasserting themselves. Almost instantly upon transition into normal space did the Alliance start moving, having had the rare occasion to prepare its initial actions. Drones were deployed from the ships, moving to form loose shields of defenses, shoring up their defense capabilities even as targeting was acquired by the weapons systems.
TAC was updating with allied actions, composite shielding was appearing, courtesy of the Meta-Sax and both they and the Selencians were targeting the linebacker. It needed to die, but they needed to be able to focus fire and that meant removing its tag-along forces, which would be their job. Firing solutions were retasked and one of the escorts would receive the brunt of the Alliance’s attention; when confirmation was made, weapons fire would unleash from their ships. Electric blue flashes heralded the delivery of heavy kinetic ordinance, shells screaming with raw accelerative force to tear apart armor and systems alike, flares of heat would signal the incoming wave of missiles, explosive core, followed by nuclear core, seeking to use their compact nuclear power to induce impact shocks in the enemy’s hull. Space lit up with energy beams, as the laser domes began to lash out, focusing on picking apart the point defenses, allowing more and more of their ordinance to come through.
Once the escort was dust or mission-killed, the Alliance would move on to the next and continue hammering; they had the element of surprise, and needed to disrupt the assault elements, to give Czinst’s forces some breathing room and then conduct their raid of the headquarters. The collective bridges were filled only with the voices of commands being given and the interactions of systems. They had prepared for this strike, every second counted and could not be wasted.
Like black knives punched into emptiness, the flotilla Sun-Shore warships appeared in Czinst's high orbit. For a moment, each vessel lay silent. Turrets and gimbaled emitters snapped to targets, tracking the Coronan escorts with a repressed, hungry grace. Active LIDAR soaked each prospective target, probing for structural and threat analysis. Each liquid brain within the fleet picked away at the task with indifferent malice, imagining the wounds they'd open.
But between perception and awareness, impulses had already emerged. Each of the Sun-Shore's frigates was suddenly twisting through space, torches flaring like maddened coils of white-hot flame. They jockeyed for position around their first and second-rate charges with an almost adversarial dynamic, unfollowable chaos emerging from ordered defensive algorithms. In some cases, two ships would miss each other by meters, barely shaving past to cover what would be a blind spot.
It was these frigates who first opened fire. A rippling wave of smaller torches slid from the swarming crafts and flared into a wide arc, plunging towards one Coronan escort at nearly terminal acceleration. When the missiles neared their prey, they unfurled explosively. Some grew into kilometer-long spikes of nuclear plasma aimed to pierce squarely through opposing weapons. Others blew apart into glittering dust, a sensor-dazzling colloid designed to disrupt the image of their lethal compatriots. A secondary flurry of electromagnetically propelled slugs followed, saturating possible vectors blindly. All this was automatic, done almost without input. But it bought time; time for the other ships to finish their deadly calculations and execute.
Conscious firing solutions finally resolved themselves, swirling into place. Each Akasha destroyer tilted as the telemetry reached their cores, just enough to line up with the targeted escort. Proton beams roared free from spinal guns as soon as each vector lined up, thin lines barely visible on any spectrum piercing toward the enemy to puncture its interior. The heavier missile cruisers opened up against a single Coronan vessel each, with one dumping its VLS banks and torpedoes against the linebacker. The other fired on a second escort, using a similar layout of munitions as its defending frigates. All the while, kinetic batteries roared, flinging slugs downrange with vaguely managed precision.
So it was that the imagined wounds became a reality; incision after brute incision, each ballistic instant loosed into the nothingness of space.
The Force of Action enacted by the CGSS force was unexpected - While SAGA had learned to seize initiative from many a folly where Axiomatic fleets were allowed it, and CONA fought with brazen cause, the professional action of the composite fleet here was unprecedented; Not only had they not been noticed by Corona's (meager) AI intelligence, but they had appeared with the knack and skill to slot cleanly into organic combat roles and lash out at the Third Republic efficiently and effectively.
One escort, large as it was, was hammered by the combined, focused fire of the Alliance; kinetic rounds dented, cracked, and punched holes in heavy Coronal armor, its autocannons sputtering to life and saturating the incoming missiles recklessly. The others followed shortly, but one of the nukes made it through and shook the already-damaged "pug" ship violently, vibrating its plate on one side into microdebris and clearly disabling the ship, at least temporarily, as it listed for some time, starboard side glowing white from the nuclear detonation and friction.
Another was struck down by the Sun-Shore more surely, as plasmatic spikes and shotgunned railgun rounds tore through its armor effortlessly from off-angles and the proton scattering scrambled its internal systems and railgun fire smacked into its hull, a torrent of fire stunning the warship and bringing it to its knees. The Remaining ships' fire became sporadic in the face of the jamming missiles, less accurate and less intense.
Finally, a third, focused by a Cruiser's VLS arrays, scrambled to saturate the space between it and the incoming weapons with all of its fire - flak creating a shield as enemy missiles screamed in. Most were destroyed, but scrambled it became, and a few scars were gouged into its armor by brilliant blades of plasma.
This left the Linebacker.
Its armor refracted laser-light within itself, antennae and lenses being burned off in select areas, engines burned and were sheared off by targeted fire, railgun rounds dug into the monolithic hull of the Third Republic obelisk...
But it did not seem to care. Almost as if a roar of anger, every gun on its three hundred kilometer tall hull fired into every possible vector of the ships that had dared to enter its primary defense zone, in particular the Meta-Sax smallships and incoming missile waves. Hundreds of engines and thousands of guns were operating on full capacity, keen on striking down at least some of its far more numerous assailants. Missiles were hard-launched in droves - spiraling paths away from the Linebacker serving to confuse vector tracking for a moment before primary drives quickly ignited and sent the weapons screaming at the most problematic allied ships; namely, Towit and the Sun-Shore cruisers.
“KEEP HITTING THE ENGINES!" Okala would call out to his ships, trying desperately to stay out of the most dangerous area of Coronan defense.
The utterly massive behemoth, which dwarfed anything the Selenicans had built, had its guns belting into the void of space, the intent clear - destruction of the CGSS' joint task force. Even the concentrated fire on the ship seemed useless, but none shall falter in their will to fight. Tachyonic guns kept slinging out their streams of orange light, aimed right for the major engine clusters on the behemoth. While the gauss cannons placed aboard the smaller ships were less effective, they kept shooting out massive volleys into the target, point defenses running white with shooting down any Coronan fire which came their way.
The Selenican formation, so perfect and orderly before, had been disrupted, scattered, dispersed, all about the same range from the targets. The flagship for the Selenican task force, its carrier, had been desperately trying to shove out as many fighter screens as possible to keep any missiles or kinetics of sufficient payload from striking their ship, losing many to the onslaught.
The assault vessels remain at range, taking short volleys into the Coronan ship, hardly any projectiles making it through.
However, one ship, a destroyer, had been struck violently by a mass of Coronan fire, its engines sputtering dead, and whatever weaponry it had went offline. Bailing from the vessel would only lead to certain death. It sat in space, carried forward by its momentum, suffering hit after hit after hit, until one of its tachyonic containment chambers was pierced, in which it detonated into a morbidly beautiful shower of orange light and scrap metal.
The Alliance fleet was unrelenting; the linebacker was stabbing outwards at the MetaSax and the Sunshore Cruisers, and so their window to strip it of its defenders remained open and they would take advantage. Just as before, firing solutions were retasked focusing on the two remaining escorts, when the first was correctly plotted and the cyber warfare suits filling up the electro magnetic spectrum with white noise, false targets, DDoS levels of false communications and more, they aimed their guns at the first escort and began to unload.
Missiles streaked out, carrying their impressive payloads, explosions would appear like flashes as bomb-pumped lasers would snipe out at point defenses and key systems, nuclear-core missiles would seek to strike the hull and impact shock it to pieces, while lasers worked on stripping more of the point defenses ahead of the lasers and the coilguns just blindly shot out to hammer them. Even as this continued, firing solutions would be plotted for the last remaining escort and once the first was mission killed or destroyed, they would unleash their hell upon them. The first was not expected to last long, it had received some hits from a missile swarm.
A message would be sent out to the fleet, telling them to focus on the linebacker; they would finish off the escorts and then aid in the capital class vessels destruction once it was stripped of support.
The cry for support flashed across the control room, staining the room with red, reflecting off of the captain. The linebacker almost seemed invincible, brushing off incoming fire as if it was nothing more than specks of dust. Armial opened a private channel with the destroyers, attaching info about the Meta Sax's evasive manoeuvres alongside the communication, "Move around the linebacker, do not enter its range, use spiral burns to avoid incoming fire. Begin charging our attacks with magic, we will tear down the Coronans."
The destroyers immediately began moving, one losing a wing due to an unfortunate encounter with a missile, causing it to peel away from the other two destroyers, awkwardly moving back to the Ezekiel. Several drones were lost, forcing the interdiction field to grow smaller, but the interceptors made sure that it would still provide adequate protection.
The two destroyers hurled magically charged shells from their railguns, backing away immediately, spiralling using their gravitic drives. One exploded at the linebacker with a flash of light, heat and electricity. The intent was to throw off any sensors the linebacker was using. The other orbited the linebacker, as if attracted to it, before suddenly emanating a series of purple tendrils, which seeked to rip off small pieces of hull to create weak points.
The Ezekiel, with all its majesty, took a few hits itself, its sensors also being interrupted temporarily by the flash of light. Pieces of its carved hull flew off, the rest of the incoming hits being warded off with its hardlight shields. The ship turned towards the linebacker, firing back swarms of magically-charged missiles and made preparations to fire its tachyon arrow directly at the heart of the ship.
Armial looked with concern as one of the interceptors was torn through, its mana reactor imploding and then exploding brilliantly, trailing off purple smoke which eventually faded into a red inferno, before dying off, the ship permanently lost to the abyss.
Towit felt adrenaline.
It was the first time in three-hundred years he felt adrenaline. That he was meant that his limbic system had detected a legitimate threat to himself or to his peers and given the sheer volume of fire heading his way, that indeed seemed to be the case. The sense-horizon had suddenly filled with fire as he and the other bioships made their approach, enemy weapons roaring in the voiceless void.
At 1,650 meters long, he could generously be considered of "small" size by local standards, but to Saxheelians he was quite respectable. He flipped his bulk in space as though mass had no meaning to him, angling across the vectors of fire and missiles with the skill and precision of a dancer weaving through a crowd. The missiles that he couldn't avoid, he carefully pencil beamed out of existence.
The microships that he'd sent to defend allied ships were snapped back, rushing across the void of space to return to a strict orbit around him. Less than half made it through the fields of fire, and a number of them he sacrificed in order to divert kinetics that would have left more than just a smoldering mote on his skin.
Chromataphores worked overtime to conjure up fields of mass-shadows to blot out kinetic impacts, but these were just cushion so that the rest of the actual armor could more readily absorb and redirect the force of the weapons. Liquid metal seared across wounds that were like pockmarks on the otherwise smooth surface and black blast marks indicated areas that had been swiftly bubbled over by the ferrofluids inside his body.
For Towit, the Linebacker represented a flashback to the ancient past. A battle in orbit of a moderate Hunter station, the run on the reactor core, the detonation and the whooping cheers of the biowarships as they defeated their monstrous foe.
Yes, he certainly felt the adrenaline within him as the sizzling darts of pain made the fore of his body begin to burn. Still, he continued on.
-c
Rushing forward, closing the distance. Going faster, and faster, pushing the reactionless engines to their limits he gripped space around him with an iron mental fist and plunged near the surface of the Linebacker. Within the Consensus array, the old soldier was smiling a grand old smile. For him, this was something he found exciting, exhilarating, a brief respite of past-glories against truly worthy foes.
Doubling down on his cyberwar effort, he stabbed downwards with lighter frequency lasers, digging deep into network openings and squeezing into pathways never meant to house a thing like him. His weapon arrays from his remaining microships poked and jabbed at weapon emplacements around him as he sped across the surface, chasing along like a falcon against the stream.
For the smallships, however, the experience was quite different.
Visions would have blanched had he possessed a face with which to do so. The sheer volume of fire was insane. He could see Towit galivanting about like some maniac with a deathwish and glowing in their array Consensus with what Visions could only possibly describe as "blood lust" but for himself and the others this had quickly become Hell.
As Towit had done, the other snapped their microship drones back as soon as they realized the Linebacker was focusing on them and not on their far more numerous allies. Why they had drawn so much attention, Visions had no idea. Maybe the offensive message from Ista?
Who, by the way, had quickly changed her attitude after getting hit repeatedly by one of these barbaric weapon arrays. The thing had guns all over! Visions flitted around like a puddle-jumper evading rain, occasionally bumping fields with Feet who seemed just as unhappy to be facing raining death as Visions was.
"We can't keep this up!"
"Get near the surface, the guns can't track."
"EASY FOR YOU TO SAY!"
"I've taken hits!"
"Stay on target."
"Loosen up!"
The trio broke formation as soon as they reached 500 meters distance, heading off to different areas of the ships aft assembly. At one point, Visions was a mere ten meters above the ships surface as he pushed over it, his meager weapons stabbing at any visible engine parts on the crude leviathan.
Like a resentful rain of stars, the Coronan Linebacker's relentless barrage tore towards the Shore's swarming ranks. Each targeted vessel shunted much of its processing power toward defensive gunnery and countermeasures in response, lurching into a complex set of evasive burns with drives screaming.
Missiles and torpedoes turned from weapons into makeshift shields. No longer concerned with accurate targeting, each frigate filled the space around itself with more disruption colloid and reflective chaff, shattering the flotilla's visual profile into a fragmented collage of noisy instants to distract incoming missiles and opposing gunnery. Heavier anti-ship weapons were repurposed with laser payloads, exploding into clustered beams of high-frequency radiation to demolish their counterparts at medium range. The destroyers, too, changed their tack to guard their new cruiser charges with immediate, mechanical zealotry. A practical wall of proton beams lanced into space to meet the assault, secondary turrets engaging as many opposing drives as their host reactors could handle.
All the while, point defense grids ran at full, pushing internal cooling systems as far as margins would allow. Barely-exposed radiators glowed with furious, orange light as lasers and physical slugs left their host craft. A mandala of tangled violence bloomed around the Sun Shore force, explosions shining briefly like sparks from a campfire in the vastness of the chaotic dark.
Inevitably, the measures proved, in part, insufficient. Two frigates faltered in their maneuvering; one cored into a hollow husk by Coronan missiles, the other tumbling with a compromised drive. In the face of such withering fire, their superstructures and shields were little more than dry leaves under a crushing boot. Everywhere else, the damage was evident. One destroyer flew on with its bow tattered - little more than pockmarked metal and shredded armor - spinal accelerator damaged beyond any hope of functionality. The cruisers, a particular target of the linebacker's berserk assault, now bore countless scars. Launchers and secondary turrets sat idle, unable to continue their terminal duties with the injuries they'd sustained. Any drone swarms launched for telemetry and interception were indistinguishable from clouds of detritus and shattered matter, still maintaining relative velocity.
But the Coronan force hadn't blown the Sun-Shore element out of existence. These were wounds that time would wash away. These bodies were fleeting.
What they intended to accomplish was nothing so transient.
The flotilla was alive; they seized that survival, trailing a cloud of glittering debris like blood. Each vessel flipped and accelerated again, piercing the exchange of fire like a loose arrow. In an attempt to buy safety through distance, they eventually pulled into a wide loop around the linebacker's course.
The attack could not falter here. Another cluster of missiles exploded free from the cruisers, heavy anti-capital fusion weapons surrounded by the same laser warheads used in their defense. Destroyers and frigates aimed to follow, turning batteries and turrets in their wake.
This second wave of missiles pierced rather than bulldozed, homing towards one of the linebacker's cliff-like flanks; each outer warhead detonated in sequence, emissions too weak to penetrate armor but loud enough to briefly blind point defense, attempting to open tunnels through the enemy's field of fire. Particle beams and clouds of electromagnetically slung flechettes followed the laser warheads' lead, concentrated around the torpedo swarm in a hardscrabble attempt to secure their path. Now, it was anything for one more wound inflicted, one more injury dealt in return.
Even this would do.
A shift in behavior showed that the AI aboard the linebacker wasn't stupid.
The engines, even embedded deeply in its hull as they were, fell in number at a sure and steady pace - even as tachyons pierced and did more damage internally, and many shells were melted on their way in, and lasers were diffused, they fell in number. The sustained sensor flashbang contributed by the telrosians seemed to momentarily assist the coalition fleet - but as their fleet struck down the last of the monolith's escorts, outward comms were closed, eliminating the effects of false reports. The three hundred kilometer distance between the most extant of sensors made it a little less difficult for the counterintuitively-powerful AI on the ship to discern targets... but the disruption wasn't completely countered, especially in conjunction with the direct-breach efforts of the Meta-Sax.
Longer-ranged fire became noticably less accurate; combat radars were more than capable of tracking millions of objects, and the increase in spread wasn't a comical reduction to shotgun spray; rather, the burst width per-array seemed to be attempting to compensate for a wider set of potential maneuvering vectors. At least, for a time.
After multiple minutes, the fire stopped for a split-second - all guns traversing to target significantly closer targets, the ones whose maneuvering would be the issue, rather than the jamming. Special focus was put on the close-in targets behind the tower, with a gargantuan burst of missiles curving around to the rear of the ship. A flooding torrent of guns turned the immediate space around the ship into a dense debris field of shrapnel that took advantage of the speeds of the fastest assailants, obviously leaving a path clear for the ships' own missiles and designating swathes of turrets free for intercepting incoming standoff missiles.
Despite all this, it was clear the ship was struggling to cope against the many vectors and ranges of assault. A cavernous tunnel was speared through the center mass of the spire, and one of its sides was struck with incredible force by the concerto blitz of the Sun-Shore; indeed, a hundred-kilometer web of cracks splintered its way up and down from the epicenter of the strike, shearing a swathe of guns, sensors, cranes, and all other systems into splinters that clotted the space to its lower-port side.
While the Selenican fleet had been out of the direct line of fire, damages had not been null.
Every ship in the fleet was minorly damaged, with reparable damages being suffered to the outermost armor plating and CIWS systems, having been far overloaded by the hellish typhoon of Coronan kinetics fire. However, the hardest-hit systems were the tachyonic guns.
With these ships being older designs, pioneers in their field, they also were inefficient, overly complex, and most of all, prone to breakdowns. Such was the fate of one of the side-mounted enormous turrets on the carrier, having taken the brunt of Coronan fire in that sector, it had stopped putting out so much punch since the fighting began.
"Dammit...How are we going to kill this son of a bitch!?" Okala said, mostly rhetorically. He examined the thrusters, slowly flickering offline. While they were doing damage, yes, this bunker of a ship would not be killed by a lack of movement. Looking over at other parts of the battered Coronan Linebacker, "It seems like the Sun-Shore have a good idea..."
Looking to the massive spiderwebbed cracks up the side of the vessel, an idea was hatched.
"All tachyonic weapons, aim at those shattered pieces of armor. If we can't disable it, we're going to cook it alive inside out!"
With a short delay, the small vessels of the Selenican Republic began to spin their guns to stare down the fractured section of Coronan hull, their paint being sheered off by the hail of kinetic firepower. The unpainted reflective metal of the hull and guns showed through the damage, its sheen being muted by the hits it has received.
"FIRE!" Okala would shout, once all of the tachyonic guns lay onto their target, a cencerto of orange light bursting forth into the Coronan vessel.
The insistence on the behemoth to concentrate efforts on attacking the Saxcraft nearest the surface payed off.
Towit was able to deal with missiles or incoming cannon fire; not both. Durable as he was, there were limitations on what could be sustained. Given a choice between explosions or kinetic impacts, he elected to endure the bombardment of the direct fire weapons, as he was best attuned to cope with them with the limited shields he had at this point. The protational field boundary slightly slanted the trajectory of one out of every twenty incoming bullets, which amount to just enough to let the bioship complete a circuit across the tower sector of the Linebacker. He dug deep in the cyberwar, relentlessly pushing to try to gain access to the enemy AI. This was his forte, what he specialized in for centuries. He had to gain access, he had to silence those guns to preserve his allies and comrades.
Though as harsh as the weapons fire was for him, it was ten times worse for the smaller ships. Ista took heavy fire from the cannons, while Visions and Happy Feet careened into the missile bombardment - they had no choice in their trajectory given the time and the speeds. Not built for war, they lacked the fine-tuned control of their own fields that Towit had.
Missiles exploded across the surfaces of both the smallships, damaging organic components and blasting open chunks matter. Liquid-silver flooded the gaps, but the impacts were continuous and the diminished microship shields were overwhelmed by the combination of missiles and guns.
Happy Feet took a set of missiles that raked across the aft right portion of the warp ring, flicking out the protational field boundary instantly. With no gravity shield to deflect fire, the bioship was relatively helpless - all it had was the armor and few microships to protect it from further cannons.
Visions and Ista closed ranks, but Feet no longer could control its acceleration. Angling up and over-C
The lip of the giant ship, the smallship careened into open space, twisting and tumbling and gravely wounded. Towit knew that if he left to help, the hack would end and the battle could turn against them.
Eyes watched in the Consensus array as Feet clutched at itself with its light-woven tendrils. The body fluttered, flickered, and dulled. It'd lost consciousness.
Visions and Ista were at their side both in the Duality and in The Real, batting away what the smallships could while trying to tug the disabled craft away from the battle.
The Ezekiel continued in its onslaught of tachyons, aiming for the ripped sections of hull contributed by the mass drivers. The pair of destroyers turned again, firing charged missile swarms at the linebacker, before once again twisting around enemy fire, taking minor hits. Thankfully, it was clear the Linebacker was more interested in their allies. The debris field however proved too much of a threat for the ships, causing them to fire one more array of flashbangs and shells before fully backing off towards the dreadnought, assisting in its protection.
The interceptors had reached their limit, disabling the interdiction drones and re-attaching them to their hulls, re-charging them for a second installation of the field, and joined the dreadnought, giving most of the energy to the shields. The full fleet now served to shield the Ezekiel as it launched its full assault, intent to make sure their main ship was kept safe.
Battle was always a push and pull of tactical advantages and loss of initiatives; while you may achieve victory in one arena of the battlespace, it would remove options for yourself or open up ones for the enemy. Operations informed him that the cyber battle space was losing effectiveness with the loss of the final escort; the linebacker had closed off its ‘ears’ so to speak since it had no one in range to speak with.
“A necessary reaction; they seek to turtle up and use their armor and weapons to outlast us.”
The tactical display had multiple bubbles constantly listing data of combat losses for the Meta-Sax and the damage reports coming across the tactical net. The change to closer range fire to deal with the assaulters was leading to results. Regardless, phase one of their tactical plan had been executed, removal of escorting/defensive elements, now it was time for the next phase.
“Operations, focus cyber warfare on spoofing of sensors, false images, difficulty in detection coherency of actual positions and fake vs real. We want their guns, especially their point defense, to have as much difficulty as possible. Next, focus weapon salvos on point defense, we need to strip them of their ability to stop missiles and other projectiles. Focus on the port side, the Sun-Shore has opened the door for us; its time for us to slam it wide open. Enact randomwalking vector Alpha-3-0-2-A, we’ll begin to move and strip them of defenses but it won’t be long until they stop focus firing at the knife ranges.”
The fleet began to move, seemingly in random vectors and paths, but there was a coherence to it if viewed correctly. Salvos continued, but with precise focus on the defensive guns of the linebacker. Missiles were used to occupy the guns attention, slipping through when they could to hit, while lasers burned in, trying to take advantage of any gaps or difficulty in target acquisition. Coilguns were added to the mix, with the faint hope that sheer mass of the munitions could impact and tear the guns apart.
One blow dealt wasn't even close to enough.
In a rippling sequence, torpedo formations tore free from cruiser-borne bays and silos, vectoring in a spiraling dance that flickered and burst wherever it encountered flak. Those that survived made their terminal display like burrowing flies, ejecting spikes of nuclear plasma as they neared impact. Some cut directly across the Linebacker's hull, a barrage of scarring blades aimed to warp or compromise exposed mounts through sheer heat. Others widened existing wounds, spearing through damaged armor and scouring internals caught in their path.
The Sun Shore flagship watched.
Director minds peered out at the world through their host vessel's scopes and comms. Light from distant explosions and gunfire reached them as colorless spikes of spectra-tinged input, with threat assessments and priority markers blooming under even the lightest touch.
It bleeds, one mind said, rolling a marble of combat telemetry in a glimmering visualization of grasping tendrils. Missile launches and data on Coronan CIWS flashed through its awareness in a spreading web of light. It dies now. Or we exhaust too many of our usable munitions.
The munitions are all that works, came the reply. Unless you'd have us batter away with the functioning Akasha.
We're not under the brunt of enemy fire, another interjected. As it spoke, it reached out and pushed the surrounding frigates away, watching the four remaining torches gain distance. With less Coronan fire striking the Sun Shore's element, having the smaller ships screening for their heavier charges was a lower concern. Space out launches to coincide with allied weapons. Work to sync time on target. We use less. More gets through. Enough. Reprioritizing tasking.
With that curt statement, the curtain of fire resumed. Secondary batteries and lasers burned holes in opposing defenses for allied vessels to exploit. Another wave of munitions slid loose in the barrage's wake, with frigate-launched missiles guiding in heavier torps or irradiating enemy flak using jammer-decoy warheads. Slowly, the Sun Shore aimed to reach through the chinks in their enemy's armor.
The AI tore its guns away from the retreating smallships, focusing on the flocking hostiles to its port side, threatening the hull breach, while another cluster of missiles was dispatched in pursuit of the lone Meta-Sax lead craft that maintained a close posture. It saw the flock of missiles, lasers, and tachyons swarming in, and began to maneuver into a portward roll,
It was blind.
EWAR density had overcome its electronic countermeasures, guns quickly retreating to onboard logic chips and optics, firing with little cohesion at any number of targets; even shooting at the Linebacker's own lost hull fragments. The superluminal tachyons speared through the mid-line breach, shredding the internal structure and weakening the starboard hull before the fatigue left it too weak to sustain, exploding in a much more spectacular view than the initial breach. lasers, screening the Sun Shore torpedoes, raked the banks of guns with attention lost, determinedly making an opening for the guided munitions to do their work.
Missiles impacted the weapon banks alongside kinetics, and bladed torpedoes rapidly rendered the most proximal defense screen bare. Finally came those that plummeted directly into the unarmored internal bulkheads of the Linebacker, detonating unanimously and unopposed.
The explosions rocked the gargantuan, gouts of burning atmosphere belching out of both sides of the ship as much as they propagated upwards and downwards, escaping from hatches and hangars and cracks the whole way. Cinematically, the powerplant of the ship and its own ammunition stores erupted themselves, blasting with a force greater than the munitions fired so far by a few orders of magnitude.
The brilliance of the explosion caused by the linebacker flung pieces of shrapnel towards Arkranum's ships, shields moving to defend. After it had passed, announcements about the linebacker's destruction echoed through the Ezekiel, followed by the immediate uproar of cheers, shouts and laughter. This had been a needed morale boost, something to distract from the Cold War that had been ongoing with Atenwal, proving that Arkranum still had some fight in it.
An incoming 'ping!' alerted the comms opened between the alliance's ships,
"This is Captain Armial of the Tsardom. What is our next move? Should we begin with the deployment of ground forces on Czint and liberate it, or should we proceed to the refineries first? I personally suggest that we overwhelm the command centre and cut off the chain of command, I'm not quite sure we could take another linebacker."
The Saxheelian forces recombined around their disabled comrade. With the major threat dealt with, there came the planet itself and the remaining armada of forces that would no doubt turn to attack them.
But that was not their focus. Their focus was on their wounded one, who was carefully ushered into the battered bay of Towit. Ista and Pyrrhic docked as well, leaving the destroyer alone in space as representative of the Meta-Sax forces.
The damage he had sustained was not crippling, but it wasn't insignificant. Another battle would not go well for them, and they were ill equipped for ground invasions. Moving towards the rest of the allied forces, he sent a transmission, "Saxheelian forces have been reduced to this vessel. We are not equipped for planetary invasion. Will support as able."
The behemoth, something which once towered over the Selenicans with a massive size, was now burning. A rousing cheer erupted across the fleet, they managed to take it down! It was gone, their main opposition stopped! However, the excitement was curbed by another order.
"All crew, remain in your combat positions, redirecting fire to other enemy vessels."
It seems the excitement of dealing with the linebacker had obscured their vision to the other objectives -- the landing ships and refineries. After a short delay to get everyone back to position, and the counting of the dead and lost ships, it totaled to one ship lost thus far, a destroyer, its entire crew, and a thousand spread across the rest of the fleet. Such losses were promised to not be in vain.
A short lull in the fighting was noticed, and a transmission sent to the remaining numbers of the CGSS combined liberation fleet.
"Vessels of our force, we of the Selenican Republic propose and idea of our next course of action. Our pace mustn't be slowed, we must keep up the pressure on the Coronan scum. If we allow them time to breathe, they can potentially be able to resist us in the future. If we crush them with the weight of our hammer, they will surely fall."
Following this statement, a bright flash of tachyonic light burst forth from the Selenican guns aimed directly for the Coronan landing vessels, however, their accuracy was hampered by the severe battle damage the sensors had taken.
The challenge ahead was a simple one.
Sever the head from the snake.
While the vast majority of the Third Republic's forces in-system were preoccupied with the new interdicted environment and trying their damnedest to counter their momentum heading away from the world, much less start heading back towards it, their landing ships were running away and the invasion was threatening to break past the straits below.
"Great work," a commlink from below greeted them, the reports of heavy artillery batteries loudly audible in the background. "But you're not done." Almost in-sync with this message from the unknown speaker, dozens of FTL signatures entered the system simultaneously - in two distinct groups. The communications space of the system erupted in code and encrypted messages before IFF identified the new parties. An APP and a SAGA task force, respectively, and already moving into combat formations and burning for the coronal fleet - robbing their attention from the CGSS party involved.
"The parties you just saw arrive won't be able to help us before the Pugs break through our lines on the ground. You need to kill their general and fast, and their communications are all coming out of the coords I'm sending now. Good luck."
There was obviously Ueldi's request to sieze the new assets Corona was so polite to deliver, but the issue of the general staff assassination was on the table. The communication coordinates were in the midst of a massive civilian city along an inland river, invalidating the option for orbital strikes; a clear-cut, glassed section of the city seemed to be the logistics center. To its north, erected in the midst of the ruined regional capitol complex, was an entire division's worth of AI carriers, coolant infrastructure, and habitations.
This all made it very clear that this would be an easy operation, especially as EWAR flooded the battlespace and inflamed the panic that had already set in with the Third Republic rear-line forces. CSRG proxy forces stormed the HQ from the air as coronal anti-air networks wildly sprayed into the sky, excising the command center from the city with force - and the front line faltered as AI-written orders stopped coming down the chain.
Among the stars, the assault ships couldn’t have resisted the theft of their replacement infrastructure if they wanted to. Completely lacking in armament, fast ships were easily able to catch up to them and pluck the platforms from their hulls with ease. Even farther from the world, the third republic battle line was seized upon by an ad hoc SAGA-CONA alliance; the two fleets forming up into a spear as they had at Aedelshaven, repeating the feat created there.
As he watched on, hot tears flowed down Baas’ face - everything had fallen apart with but a stroke. Defeated, he wondered what to do next - he had plenty of fuel for his flagship, and could eventually return to the republic, but surely he’d need to come back with *something,* or the courts would flagellate him.
In the end, he ordered an emergency jump, escaping with the lives of himself and his most elite crew, but losing a massive amount of military power in the surgical operation that had just transpired.