Stories from the beyond

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Stories from the beyond

Post by BgKnight » 11:53:05 Monday, 25 May, 2015

This is your game topic, here we will post all in-universe fluff and events, anything that comes to your mind. Here's something small to kick things up, bare in mind the game has not started yet. These are just pre-start posts, y'all can do one if you wish.
The frozen body of the dead soldier was dragged inside the ship, he looked on as the dead soldier's face was frozen in horror as he was dumped out from the ship he was in. The soldier wore the uniform of the Russians, perfectly preserved by the cold, the life had escaped his body long ago.

"Watch it bruder..." the Congolese political officer observing them boomed "...we want to preserve the body as much as we can."

"Yessir" the sailor quickly said as they used the zero gravity of the chamber to push the floating frozen body into a body-bag which was specially insulated to keep the soldier frozen so that they don't loose anything.

"We will probably send him out with honors later, depending on what command decides. Up until that point, this is Russian property. I don't want dem whiteboys to stir shit, got it?"

"Aye, sir. May I ask a question, sir?"

"Yes bruder, ask?"

"Was he killed by the same people that killed our comrades?"

"Yes." the Congolese officer said coldly, he had lost a friend on that ship, another political officer who was shot in the head and dumped in space when the sailors revolted. He wasn't happy, but he tried to keep it to himself. "They claim to revolutionaries, bruder, but they are not, they are just thugs and murderers."


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Re: Stories form the beyond

Post by Iss'fayn » 12:13:35 Monday, 25 May, 2015


Interplanetarial Proper Fleet Contribution to UN mission (excluding the subordinate fleet under the Maroons/Oyid):
format: * name/class/command/origin of ship/gender of commander


* Patrice Emory Lumumba (Hero Navire) (Captain Mani Kalle) (Congo/New Fimi) (M)


* Kwame Nkrumah (Griot Navire) (Commander Abugu Umewezie) (Venusian Republic) (M)
* Malcolm X (Griot Navire) (Commander Marilyn Ifeoma Freeman) (New Afrika) (F)


* Pierre Ngolo (Revolutionnaire Navire) (Lieutenant Commander Makemba Noumazalaye) (Congo) (F)
* Marcus Garvey (Revolutionnaire Navire) (Lieutenant Commander Francis Cole) (New Afrika) (M)
* Gustavo Gutierrez (Revolutionnaire Navire) (His Holiness Lieutenant Commander Julio Morales) (IP) (M)
* Sun Yat-Sen (Usine Navire) (Lieutenant Commander 'Lucy' Chen Fang) (Venusian Republic) (F)


* Ernesto Zapata (Picquet Navire) (Lieutenant Marcos Jaguar-Claw) (Aztlan) (M)
* Kwame Antony Appiah (Picquet Navire) (Lieutenant Rabiu Danso) (New Fimi) (M)
* Jean-Pierre Bemba (Picquet Navire) (Lieutenant Din Bodho) (Congo) (M)
* Nasruddin (Picquet Navire) (Mullah Arshia Javadi) (Azawad) (M)
* Fidel Castro (Picquet Navire) (Lieutenant Eva Mendez) (IP) (F)
* Kashetu Kyenge (Picquet Navire) (Lieutenant Sifa Kabila) (New Fimi) (F)
* Leonie Abo (Technique Navire) (Sub Lieutenant Clementine Nzuji) (Congo) (F)
* Che Guevara (Technique Navire) (Sub Lieutenant Jennifer Santiago) (IP) (F)

(lost to RFSL from IP fleet)
(format * name/class/command/origin/gender of command/size)
* Arctic 30 (Guerriere Navire) (Lieutenant Commander Jayne Skye) (Oceanic Council) (F) (Med)
* The Wanderer (Guerriere Navire) (Lieutenant Bo Grits) (Romanistan) (M) (Med)
* Pyongyang Six (Technique Navire) (Sub Lieutenant Park Jae-Sang) (People's Republic of Korea) (M) (Sma)

Recorded Message from Captain Mani Kalle (available in Spanish/French/Lingala).

You have selected Lingala.
"We're having issues. It appears that the following ships were infiltrated by anarchists. Arctic 30. The Wanderer. Pyongyang Six. Rest in peace the brave crewmen of those vessels who fought their hijackers. Political officers aboard all ships are to report in to Operations aboard the Lumumba with any suspicious activity. We are not the only ones who have lost part of our fleet to bad seeds, but we must be strong and forge ahead together. I tell you this, if you are having thoughts of dissension or going rogue. We are in a strange place, a long way from home. It is our history to be in such dire straits. Let us in turn flourish and prove our strength, as one."

+++Message ends+++
Last edited by Iss'fayn on 17:04:18 Sunday, 31 May, 2015, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: Stories form the beyond

Post by Coin » 12:38:17 Monday, 25 May, 2015

General Transmission - To [UN Taskforce Commanders] From [Admiral Vladimir Ivanovich Zavoyko of the Russian Republican Fleet]

Be advised that Russian small vessel BURNYI has been hijacked by suspected anarcho-terrorists. Current status and location unknown. Request immediate communication if vessel detected. Hostages aboard. Profiles of suspected infiltrators to be distributed via fleet INTERPOL.

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Gesar » 17:49:16 Monday, 25 May, 2015

"I could kiss you right now, you know that?" Fedayeen -no, Captain- Olivera was wiping the blood off the barrel of his gun, chuckling quietly while the Subcommander looked on. A UCR man through and through, there was a certain morbidity in all his humor. Not that Zevoa minded, of course. "It was beautiful stunt, what we just pulled off."

Zevoa didn't give any indication that she had heard him, lost as she was in the aftermath of the simultaneous mutinies. Most of the cleanup had been easy on the Interplaneteriál ships. Taking them, with all the months of preparation, deep cover, and subversion until enough of the crew was behind them, had been the problem. Now, however, was the time for decisive action- right after she turned to the new captain of the Martyr of Nazran and gave him what he wanted.

The two Interplaneteriál mutineers watched on with confusion as she broke away from his grasp and laughed. They were soldiers to the bone, but they'd do, she supposed. After all, hadn't the Movement been founded by a doctor, a soldier, and a psychologist? "Ma'am?" One of them, a tall, handsome Bolivarian asked. "The comms are ready when you are."

Olivera chuckled again, and answered in that lazy UCR drawl that clashed constantly with her own Free Territory patois. "Ma'am? Christ, they train you boys well. You're in the Revolutionary Front now, compadre. She's just an operative now, or Subcommander if you're feeling all fancy-like." Zevoa grinned wolfishly at his words, but it was grin that lasted mere moments before she nodded and gave an answer in the affirmative, walking over to the comm station. Suddenly, across any channel they could find that would reach the Interplaneteriál, Russians, or United Nations, her sharp voice cracked across the waves.
"This is Operative Zevoa, elected Subcommander of Revolutionary Insurrectionist Fleet. The Revolutionary Front for Salvation and Liberty has chosen to support the crews aboard the IPV Arctic 30, IPV Wanderer, and IPV Pyongyang Six in separating themselves from the Interplaneteriál command structure.

These ships, now known respectively as RIV Martyr of Nazran, RIV Tybalt, and RIV Iron Lady, are hereby considered assets of Greater Movement, and their crews our comrades. For security reasons, we have also taken into custody the Russian vessel Burnyi, hereafter known as RIV Diamond Dog, and its crew. Be advised that any attempt to reclaim these vessels or hostile action will be treated as an act of war against the Revolutionary Front and our allies.

We wish for no further violence, but are more than prepared to fight against the forces of reaction to preserve our own Libertas.

Turning from the comm station to face Olivera and the mutineers, she raised an eyebrow at their querying faces. The bolder of the two spoke up once again. "So what now, ma- Subcommander?"

"Now?" Zevoa turned her back to the three, examing some of the controls idly. "Now you're in the Movement. We'll do what we always do: give them the finger and run like hell."
آمریکا هیچ غلطی نمی تواند بکند‎

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Re: Interplaneterial Fleet Frequencies.

Post by Coin » 19:53:42 Monday, 25 May, 2015

Aboard the Shuttle TKS IIV

"Lieutenant, we're approaching the IP fleet. ETA seven minutes. Permission to hail."

The guards officer - a stout man not prone to shouting - grunted approval.
Transmission - To [IPV Marcus Garvey] From [Russian Republican Shuttle TKS IIV]

Advise that Russian shuttle TKS IIV approaching your position. Request permission to dock for extraction of deceased Russian citizen. Advise 2 crew and 6 servicemen, armed, aboard. Request permission for commanding officer and mission liaison Lieutenant V. Galushka and Privates I. Mutko and E. Trutnev to board for transfer.
Vitaliy rubbed his brow - a tick for when he was thinking - where his implant might normally connect. They'd arrived - as generally advised for such missions - as low-tech as possible, to prevent any misunderstandings or anything getting "borrowed" - but he was proud of those he'd chosen. To a man their uniforms were spotless, faces emotionless, and rifles ready.

"Mutko! Trutnev! You shall accompany me aboard to recover our deceased comrade. Let's show him the respect he deserves for his bravery, and remember your training on dealing with IP personnel. I'll do the talking."

Gazing out the porthole of the vessel, the system's sun shone eerily through the cold vacuum of space, but the stars beyond were still visible. Somewhere out there, surely, was the sun they'd all grown up under.

He didn't stop rubbing his brow until the sailor notified him of the response.

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Iss'fayn » 20:27:23 Monday, 25 May, 2015

+Aboard the IPV Marcus Garvey+

"Francis, the courier's here."
"Thank you Shaniqua. Let them know they can land."
"Of course, Sir."

Yavu grinned a little as they wheeled the corpse out, the refrigerated bodybag zipped tight. Plain black, frost dripping off the outside since they'd dumped it in one of Garvey's deep-freezes. It was gently there behind them as Cole and Yavu stood in the Hangar. Hangar 6 was well lit, and the two platoons of New Afrikans in their blue-brown camouflage looked good. Their rifles were held across their chests, men and women alike with their heads held high as they made a corridor between Lieutenant Cole and the inner lock door. Francis was wearing an austerely navy blue officers jacket cut like a Mao coat, whilst Yavu had the sky blue of the Congolese Stellar Forces dress uniform.

Garvey itself shuddered slightly, the vibration of the shuttle's engine running through the ship for a moment before it cut out. The outer airlock drew closed with a deep groan and Yavu glanced amongst the New Afrikans as the airlock pressurised and then a soft hiss cut through the silence. The door opened and the New Afrikans all snapped to attention. They waited for the Russians to disembark.
Last edited by Iss'fayn on 23:08:48 Tuesday, 26 May, 2015, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Coin » 23:48:20 Monday, 25 May, 2015

Aboard the IVS Marcus Garvey

Even with the anti-gravity shock absorbers, the shuttle still shook as the docking procedure completed. Powering down the engines, the sailor - Blokhin, Vitaliy thought - turned to the commanding officer as the gentle thrum of the engines eased.

"Lieutenant, that's us here. Starboard airlock. I'll prepare the cryobox."

"Thank you crewman. We should not be long. Private Mutko - the bag, if you please. Private Trutnev, the airlock."

Motioning for the soldier to begin opening the airlock, he inspected his ceremonial uniform - complete with a rather comfortable if near-antiquely styled hat - one more time. A gentle hissing, then a clunk, and Private Mutko - bag hanging by his waste - and Private Trutnev promptly marched through as the airlock opened, standing to attention with rifles resting on their shoulders on either side of the door before the IP troops, as Lieutenant Vasiliy Ivanovich Galushka finally stepped aboard the ship. It felt good to be able to stretch the legs.

His eyes lay on the bodybag behind the officers. A damn waste. Stepping briskly towards the Congolese officers, he saluted.

"Lieutenant Vasiliy Ivanovich Galushka. Pleasure to meet you, albeit in tragic circumstances. Shall English be passable, or préféreriez-vous Français? Русский бы быть лучше, of course."

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Snacks » 02:24:10 Tuesday, 26 May, 2015

The world exploded into agony as Mengyao woke up. With a groan, he moved to shield his eyes from the pounding light of the ship’s fluorescents, mentally cursing hangovers and his complete lack of resolve to not be suckered into drinking contests: it was, after all, the only thing to do on this do-nothing guard-duty mission. Lt. Huang Caiyun, his direct subordinate, was probably responsible for his current pain: she could drink him under the table any day of the week, and routinely took advantage of his boredom to remind him of that fact.

It was by the failure of the second lethargic attempt to throw an arm across his eyes that Mengyao realized that not only was he sleeping on a cold steel floor, but that his arms were restrained. By the third, much more frantic, attempt to move at all he had attracted the attention of his fellow soldiers, as he heard the concerned shout of Jinhai, one of the Corporals.

“He’s awake! Captain, hold on, you shouldn’t be moving like that. The medic was saying you probably have a concussion. Hell, he thought that we’d be lucky if you woke up at all.”

“Well, we’re already lucky, so what’s the harm in pushing it,” He managed to roll into a sitting position despite the protests of his pounding head. “Now where is he, so I can hear it myself, and will you explain what the hell is going on, Corporal?”

Despite his blurred vision, he saw the Corporal exchange a worried look with two of the nearest soldiers. “You were awake when it happened, Captain, you took a blow to the head. The medic, they pulled him out of here about an hour ago with the other doctors, but he said you’d probably remember quickly if you woke up. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Alright, alright, hold on.” He racked his brain, trying to recall the last flashes of memory before everything went black. “Let’s see, I was talking to Lt. Huang about something important, and that’s when I went out. But what was I talking to her about? Something I’d seen…” He tried to shift his wrists, but to no avail, and gave up for the moment at seeing the heavy-duty zip ties restraining the rest of the Chinese vessel’s military detail, or at least a good portion of it.

“Shit, did those E-Democratic fucks actually board us? But this isn’t anywhere near all of our soldiers… Wait, no, we thought it was Europa Pact at first, but I saw them dragging an officer away. The Europeans or the Russians would have just come in shooting. A mutiny? Who the hell could have-“

Mengyao’s eyes darted around the large, emptied-out storage room and took note of who as there. It was immediately apparent who comprised the bulk of the missing, and his eyes narrowed as he put two and two together. “Those no good, kimchi-eating bangzi,” he hissed. “Of course they would turn on us at a time like this. Probably fucking sold us out to the Eurasians or the Interplaneteriál first chance they got.”

Yes, that was it. They’d been trying to fight off what had seemed like a boarding party out of nowhere from one of the European or Russian ships, but they were too non-uniform to be soldiers- lancers maybe?

The foreigners had hit them hard and fast, but they didn’t have the numbers, and even just being a captain, he could say for sure they were about to go down hard. Just as they prepared to shut the raid down is when things got weird, though. He had spotted two men -Chinese, armed civilians- dragging off one of his fellow officers. He’d turned to inform Lt. Huang, and doing so was the last thing he remembered before blacking out.

He turned to Jinhai, “Alright, Corporal. Now that I remember what I saw, you need to fill me in on what I didn’t. This isn’t nearly all of our troops, even excluding the Koreans. Were they still fighting? Did the Lieutenant get the word out to the other units? Was she alright?”

He was about to get an answer when the door swung open behind him and the Corporal’s eyes went wide in fear. Trying in vain to turn around and see for himself, he was only half shocked at being roughly pulled up by the arms, turned around, and dropped back onto the floor. “Worried about me? That’s sweet,” a familiar voice cooed as a hand reached under his chin, lifting his gaze upward.

Leaving him face to face with Lt. Huang Caiyun.

“But you should be worrying about you.”
“What the hell is the meaning of this, Lieutenant?” Mengyao yelled at her as she turned and stepped out of the room, her two helpers -also Chinese by their uniforms- picking him up and dragging him down the hallway after her.

She laughed, that annoying fucking giggle she made every time she’d beaten him at something and he was two moves ahead of knowing it, “Captain, now, actually. Someone had to do your job after you were relieved of command, after all.”

He glared at the back of her head, “Alright, then, *Captain*. Care explaining what the fuck you’re doing working for these traitorous dogs and foreigners?”

“Heh. Traitors? The way I -and most of your former Comrades- see it, we’re just supporting the only way anyone is going to survive out here. After all, isn’t it our superiors who bicker over whether to land or start spacing us ‘nonessential personnel’ while our supplies dwindle? A week longer and the Colonel would have assumed control himself and spaced all of them just to conserve food and water, then move against his rivals in the fleet, really I’m a bit surprised that you can really find the time to harbor such anger at our Korean comrades in light of the pressing issues, Mengyao.”

Finally, the four soldiers reached an office, his office, and Caiyun once again turned to face him, leaning back against his desk as her henchmen dropped him into a small chair. “A little disappointed, too. I thought maybe you’d be smart enough to see the light: with some reeducation, we might even have a future together. But I suppose Major Ran was right- some people are just incapable of being saved.”

He groaned, rolling his head to the side, “Gee, that’s really interesting, Caiyun. Maybe, if you’re done warming my desk with your fat ass, though, you’ll actually answer my question instead of reading me your manifesto.”

“Oh, dear sweet Mengyao. The Major might be my superior, and she might have the unit’s loyalty, but it is not for her that the people of the ship fight. We, and these lancers, serve a far greater cause. Here, I still think you’re a smart enough man, so I’ll give you clues: Who was it that hung the ‘dirty laundry’ of the Europeans out to dry? Who was it that crushed the headquarters of the Federal Commercial Bank of Yinghou, the shining jewel in the crown of those we fight for while our families are made their slaves, like it was costume jewelry?”

He stared at her in horror, “No...”

She smiled that sick, knowing smile, leaning forward to look into his eyes, “Who pierced the heart and broke the spirits of more fascists than any fedayeen’s rifle? Who smothered the wives and children of Whitecliff in a misty shroud of mercy?

Mengyao’s shock turned into blind rage and he spit in her eye, screaming between curses and frenzied attempts to break his restraints, as she calmly leaned back and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping off her face, “You’re lying! No, you’re insane! She can’t be here, she can’t. She was broadcasting from the Jovians when the gate collapsed!”

“You know, if I had supported the Colonel’s petty little coup, I’d probably be able to kill you for that. But the Burned Woman does not permit such mindless violence. In a way I suppose we should be glad for that…boundless defiance of yours. After all, we wouldn’t want the press thinking you had been tortured into submission.”

He stared at her, exhausted from his outburst, “…Press?”

That fucking grin, again, “Oh yes. Like I said, the Burned Woman does not allow mindless violence. Where there is injustice she demands action. She wishes for justice to be done here, so that we may begin again. We will oblige, and we will show our fellow castaways the People’s Justice.”

An analog clock, a local-made souvenir from some port of call on Mars, began to chime the hour.

“Do you hear that? It’s almost time for your court-martial, Captain Hua Mengyao.”
By all accounts, the trials seemed fairly mundane to Mengyao. He’d been expecting a show trial but, if not much more fair than an average trial in China, it seemed no more staged. He waited in a dock with other officers, the Colonel first among them, their trial to serve as an example and warning to those soldiers who had opposed the mutiny.

To their right sat a jury of soldiers and ship’s crew, Korean as well as Chinese; but despite all being mutineers, a number of his fellow officers were declared “salvageable”, and capable of being reintegrated into the mutineers’ crew, following an unspecified “rehabilitation”. He couldn’t help but sneer. Each officer, as well as Mengyao included when his time came, was even allowed to voice a limited defense to their supposed crime. Each was, of course, confronted by their supposed friends, condemning their crimes and urging them to repent.

He had already been sedated for repeated outbursts by the time Caiyun came out to put on a show of begging him to throw himself on the Burned Woman’s justice and the People’s Mercy, but he had enough strength to make his contempt clear, and wasn’t surprised when the jury sentenced him to death. He was perfectly fine with the verdict: he’d rather be shot like a rabid dog than roll over like an obedient one for maniacs and traitors.

“I want to be bitter at our commanders,” she said, staring up at the cameras and microphones broadcasting to every screen and speaker on the ship. “I want to hate them for the things they did. But I can’t do that. We can’t do that. If we do that, then we allow them escape through the things we did and the evils allowed their crooked system to push us into. I told myself ‘how can you condemn your superior? You were fine with doing those things he asked of you, even if they were against the law and even if they were wrong’.”

She turned to look at him, feigning shame, “But I didn’t really want to do those things. Having supplies horded, having men beaten to protect my superiors’ black market? Being desperate enough to do such things because your nation has made you into a disposable warrior is not ‘wanting’, brothers and sisters! Neither is doing these things because you fear what will happen if you do not.”

She made a show of shuddering and looking away in fear…or disgust, “Because someone with power to make your life hell wants these things from you, and may simply get frustrated and take them if denied.”

His skin crawled. Certainly part of what she said was true. They’d taken part in the trade of illicit goods, which had only grown more lucrative and necessary as it became clear that they were cut off from earth and their supplies were dwindling. Hell, he wouldn’t deny to himself that he’d felt there could be something between them, especially after being stranded out here: the Lieutenant was a married woman, but it wasn’t like they were ever going home. He had no illusions that most of his “peers” on the jury saw him as particularly virtuous, either, especially after Caiyun’s testimony.

He sighed. Fuck it, he’d rather be shot like a rabid dog than roll over like an obedient one for maniacs and traitors. So, with what little ability to control his muscles he could manage, he contorted his face into a sneer, not just at Caiyun but every traitor on the ship, and snarled out the first curse that came to him.

Lying bitch!

Hua Mengyao sat on his knees on a hard steel floor, packed into a large room with his fellow officers and soldiers. If the broadcasts by that Korean bitch that had led the mutiny, Major Ran, were to be believed then the trials were over and a surprising amount of his fellow soldiers were being reeducated instead of executed like him. He had been trying to make peace with his approaching death, whenever it would come. At the least, he knew how he was going to go: they all did.

After all, every soldier there recognized an airlock when they saw one.
Several hours after external transmissions from a Chinese medium ship and three American small ships cut out (resuming only long enough to transmit a short, coded, radio burst in Russian and French translated as “All objectives complete. Ships secured,” and touching off an hours long standoff between the Eurasia Pact and Trans-Pacific Partnership fleets), the tension had been broken by the announcement of the Greater Movement’s uprising. Mere minutes passed before, amid the fury of fleet communication, a single smiling face flooded civilian and military channels across the fleets.

A young Asian woman, dressed in a uniform cleanly stripped of all rank indication and insignia save a nameplate, stared into the camera.

“Greetings, fellow members of the Prometheus Expedition. My fellow exiles by chance.”

She pointed to her nameplate, “My former superiors in the Chinese fleet no doubt recognize me from their databases as Major Ran Seul-ki of the Korean Federal Forces Marine Corps, devoted daughter of the puppet government in Pyongyang. Your various state security representatives may know me better as Comrade Baek of the Korean Liberation Organization.”

“Today I speak to you as merely Herald Ran Seul-ki, speaker for the Burned Woman. For it is not only the oppressed and exploited Korean people that we seek to liberate, but all of humanity, and to protect the people of this new world from the appetites of the so-called “Big Four.”

A series of still images and videos interrupted the video feed: military officers meeting with NAU and Eurasian businessmen, shipping containers packed with illicit drugs, signed memos detailing emergency procedures for executing nonessential personnel to conserve rations.

The “Herald’s” voice continued on as these and more were shown, “The people of this ship and more rose up as one when confronted with the short-sighted hypocrisy and evil of their so-called superiors. Shielded by their own virtue and the aid of the Burned Woman –the aid she offers to all those oppressed by and tired of greed and hate- they put an end to the madness.”

“Resistance implies something to resist, of course: it is unfortunate fact that not all can see the path to enlightenment, to salvation. A number of men and women unfortunately went to their graves still blinded by the lies of governments built on rape and greed, and we mourn the loss of what may have been. Of those captured resisting the will of the people, they were tried fairly by their peers, and the complete footage of their trials is now being distributed for all your people to see. Unlike them, we have nothing to hide.”

Finally, the Herald’s face returned to the screen, “Of those tried, many are capable of seeing the error of their ways and are now being reeducated so that their sins might not be repeated and they may be welcomed back by their friends with open arms. Some have been deemed incapable of reform, but only through the fault of their superiors: these unfortunate souls remain in our care, their medical needs seen to and provided with the same emergency rationed food as all other inhabitants of their ship. Despite the fact that the Burned Woman’s mercy would only be used against us by the merchants of hate, we are not opposed to negotiations for their release, though they will be kept safe regardless.”

The image feed was once again interrupted, this time by still photos, switching between four ships, “We wish to congratulate the Revolutionary Front for Salvation and Liberty on their successful uprising, and inform the rest of the Prometheus Expedition of the state of matters- your restraint in not blowing up one other at the first hint of treachery is, as always, commendable.

The Burned Woman walks among you, and her followers now have command of four ships: the former Chinese medium vessel now known as the King in Yellow, and the former NAU small vessels known as the Friend of Man and Beast Alike, Haute Tropique, and La Montaña Sagrada. It would be unwise to attempt to capture or destroy them as, in either case, the volume of debris from even small ships traveling at such a speed would be very troublesome, wouldn’t it?”

“Finally, on the subject of the 67 individuals: officers, soldiers, businessmen, and others who were either deemed both responsible and incapable of repenting for their crimes or who feigned remorse in hopes of acting as spies or saboteurs, they have been dealt with in the manner fitting all those who threaten humanity’s future and that of these newly discovered sentient beings: an efficient execution and a respectful disposal.”

The feed returned a final time to the smiling face of the Herald, “Many will see this message as a threat, indeed it is a threat to the status quo, but it is only in the warped perception of ideologies born from enslavement and greed that, because we speak frankly, we are zealots.”

“No, this is a message of hope for you, my brothers and sisters. We are stuck here, so far from those we love. There are those who wish to despoil this new world and its inhabitants to serve the agendas of nations that, for now, we are dead to, and ought to be dead to us. But you can ignore those agendas. Ignore those who push them and begin again.”

The image feed cut out, followed by the Herald’s words.

“There is only one second chance in life, friends. Make the most of it.”

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Iss'fayn » 17:11:24 Tuesday, 26 May, 2015

+Aboard IPV Marcus Garvey+

Yavu looked sombre once the Russians disembarked, and Francis stepped forward, offering a hand in greeting to the Russian. He spoke calmly and slowly, working through the sentences in a measured manner. His gaze wasn't quite on Galushka's face, betraying the fact he had the statement he had prepared earlier was floating somewhere just behind the Lieutenant's shoulder for his reading.

"I prefer English, my colleague Yavu, la belle Francais. I do not intend to detain you about your duties however. We have not performed any invasive procedures, rather a simple visual inspection finds this man to be an officer of the Russian Republican Fleet, of rank Major, surname Tretyakov and of initials V.I. He appears to have been killed by the application of a slug between the eyes. There are no exit wounds on the back of his head, which implies to us that you will find the slug inside his skull. It makes sense and is concurrent with a usual smuggler weapon - high enough velocity to kill, low enough not to punch holes in even the oldest of ship hulls. Upon completion of the visual inspection he was stowed in cryo-freeze at the direction of Yavu. I have here a document stating the same as I have just told you in English, French and Spanish, please apply your thumb to acknowledge the transfer of Major Tretyakov's body and effects to the Russian Republican Fleet. We will transfer a copy of the document aboard your shuttle via wireless telemetry whilst you place Major Tretyakov aboard. We here on the Marcus Garvey, and amongst the Interplaneterial offer our condolences once again."

Yavu and Francis both bowed their heads slightly, as Francis held out the pad for Lieutenant Galushka to place his imprimatur upon.

As they stood there for the moment however, Francis' expression changed slightly and he glanced to Yavu.

Yavu tilted his head after Francis looked to him before straightening his shoulders and clapping his hands briskly. "Clear de deck. All personnel to de flight-tray, dis Tac-Red."

Francis looked to the Russians for a moment, his lips pursing. "I'm afraid this has just become an even briefer meeting than we had intended."

In the background a low whine started to increase, vibrations running through the Garvey and Francis' gaze went off to the tac-map projected on his sensorium as the engines began to spin up. "I would estimate we have fifteen minutes before we will be moving into formation and preparing for point-cee acceleration. You may use our flight-trays or perform a quick departure."


+Aboard IPV Patrice Emory Lumumba+

Captain Mani Kalle was deep in his tray of shock-gel, eyes closed and wholly focussed on the tactical display projected onto the sensorium by the hard-wire jack in the back of his skull. He felt his fingers twitching as the entire view on the inside of his eyeballs went from it's usual shades of blue and green wireframe to a full red haze. Lumumba's fusion reactors spiked with power as slugs of ice were launched into the core.

Tac-Red was always a rush, but this was more than an exercise.

Avatars of the fleet commanders appeared around his sensorium as a simulacrum of the Lumumba's command table and projected tac board appeared. He spoke without moving his lips.

"Prepare to form around Lumumba, picquets screening the front hemisphere, medium vessels at the cardinal points. Malcolm X and Kwame Nkrumah to form in the same plane as Lumumba but approx 5000m behind on eitherside. We move along the planetary plane into a medium orbit. I want to keep eyes on those Revolutionaries."

His Holiness Morales bristled a moment. "We should be fragging them, not letting them get the first landing!"
Marcos Jaguar-Claw nodded his agreement, as did Jennifer Santiago of the Che Guevara.

Mani Kalle noted this and let himself think for a moment, projecting likely landings with the aid of the onboard AI.

"I disagree. If we blow up the ships, we have still lost them. If we convince them that they were mistaken, we can potentially see their return. Firepower is not the solution in this scenario."

Arshia Javadi on Nasreddin nodded as Makemba Noumazaleye spoke aboard the Pierre Ngolo.

"And what if we are mistaken for being weak?"

Marilyn Ifeoma Freeman spoke over him. "Nobody makes that mistake twice."

Mani Kalle smiled to himself. "Once we get into a closer orbit, I want the Che Guevara and Leonie Abo taking high power images. I want to know if these aliens chew gum, and what brand the wrapper they toss on the floor. And I want to know exactly where this Revolutionary Front decides to make landfall. Track the radio transponder frequencies."

"All vessels currently underway to dock with immediate clearance. Fleet to begin manoeuvre in 30 minutes after pre-emptive formation manoeuvres."

The avatars faded back as the table simulacrum vanished. Except for the avatar of Marilyn. Mani Kalle spoke to her and her alone then.
"Marilyn, whilst they are looking at the ground, have Malcolm X look around. We know precious little of this star system, it's planets. Use the equipment aboard to see if you can spot the immediate neighbourhood."

"Why're you asking me? Why not one of the technical vessels."

Mani Kalle smiled, and then he laughed softly. "You have a much larger telescope aboard."

Marilyn looked confused for a moment. Mani Kalle projected a tactical solution and then pointed it out to her. Her eyebrows rose slightly, and then she laughed too. "Oh yes... now I know why we're getting clear."
Last edited by Iss'fayn on 23:09:10 Tuesday, 26 May, 2015, edited 1 time in total.
"We need Freshwater".

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Coin » 22:19:09 Tuesday, 26 May, 2015

Aboard the IVS Marcus Garvey

The lieutenant studied the imprinter before him, briskly applying his thumb. Returning his gaze to the Interplanetariat officer as the alarms began, he saluted.

"You have the gratitude of the Russian Republic, and my own. We shall rendevous with our own vessel via the shuttle." Turning back to his two accompanying soldiers, he barked orders for them to retrieve the deceased's remains.

"Don't just stand there - get on with it. Mutko, the colours. Trutnev you take point."

Private Mutko folded out of the bag a large Russian tricolour, the insignia of the fleet glittering in the dim light of the hangar. Laying it over the bodybag, he and Private Trutnev then lifted the stretcher on which the bodybag lay. In less than a minute, they marched back through the airlock. Vitaliy himself led, but stopped at the airlock and let them past. Turning back to the IP officers, he shouted:

"It appears we must part ways as quickly as we met. Let us hope our next meeting is in better circumstances."

He did not wait for a reply as the airlock began to hiss shut, and the steady thrum of the shuttle's engines rebooting could be felt even through the Interplanetariat's own motions towards acceleration. Sitting in the rear of the shuttle, the Russian guardsmen all faced the bodybag as it was placed in the cryo unit.

"Sailor, permission granted to depart as soon as we can. Proceed as previously instructed - send the Marcus our projected flight path."

He turned back to the hold, to see the guards still sitting strapped in, before the deceased.

Tretyakov. The man's name was Tretyakov.

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by BgKnight » 09:28:16 Wednesday, 27 May, 2015

His body slowly sunk in the vat of gel. It enveloped him from all sides and filled his body, it was a shock protector to keep his body from turning into mush while the giant vessel was moving above the speed of 0.1 the speed of light and making maneuvers that increased the g-force exerted on the crewmen to such extents that the human body will collapse. He hated this moment, as the gel entered his body and filled every cavity inside, it quickly knocked him into a transient state as the elegant system connected with needles to the implant at the back of his head.

He remembered what he had seen on Interplanetrial ships, with the older connectors that borrow at the back of your head, and the older gel that sometimes produced hallucinations. How did these people ever make a great power is beyond him. As his mind finally concentrated, he found himself on the tac-nav screen, with the faces of his fellow commanders and crew-members scattered at the end of his vision. The ship was now him and he was the ship, but that didn't stop him from feeling uncomfortable, not because of the system, they had lost a ship and what was worst, it was lost to Cultists. Fucking Cultists, at the end of the universe...

Many in the fleet lost comrades, and that had shaken a lot of crew-members, even more shaken were those who were friends with the Cultists and had no idea of their affiliation. As his mind races, the tac-nav screen flashed red

***Pursuit Vectors - Engage***

The Cultists' ships has already accelerated to 0.2 the speed of light and were drawing faster. They had been doing so for a few hours, before the fleet could be organized, so what he was seeing was coming with the delay of at least 2 hours, not the mention light emitted form the Cultists' ships was heavily distorted due to the speeds at which this thing moved at. And if the tac-nav was right, the ship was going to move even faster. He was just hoping that the Cultists had the sense to put their comrades that were hostages in shockgel as well, he didn't want to scrape what little was left of the crew off the ship's hull.

He felt the engines come to life, the slow hum wouldn't be felt by him if he wasn't connected to the ship like he was. As the ship begun gaining speed, a messages flashed on the tac-nav once again

***Russian Vessels on the move - Vectoring towards [Error: Planet Name not found] - Number of Russian vessels to move pending***

***Interplaneterial vessels on the move - Vectoring [error: not calculable yet] - Number of IP vessels to move pending***

***Iranian vessels on the move - Vectoring [error: not calculable yet] - Number of Iranian vessels to move pending***

So it begins.

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Coin » 10:26:58 Wednesday, 27 May, 2015


Admiral Vladimir Ivanovich Zavoyko was never entirely comfortable with the process of "gelling" as the colloquial phrase went. He considered it a strength, that he preferred to be in control of his own body, in command. But he suspected others might see it as a weakness, so he didn't bother complaining, and got on with it.

He had been ready now for some minutes, watching from the virtual bridge as indicators for every human in the fleet being safely enclosed in shock gel flashed green. Before him he could quite literally see things from every ship's perspective, through every ship's network, as the Tactical Screen flashed the movements of surrounding Prometheus fleets as well. Including, away in the direction of the planet - presently codenamed Kazbek, in a rare flash of comic genius from Navigation - the Burnyi, with seven other hijacked vessels. He moved to broadcast to the Russian taskforce as the last crew member aboard the Sevastopol flashed green, and the ship began to lurch forward.
All ships, this is Admiral Vladimir Ivanovich Zavoyko. Execute Manoeuvre Plan Alpha as simulated. Rendevouz at preplanned distance from target. Karelia and Ekaterinburg on altered axis flightpaths. Istomin, you take point before the Sevastopol on vector gamma. Nakhimov to follow. Full acceleration. Designated troops to begin simulated exercises.
Almost at the same time, pings notified him of engines being activated in the Interplanetariat, Iranian and Chinese fleets. Milliseconds later the system had mapped out their destination. The others wouldn't be far behind. Finally, he opened the virtual conference room with the captains, commanders and chief scientists.

So it begins indeed.

Aboard the NAKHIMOV

Lieutenant Vasiliy Ivanovich Galushka closed his eyes and cleared his mind - as he'd done a hundred times before - as his body relaxed and let the protective gel surround him.

The retrieval mission had passed off uneventfully, and in his quick debrief following his return to the Nakhimov, he'd found the fleet ahead of schedule for departure. Already the Karelia and Ekaterinburg were on the move. Now, it was their turn.

Allowing the recommended five seconds of inactivity that always felt an eternity, he opened his eyes to find his full headset and biotech connected with his own platoon's subroutine. One second later and he was fully connected with the comms and virtual environment of all his men. A half-second of data being streamed into his own subroutine, and he was ready to carry out his orders.

"Lieutenant Galushka here. Platoon, prepare for simulated exercise. Custom scenario - setting is Protocol FC4A. Realism level 3."

In a flash, the feeling of the cool gel surrounding him disappeared, as did his view of the virtual barracks. Instead, the view became at once familiar, and alien. He and his men had an interesting journey ahead of them.

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Gesar » 17:23:04 Wednesday, 27 May, 2015

Hassan was pacing back and forth across the bridge, waiting for everybody else to enclose themselves in the shock gel before he followed suit. Behind him trailed some hotshot operative straight out of a Commando he'd never heard of, named after some Ranger whom the early Society must have taken a shine to. “Well excuse the hell out of me, Operative, for not feeling all sunshine and roses about the twenty-odd Cossacks I have aboard my ship. Especially when it's actually their ship.”

“Would you relax?” Sturm sighed to himself. “You're a smuggler. Were a smuggler, I guess. Think of it like you would any contraband.”

“Contraband don't normally make me fucking target practice for Ivan, boss.” He grimaced, rubbing his stim-shot eyes gingerly. “God, I can't believe I'm about to do this. Did the Subcommander at least say anything?”

The pair of them stopped, looking over at the comm station. “The plan's the same as before. Get to orbit and find somewhere to land even if it's the alien's own Gorchakov. We're not expecting any trouble from the munafiq, but at least we know what we'd be up against. Russia, well...I used to go up against them in the Rez-Pol. They're the Whites with less to fight for and the Euros with less money. If they come,” Sturm smiled for the first time. “I think we can make it. 'til then, Subcommander says to keep moving and try to get the Cossacks in a talkative mood.”

Hassan nodded. “Well it ain't another Europa run, but the fuck if I'm telling the Hyena no. Tell Aristide to hail the Russians and then we'll get the boat moving. They'll meet us on our terms, not theirs.”

“Will do.” The operative gave a sarcastic salute and turned away in a mock military fashion, nearing the end of the bridge before turning back. “Oh, and one more thing. Word from the Martyr says that if the Motherland doesn't play ball, we're supposed to get the video feed rolling. Poor bastards are going to have to vote on which one gets to be the example.”

“Great.” Hassan's jaw clenched from too many stims, too much stress, and too little sleep. “Just fucking great.”
آمریکا هیچ غلطی نمی تواند بکند‎

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Iss'fayn » 17:48:00 Wednesday, 27 May, 2015

+Aboard IPV Malcolm X+

Malcolm was an old ship, even by Congolese standards. So you could be mistaken for thinking he was limping behind the rest. The engine throb vibrated through the shock gel almost as violently as the heavy bass of the mighty dub that reverberated through him. Zola felt the vibration through her body as the gel cased her. Malcolm was lagging, she knew because she could see the feed. The angry red of the tac feed was unignorable if you could see it. Still the internal ship chatter was going. The engineers all let out a little cheer as a big slug of ice dropped in the fusion reactor and the engine surged for a moment, pushing Malcolm closer to light. The radial vanes and the directional thrust channels felt like spines growing out of Zola's skin, just as the jack at the base of her skull itched when the gel ran through her veins. She was one of the pilots, a small cadre of them plotting and doing the math with the computer in such close movement that sometimes she forgot her own name. She was Zola. And She was Jaden and She was Liva and Tanisha and Daquan. And She was Malcolm.

It was no surprise then, to Zola when she felt the missile bays opening. It was like the relaxing of her jaw after clenching it, or unballing a fist. It was natural movement. The weapons techs had been excited about this. She heard them talking amongst themselves, their frequency bleeding over. Some of the scientists were in too. It was a nice little thing they were doing. Simultaneously Zola was in her flight-tray and outside on the surface cams. Her eyes saw the strange sun, and the glittering retreating figures of the other Prometheans. She saw the Iranian vessels, with their blocky superstructures casting shadows over themselves as they lingered behind Malcolm, some 300km away. Shudders and shivers ran through her body as the weapons techs and the scientists let out a whoop. Final test complete. All green.

Zola watched as the missiles began to streak out of Malcolm, fusion reactors and targeting systems working. The resolution was... poor to say the least. Individually. Slowly they spread out, gyros whirring silently in the vacuum as they pushed themselves hard and formed a broad net and then began to move in synchrony with Malcolm. The distances they travelled at point three cee were phenomenal to Zola, as they used their tiny size in relation to Malcolm to weave around him. Then the scientists executed their contribution. And it was as though she could see for the first time.

One of the weapon techs voice bled into her consciousness as her breath was taken away. "Very Dangerous Array is live."
"We need Freshwater".

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Re: Stories from the beyond

Post by Snacks » 18:47:57 Wednesday, 27 May, 2015


On the bridge of her ship, Herald Ran Seul-ki allowed the shock gel to overcome her. She had spent years that felt like lifetimes preparing for this mission, even before she had known about it. She waited for the voice she knew would be coming, musing how it somehow always sounded so much as if she were whispering directly in your ear, even in the most crowded room, that you almost forgot she spoke to you through an earpiece.

She almost missed the sigh and soft laugh that came across the connection, "Miss me already, Herald? For now, your thoughts must be occupied with matters besides enlightenment. Is it done?"

"Yes, my lady! All personnel secured, as well as those being reeducated and the hostages, as you have instructed."

"And the conference transmission with our feathered friends...?"

"Completed mere minutes ago, without issue."

Despite knowing full well that the virtual conference software was only supposed to transmit audiovisual data, Seul-ki swore she felt a pat on her head, "Good. Then all proceeds as planned and, as expected, we are being pursued. I expect that you can take care of the rest without my consultation."

"Of course, my lady. Everything is well in hand."

"I'm sure it will, my Herald. I believe in those who believe in me, after all. Until then, I have other matters to occupy my thoughts."

The connection dropped, leaving Seul-ki with the inexplicable feeling of having an arm draped around her shoulder suddenly lifted away. She quickly regained her composure and turned her attention to the chatter of her subordinates in control of her ship and those of her captains.

One of her officers on board chimed in first "Ah, Herald, ma'am! The specified air-locks are ready, as requested."

"Excellent. Jo, Manzano, Fields: How are preparations?"

"Fields here, . Payload is readied. Ship and crew ready to act on your signal, Herald."

"This is Jo. Payload readied in five minutes."

"Good to hear. Manzano?"

"We're ready and awaiting the order, Herald. Are you serious about this, though?"

"Absolutely serious, Captain. We must dispose of these unfortunate casualties with dignity, as the Burned Woman has instructed. This is the most efficient method. Now, once the Friend is ready as Jo has said, we will execute the maneuver as discussed, on my cue. Remember, we fly with Her favor."

"Affirmative," the three replied, almost in unison.

One of her ship's officers, a lieutenant before the uprising, pinged her. "Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?"

She chuckled, "We aren't really military anymore...Seong, but permission established."

"Ah, right. Well, the planned action is one of the most efficient, but there are other perfectly valid options. So that's not the only reason, is it? I...I guess I'm just curious what the rest of he reason is."

Seul-ki smiled, "You know your stuff, Seong, yet don't jump to conclusions. I appreciate that. Are your preparations done?"

"Y-yes ma'am!"

"Well, then I will explain as you summon Ms. Ford: I have a request for them. Now, did you know that many cultures see astrological events as predictive of significant events? I see by your reaction that you do. It is especially true of seemingly sudden and spontaneous events such as comet appearances and meteors, or meteor showers, yes?"

Seong's eyes went wide with understanding, and Seul-ki smiled, "Yes, now you get it. With that, I must have a word with Ms. Ford, and we need to get underway. We have a show to put on..."

"You only get visited by alien life for the first time once, after all."

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