(Jokers Wild, Section 1, Chapter 4: Say Hello To The Neighbors)

"Absinthe from Mjolnr Flight Control, you are cleared to undock from ship, egress corridor Charlie-two-Alpha, your station is uploaded nav area Gamma. Condition 2 rules of engagement until stated otherwise. Radio if you guys need anything, over," the Flight Controller for his sector notes.

"Flight Control, Absinthe rogers your last, please give my compliments to the Star Admiral for the wonderful whistle-stop tour of the bowels of hell, over and out," Captain Holmes notes.

"We are undocking now, releasing magnetic grapnels," the Helmsman says. After a few moments, the ship shifts slightly. "Ready to release locking lugs to the Mjolnr, all power, fuel, personnel accesses have been sealed."

"Unlatch us," Anastus replies calmly. The process of undocking was routine, but the environs in which he was doing so was far from routine.

"Lugs removed, we are free-ballin' now, sir," the helmsman says.

"Thrust her away, set course for nav area gamma."

"Aye, sir course is in, almost like my—"

"Conn, Engineering for the Captain," the intercom blares before the pilot could continue his sentence.

"Engineering, Conn, go," Anastus replies.

"We got some strange shit down here, Captain, I think you really need to see this one," the Chief Engineer notes.

"Roger that, I'll be there in five," the Captain replies. "Oh, my, this is starting to really become the tour from hell," Anastus notes. If the Chief Engineer thought it worth his time, it had to be something really screwed up.

"Are we going from Hell, to Hell, through Hell, or sideways up Hel's arse?" The Navigation officer notes from the far side of the map table being projected in the ship's holo-tank.

The bent of the last part of the question was obvious to the Captain. "Be nice, Mister Spark, the Norse are one of the few groups that actually got along with us back in the days," he chides, since insulting the Gods of the Norse was generally frowned upon. Some said they existed, some said they did not. Anastus figured he'd find out once and for all after he was dead.

"Right, sir," the chastised Navigator replies, not realizing what he had actually meant until after he had been called on it.

"Commander has the Conn," Anastus says before he begins his trek down toward the engineering area. The trek was far shorter and significantly quicker than would have been for the Star Admiral on the Mjolnr, even with the motorized walk paths the Mjolnr had in the central corridor. It only took him three minutes to traverse the length of the ship to get to where he needed to be, the engine room and reactor room.

"Boss," one of the lady mechanics says as she comes to attention. Though they maintained a mostly professional decorum outside the ship, inside things tended to get informal fast. Not that an order from Anastus carried any less weight than a command from a God in such a case, but 'sniper checking' was rare in a ship that everyone knew everyone else within (1A, 1B). If Anastus didn't know better, he would have sworn he had dated said mechanic a few months ago, but lacking ample caffeine in his brain right now he could not be one hundred percent sure if he did or not (2). Anastus simply nodded and continued onward, as the Chief Engineer was preparing a cutting tool on something that looked like a horridly deformed cannon slug.

"The word?" Anastus asks.

"Fucking nuts, sir," the Chief Engineer replies. "Get this. Standard 60mm lead slug, brass jacket. Same type we'd put downrange from head-mount Vulcans. Expected penetration no more than 1 meter standard armor, a helluva lot less on better armor like ours."

"Yeah, so?" Anastus asks, not sure where this was going.

"We found this thing buried over three meters into our forward-right armor plate."

"Whoa," Anastus replies with quite a bit of shock. "How the hell can a common slug do...huh? I'm fucking confused now."

"Well, that's what's got us as well, so we'd like to chop into the sucker, see what's going on. Shouldn't be able to do three meters, even with an AP rod in the center and an ultra-massive core," the Engineer notes, going on the premise that the laminated nature of the ship's armor would prevent a deep penetration by anything this small.

"Authorized, but first do a sweep on it with some powerful sensors to make sure you don't chop into anything really important," The Captain orders.

"Already have. There's a cavity from here to here, or at least a location with lower density that we think may hold part of the secret. Can't tell what's in it, too much lead and varying densities in between." He whistles across the room at one of the techs that was standing by a band saw. "Joey, fire up the demon!"

He gives a thumbs-up, then presses the power button on 'the demon', so known because it had already removed one finger this tour, and had a reputation for claiming even whole hands. Thankfully the so-afflicted crew now had access to a nanotech system to reattach the severed body parts, but in centuries past that was not always the case. A chart on the wall next to the band saw kept silent tally: "Demon, 8602, Crew 3457" with an obvious change to the last digit in 'The Demon's' score. "Oi, what's the scoring criteria?" Anastus asks one of the techs nearby.

"Every tour where we lose half a finger or more, The Demon gets a point. Every tour with no notable injury, we get a point," the Fusion Reactor Tech replies. "Had a guy lose a thumb chopping through some engine shielding plate last week, so The Demon wins this round."

The slug was carefully carried over to the waiting, running band saw, and the Chief Engineer slowly chops the slug laterally to avoid damaging the contents of the cavity inside. Everyone in on the examination figured they were in for a surprise when they opened it up, but not to the extent they found.

"Whoa, it's just a PCB (3) and a battery with some wires headed to the jacket, what the hell?" One of the Techs asks.

"No, something more," the Chief Engineer replies. "Here," he notes as he chops the larger piece between the battery cavity and the nose of the slug. "We thought this was a super-dense penetrator head, but I'm not so sure now..." he says as the saw chops into the lead with ease. After a few centimeters of cut the nose falls off, proving that the wires were headed toward the super-dense tip section immediately and that the nose was a heavy brute nonetheless. Another cut exposed the dense part of the tip of the exterior jacket, though what they found was grossly confusing.

"What the hell is that thing? Some kind of inverter?"

"A phasing inverter, looks like," an electronics specialist among them notes. "Huh, I wonder..."

"What?" the Chief Engineer asks.

"Give me a second here, I'll be back. Don't pork with it until I return," he says as he wanders off toward the electronics shop.

After two minutes, the other techs hanging around were beginning to get antsy until the Electrician returns. He had both arms loaded with gear, which he set up on the tables surrounding the band saw, and began powering the devices up. The first thing he checked was the circuit resistance headed to the lump at the brass jacket, and came back with just over 1 ohm there. Satisfied, he checked the specifications on the battery and board, and smiled. "What's so good?"

"Whoever built this thing did so logically. The device is designed to use a helluva lot of power, like ten amps, but the actual board is twelve volts and less than one amp. I can rig this thing to power up and we can all see what the fun is about, no?" he notes as he begins running new control wires from the PCB to the chopped wires. With some creative soldering and a little knife work he had everything reconnected to where it was supposed to be, and he connected a DC transformer to where the simple battery normally connected to the device. The battery made things easy, it had a voltage and amperage rating on it, which the electrician dialed into the device easily.

"Do it," the Chief Engineer orders. Anastus, like everyone else, had put on safety glasses but was watching intently despite the possible hazard.

"Power...on," he replies. Immediately the brass jacket changes color from very dull bronze to almost a silvered sheen, definitely not the same as it was before the power was applied.

"Whoa, what the fuck?" the Chief Engineer says as he pokes at it with a gloved hand. The round skitters almost effortlessly across the surface of the band saw, of which the saw itself was still running. When the slug's upper half struck the spinning blade, it bounced back from the blade after letting go a massive shower of sparks; the blade did not cut into it, despite the expectation.

"By the Gods themselves," the Chief Engineer grumbles as he looks where the blade had conflicted with the slug. "Not a damn scratch."

"Bullshit!" Joey, the 'master' of The Demon, replies immediately. "This is a nano-machined micro-tooth blade! It'll chop through pure ultra-dense Gundanium, much less a frigging brass-jacketed slug!" They got the best blades for the band saw from a retailer that used nanomachines to build the blades, but somehow the Warship had not been upgraded until recently when the Star Admiral had upgraded it 'illegally'.

"Here," the Chief Engineer says as he takes the slug and pushes it into the blade's cutting surface again and holds it there. The blade sparks for five seconds before failing, the turning blade loop immediately causing the hot blade to pile up on the Chief Engineer's gloved hands.

"Holy Fuck, good Sir Captain," the Engine Mechanic that had been watching with some others notes. "I do believe we just got shot at with some serious firepower," he notes.

"Hate to see a Gauss Rifle slug with that shit built into it, it'd plow through half the ship before it stopped."

"Guys," the Electrician says after Joey turns off the band saw without a blade. "Check this. This five seconds and change is where the shell was in contact with the blade." The part of his readout he was highlighting clearly showed one thing: the amperage used by the device jumped severely when it was in contact with the object.

"It's trading amperage for resistance to outside physical forces," Captain Anastus Holmes says. "If that had struck the bridge window, the battle would have turned out significantly different for this ship, maybe the whole fleet."

"Good Gods, could you image armor made out of that shit? Complete resistance to autocannon, rail gun, missile weapons, land mines, demolition charges, physical attacks. Does it work on energy weapons as well?"

"Here," and the Engine Tech presents a laser pen torch to the Chief Engineer. In moments the Chief Engineer had it in place and cutting into the device.

"No, it does not resist energy," the Chief Engineer notes. The laser had burned through the jacket and the slug readily.

"This is more than enough. Write up a report, full tech analysis. I want to present this to the Star Admiral within three hours. If we can duplicate this, we can give ourselves a hellish boost in battles to come." Anastus sounded grave and worried nonetheless, as if there was a chance of having to face these again. He would not know for a long time how correct he was.

-x-x-x-

The investigation of the building continued unabated, as the four Marines in Elisa's point continued the stylized dance of going apartment by apartment, room by room, clearing a building that logically they knew had not seen occupancy in months but would still need to be cleared prudently.

Upon the fourth floor, they found evidence that the apartment building (and likely the whole colony) had last been occupied Year CE 68, where a few digital calendars found here and there declared the present date to be 17 June CE 71, early in the day standard time. While not strictly speaking useful in determining which way to go to get home for the Marines, the information did tell that any bodies in the building would be three years old at the minimum.

"All hands attention, stand by, we have bodies at our location," one of the Marine points from 2 Trinary notes.

"Karen, Diane, Helga, Victoria, hold," Elisa orders immediately.

"Report, 2-Alpha-2," the Star Colonel orders.

"Hold one, still analyzing," the Point Commander reports. 'One' turned out to be three minutes. "All hands alert, I have four samples showing civilians killed by anthrax attack."

"Confirm anthrax as vector of elimination," the Galaxy Commander orders tersely, which really meant for them to test again on other bodies in the collection they had come across.

"Wait one," the Point Commander says again. "Test positive again, Galaxy Commander. These poor sods were killed off with a bio-weapon. Test sample remnants match Charlie-grade weaponized Anthrax."

"Charlie-grade? Someone buying their bio-weapons from the bargain bin at the terrorist weapons emporium?" Someone from 3 Trinary retorts snidely.

"Chill out, Third," the Star Colonel replies. "That may be as far as they can engineer bio-weapons...so far. Let's not encourage them to do better, quiaff?" he orders.

"Aff, Star Colonel," the chastised Point Officer replies.

"My point, continue operations. I have overwatch," Elisa orders, which did not surprise any of them.

"Stacked," Karen notes as she prepares to enter. The door handle had already tested working and not locked, so all she needed was the signal.

"Go Alpha," Diane replies, which was the code for the two of them to enter the room. Helga and Victoria operated under the Bravo team moniker, and Elisa typically went under Sierra (representing the first letter of Sniper).

Immediately the two Marines entered the apartment and swept it for threats. None. The two moved to the kitchen. Nothing. They doubled back across the living room, stopping to inspect the closet, then into the master bedroom and walk-in closet. Nothing. Secondary bedroom and closet. Nothing. Bathroom and small closet. Empty, though the shower was still running and Diane stopped long enough to turn it off, having to force the water off quite roughly as the valve for the spigot had calcified.

"This apartment clear," Karen reports as she looks back into the secondary bedroom. "Huh," the Marine mumbles aloud, looking at all the artwork, wall scrolls, centerfolds from magazines, and other triptych in the room. Much of it centered around a singer and songwriter by the name of Lacus Clyne, though not all of it as there was a healthy smattering of some obviously pop-star boy bands around the room. That more than most declared the occupant of the room to be a teenage lady, to which confirmation came as Karen idly checked a dresser drawer and found a stack of B-cup bras in the drawer. Either that or the occupant of the room was a pervert teen that stole smaller ladies' bras. Karen was not one to rule anything out just yet, especially since she did not have the measure of the 'Locals' yet. (4)

"Nothing of major note in this apartment. Family had one small automatic in nine-millimeter, nothing to write home about," Diane notes as she approaches the secondary bedroom. "And the daughter appears to be a typical fangirl," she notes as she observes the room.

"Oh, give it up," Karen replies immediately. "You cannot tell me you didn't have your own stars to which you paid attention," Karen replies immediately.

"Oh, yes, I had my stars. And they were, or are, or shall be, depending on your frame of reference, far more substantial and useful than a pop singer," Diane replies. The strain she put on 'useful' caused Karen to grimace.

"Care to drop a name?"

"The First Six," Diane replies, which was not an unexpected answer to Karen. The First Six, referring to the First Six Executors, exemplified the honor and power of the Star League to a tee; their exploits and battles were more than legend, and just as powerful in the retelling. Their individual persons represented three conflicting pairs of principles, namely power and grace, mayhem and order, the darkness and the light. And billions of people all over the Star League and the six attendant Star Empires that formed the core of the Star League wanted to be an Executor because of their legends. Some even made it to that vaunted station in life.

"I'll buy that," Elisa replies after a few moments of silence.

"Bravo, go," Victoria interrupts their reverie, abruptly reminding the entry team that there was still work to be done. Silently Diane and Karen left the room, headed for the next apartment down the hallway they were clearing, and stack on the door in the same fashion as prior.

Karen reached for the doorhandle, but a warning signal from her Enhanced Sensors stopped her hand before it touched the handle. "Huh? Gunpowder?" Her sensors were highlighting areas on the door and doorframe where there was traces of gunpowder residue caused by fighting in the area, maybe even in the apartment. "Elise, Karen. Eyes on apartment 422, possible shooting incident inside or in the area," she requests and qualifies of her Point Commander.

"Alpha, be advised I have eyes on and am clear. No tango in visible areas, repeat no tangos visible. Enter when ready."

"Alpha moving now," Karen says as she twists the handle and pushes through with her right shoulder. The gunpowder traces made things more urgent, and Diane immediately follows her inside and turns left. Much as their sensors declared, there was no living soul in the room.

Dead soul, yes. Diane's aimpoint was the first to cross over the remains of someone who had been killed and left in the room. "Jesus," she notes.

"Is it always this obvious?" Karen asks. What she meant was obvious to Diane.

"Normally, no," Diane replies, having investigated murders before she knew what she was looking for. And this scene reeked of a murder scene. "Murder is an almost-guaranteed one-hundred-percent lose-lose crime in the Empire. Commit a murder, you will be executed for it, regardless of your 'circumstances' and 'excuses'."

"And I know what the second 'lose' is all about," Karen replies, having been randomly picked twice in her career to be in a firing squad for a convicted murderer once and convicted rapists twice. Justice among the Empire was swift and to the point, as murder, rape, treason, and a few other select crimes were always execution offenses. Some rules were not allowed to be broken, and murdering someone was one of them.

"Check the rooms, I'll start a forensics scan of the body, though the gunpowder, blood stain on the wall, and bullet holes in the window rather directly states how she died."

"Roger that," Karen says as she hefts her rifle, shoulders it, and begins the search in earnest. In the secondary bedroom of the apartment she found not the decorations of a teenager, but younger kids, two of them.

"Karen, my forensic scan is showing a second person dead here, a daughter to this lady. You checked the secondary bedroom yet?"

"Aff, she had two kids," Karen replies. "Boy and girl, looks like."

"Maybe the poor sod got away," Diane thinks aloud.

Trace gunpowder on the walls of the kids bedroom, with the highest density nearby the closet, told Karen otherwise. She pulled open the door to see what was inside, and was accosted by the sight of the dead boy, whose body was in the same condition as the two in the main room. "No, Diane, the poor sod did not escape. I'll scan this one over, but I can see the bullet holes in what's left of his shirt. Fairly obvious this is how he died as well."

"Alpha from Sierra, be advised I have forwarded your data up the ladder to the GC, he reports he will inform the Star Admiral. Make sure you do full reporting on their remains."

"Aff, Elise, we're on it. Helluva thing to run as this mother's epitaph, much less her kids last rites. Their fates boiled down to a report on the efficacy of local firearms in killing unarmored targets and the tango's willingness to use them on civilians."

"And no, Alpha, we can't win them all," Elise says to bring the conversation to a halt before it gets out of hand. "But, if this is terrorist shit, we'll kill them when we can."

"I'll settle for that, thank you," Victoria replies.

-x-x-x-

(Time: 1330 Lima (Local) time, 8 hours after initial scouting run of Marines)

Star Admiral Centara matched the movements of his Altron Gundam to the rotational frequency of the colony and thrusted down onto the ground to bring the unit in sync with the colony's artificial gravity. Despite his efforts, the landing was still a bit rough and troublesome for the Gundam to match, which was expected by both pilot and passenger. Landing on the inside or outside of a colony that was using rotational sections for gravity was not a simple task, nor a smooth one.

"I take it is that building with the four Marines and the Marine Sniper?" Calamira asks before Wayne pulls the control key (5) and pops open the cockpit hatch.

Never mind that Wayne had managed to park his machine in the middle of a street with less than a meter's clearance to either shoulder. At the least, the Marines were impressed and said so as the two approached the five of them.

"I take it yours is the first murder scene?" Calamira asks. Several had been found, apparently some form of 'bloodletting' as they all had involved sub-machine guns chambered for nine millimeter rounds. A few of the incidents had been downright messy, and at least two of them had involved a rape-murder combination.

"Aff, milady," the Sniper says as she comes to attention. "Fourth floor, apartment 422."

"Move out, Marines," the Star Admiral says. He was carrying an M4 of his own since the colony was not 100% secured yet, but nearly so. The five Marines moved in first, leading the way up the stairs toward the designated room, as the Star Admiral and Strategic Officer followed less loudly behind the five in the heavier Marine armor. Both Calamira and Wayne wore the Pilot's Armor, which though expensive provided the pilot far greater protection than the pilot suits common to Mobile Suit and Mobile Armor pilots.

"And here we are," the Sniper notes. She had pulled and was carrying a far lighter and smaller .308-caliber sniper rifle instead of trying to maneuver the monster armor sniper rifle she carried in small hallways. If anything, even the smaller rifle made her seem more sinister than she likely was or seemed to be in Calamira's opinion.

"I will take it from here," Calamira replies.

Inside the room, Calamira removed her helmet out of habit. She could still perform her job functions as needed while fully encased in meters of armor, but she preferred operating with at least her head exposed to open air. In this case, she got lucky as the facility air recycling system had already cleared the stench long ago, recycling the same stale air into the room and out the room that was in the rest of the colony. Calamira surmised it was the same all over the facility, given the people within had been dead for years the chance of their bodies stinking was pretty close to nil. Most of the dead in the colony could be chalked up to the anthrax attack, but not all.

With her helmet removed and set aside, Calamira knelt about a half meter away from the head of the lady that had been killed, and began her duty. Among the Empire, there were people of mental disciplines so powerful they could hear the thoughts of other persons at planetary distances, they could move, heat, electrify objects with thoughts, they could see and hear into locations without ever having been there, and even sense the events of strong emotion at a physical location. In this case, her technique was the latter-most, as she searched the area to see what had happened to cause the death of a woman and her child by gunshot.

Even years after the incident, the emotions were strong, strong enough that she could see the incident by after-image, in the same fashion that looking at a bright light would leave an impression upon the vision of a viewer. In moments she saw what had transpired: a mother speaking to her daughter about something worrisome, the door being kicked open, a man shouting in accented English, the sub-machine gun firing a short burst, the terrible pain of not being killed immediately by being shot until a point-blank headshot finished her, another man entering the room and going for the bedrooms, more shots, curses, and they left. Only three words really echoed in her mind from the incident: Coordinator, Blue Cosmos.

Calamira bolted back and to standing, in the process impacting the Star Admiral hard enough that he was knocked backwards into one of the Marines. "What? What happened?"

"It...it was...brutal. Two of them, Uzi sub-machine guns at close range. They never stood a chance."

"Did you understand why?" Wayne asks after a few moments. His imagination did not require much in the way of work to understand how helpless an average civilian mother would be in the face of a sub-machine gun carried by a half-competent terrorist.

"I couldn't tell. The only two concepts that came to mind were the words 'Coordinator' and 'Blue Cosmos', separate from each other," Calamira's voice was still uneven, and Wayne expected it to be. Witnessing the after-image of a murder was not a simple task as far as he could tell.

"Coordinator, as in the ruler of the Draconis Combine?" One of the Marines asks.

"Not likely, what would the nobility of the Kuritans be doing here, and where is the rest of the Combine?" the Sniper retorts almost immediately.

" 'Coordinator' may have to be left as a mystery for now, but keep an eye out for any materials on them. It is the other, the 'Blue Cosmos' that has my attention, I have heard that name before," Wayne notes.

" 'Be wary of the ethos of Blue Cosmos, for the path to hatred is based on genetics, not on the person,' to quote the Emperor's Remebrance," one of the less talkative of the Marines says.

"Ah, I remember that passage now," Wayne notes after a few moments. "A passage warning of the price of hatred, disunity, distrust, jealousy, arrogance."

"And of the value of having just one chance to do the right thing, and having the will to do the right thing when all hell is loosed upon Existence," the same Marine replies. Wayne's sensors registered her name as Victoria, and her rank as Point Officer. Given that there might be promotions in order in months coming, if Wayne was smelling the environs right, she might make a good officer several ranks above her present.

"Aff, the same," Wayne replies. "Still and all, Blue Cosmos was always interpreted to be a terrorist group, but what is their true aim? Usually their actions were attributed to something along the lines of a race war, and judging by your expression, Calamira, that is not the case here."

"Both were OWG by any other description," Calamira replies. "It has to be something deeper," she notes.

"Don't dig unless you want to—"

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Someone shouts on open radio bands, bringing all conversation to a halt.

"Who said that?" Wayne asks immediately. "Identify!"

-x-

Kari, Point Commander in the Sandstorm Trinary of the Marines Force, was leading her forces with her usual reckless abandon. They were essentially 'assaulting' this abandoned facility, a facility listed as a 'Genetics research facility' above the main entry. The first level was little more than waiting rooms and short-term hospital wards. At the worst it could be used for a makeshift hospital, when it was cleaned and recomissioned with proper medical staff. The whole area continued to show the signs of being an otherwise normal medical facility as the point continued delving into the facility with her usual reckless abandon.

"Wait up, Kari," Ranaldo Centara says as he closes up on his CO's position. "Now, you were not thinking about beginning the clear on the second level without us," he asks as the other three approached and stacked on Ranaldo, who was awaiting Kari making her move. They had cleared all the rooms in the lower floor, and found nothing more than what appeared to be short-term medical wards. Interesting, that, but not incongruent with the nature of the facility.

"Ready to go," Kari replies indirectly to Ranaldo's question.

"At your leisure," he replies, given that she outranked him by a margin but was not senior to him. Ranaldo had been on active Marine duty for over a decade, and showed no sign of quitting any time soon. The commensurate Elemental, Ranaldo stood 2.2 meters tall and could bench press over 600 kilos weight at normal Terran gravity. A colossal Eugenic like most of the Elemental Eugenics, his size was as much an intimidation factor as was the amount, variety, and size of weapons he carried. Being a big target was little of a problem to him, since he could carry a reinforced shield as well as the IDF (6) and more than ample energy sources to run it all day long.

On the next level, the floor area was limited to a ring around the central column of the facility and a ring of catwalks around the outside of the cylindrical main structure, with catwalks crossing between the outside and inside rings at ninety degree angles. As the team exited the stairwell, they split apart, three headed left, two headed inward toward the center column to begin searching the rooms. Kari was in the three-some with Ranaldo and one other, a demolitions specialist with a love for incendiaries.

"These pipes...coolant pipes for something?" The Demo expert, William Tell, notes as he touches one.

"Could be," Ranaldo replies. "Could also be temp regulation systems or just fluid in/out systems. Depends on the machinery on this level," Ranaldo says as he traces the path of the pipes to this floor, somewhat down the hall.

The first door they entered was an office for a research scientist that smoked heavily. They checked it for anything obvious, but found nothing and simply declared the room clear. When outside they continued clockwise around the exterior catwalks, the next room being a large conference room with some diagrams on the whiteboard representing the structure and some possibly planned facilities expansions, since the structure only vaguely resembled what had been drawn. A third door led to a locker and break room for the research personnel, which the three rummaged around inside for anything interesting and found only a pair of matched 9-millimeter pistols and a dead body of a female person wearing a labcoat, nothing more. Autopsy check scan showed she had been killed as had the poor sods across the colony: 9mm sub-machinegun, five rounds at close range.

The fourth door is where part of the pipes led to, and by stenciling one pipe showed incoming to the room, one outgoing from the room, suggesting Ranaldo's theory about fluidic in-out controls was high on the possible list here.

As normal, Kari stacked on the door, her hands gripped tight on the MDBS-08D combat shotgun (7) as she prepared to move. As Ranaldo gave her the signal, she jumped off and immediately swept into the room with grace. She made it no more than one step before she came to a dead halt, which immediately brought the whole stack to a halt before they could even see what was inside. After two seconds, the shotgun hit the ground with an echoing clang of one metal against another, clear signal that something was gravely wrong. "What's wrong Chief?" Ranaldo asks as he steps forward to attempt to look over her head and shoulders into the room. His 100mm short-charge autocannon was already armed and ready for any threat, but what he encountered was the same shock, not a threat. It only took his mind 2 seconds to really realize what he was seeing, then the inevitable reaction: "WHAT THE FUCK?"

Two seconds later: "Who said that? Identify!" Someone shouts back, but the Marine only vaguely recognized the voice and never responded.

"What the..." William moans as he sees what the other two did by way of looking just past Kari's shield. "What—what in the name of a thousand hells is this?" He concludes his rhetorical question.

"Report, Marines!" their Galaxy Commander orders sternly.

"What kind of depraved fuckoid would abandon a eugenics facility in the middle of a gestation?" Kari asks in close-to-a-whisper.

"OH FUCK NO! I DID NOT JUST HEAR THAT!" Someone shouts on the radio bands.

"You did," Strategic Officer Calamira replies immediately. "Feed 2-Delta-06 is the Point Commander in question," she notes. Within moments every other Marine had 'pirated' her visual retransmit by C3, and everyone could see what she was seeing.

The telltales were all there. The small iron wombs of a proper Eugenics facility, themselves surrounded in batches of centrally-regulated thermal fluid, each with their own filtration housing to avoid cross-contamination, and each with its own internal sensor panel. The Galaxy Commander of Marines, somewhat versed in Eugenics himself, could tell they had a good, solid setup—except for the fact that someone had walked away. And the children in the wombs were all dead, unborn and never raised, never to see the light of day. The instrument panels all confirmed that, but Point Commander Kari turned her sensors on the canisters to verify.

Every one of them registered dead, all the same reason: cardiac failure, believed induced by failure to maintain proper blood filtration.

"Requesting support...from the Strategic Officer at this location," Point Commander Kari airs on the radio frequency.

"Aff, I will be there in minutes," Kari hears on the radio.

It was not only the Strategic Officer that had come into the facility, but the Star Admiral, the Galaxy Commander of Marines, and almost a full binary of other Marines had joined them. The Marines had been tasked to continue the search throughout the structure and adjacent facilities, with orders to inspect everything, take notes, and catalog and collect documents for analysis. The Star Admiral, the Galaxy Commander, and the Strategic Officer convened at the canisters first found, since the facility had several banks and all had casualties in them.

Regardless of what Calamira thought, it was infinitely worse for those who were Elementals, themselves gestated and then born into Existence in the same fashion that these hapless souls died. Calamira walked in on one such officer, an Elemental staring at the third Canister on the right side, the monitor showing several red bars whose import was not hard to guess. His right hand held a BMG-09A2, the infantry-scaled copy of the beam machinegun used by Gelgoog Marine MS units. His left was on the rail of the walkway, and gripping said rail hard enough to already have bent it.

"All of 'em dead, ma'am. All of 'em." He managed to say to her in a level voice, never once flinching from the one he was observing.

She nods just slightly. "Sick shit." She notes. "Clear out, Marine, I'll try and discern why this place was abandoned. If they who are responsible are still alive, we can discuss options later."

"Find them, please," he entreats; "This shit can't go unpunished."

"If they are not already reposing in Hell, I think we can make an arrangement…" The Star Admiral says quietly. "You heard the lady, Marine, fall back."

"Aff." He walks around her and out into the hall.

Calamira began her process. Since the building had been dead for a long time, finding the last time it was active was dead simple for her. She saw backwards, heard and sensed just the same; the fear, the panic, the sense of impending doom was overwhelming, coming from the impressions of thousands.

The surge of fear literally brought her to her knees. Fear, in and of itself, is contagious. One person that panicked could easily so stir others, and the ensuing chain reaction could become a disaster in itself. In this case, that was half of what happened. The other half was far simpler to explain. An Anthrax attack. That started here, in this building. Started by Blue Cosmos. Finding the focal point took almost all her skills, but in the end hiding it would have proven futile; this one was relatively out in the open.

Calamira went to the platform intersection, turned left, and entered the main consultation room. She rummaged around one of the desks for a few moments, and came back to where the crowd of Marines was gathered. "Take a gander, ladies and gentlemen, of the hatred of Blue Cosmos."

"Blue Cosmos? You sure?" the Galaxy Commander asks immediately thereafter.

"Aff, 100 percent," Calamira replies deadpan.

"That makes them another anti-Eugenics terrorist group in a whole lot of them," Point Officer Ranaldo notes. "By the Gods, what gives people the right to say another person cannot live based on how they were born?"

"Don't bother trying to figure it out, Marine. There is no logic," the Galaxy Commander replies. "There is a solution, of course," he says, though the Marines figured it as much a prompt to the Star Admiral, to see how 'Magi' he really was on such subjects.

The answer was not against what they wanted, of course: "We're not going to bother going hunting on our limited resources right now. Waste of effort, waste of lives. However, if we do happen across members of this Blue Cosmos, we kill them as we do any other terrorist. Those who would perpetuate these manner of tragedy will be killed for their mistakes."

"You heard the Star Admiral, Marines, start strip-searching the facility, end to end. I want to know what was so special about this place to warrant a biological attack," the Galaxy Commander orders.

-x-x-x-

(23 June CE 71, 2000 hours)

"Eagle 20, Control, we have the last pattern ready. You ready to copy?" his controller asks.

"Aff, and is this the last of the last patterns?" Eagle 20 asks almost facetiously.

"Aff, pilot, complete this and the ship's camo is done, over," she replies.

"Ready for upload," the pilot replies immediately, having toggled the necessary settings on his consoles. In moments the operation plan was in his system and processed for nav points, grab points and drop points.

There was an art to it, actually. The Empire had throughly studied the space wars of the various MS Eras, namely the UC timeline and its offshoots, and in so doing they had found some anomalous battles where the Federation was grossly outmatched but still won the battle. Further inspection determined that the Federation had concealed forces in the Shoal Zones, be they asteroid material, construction debris or pieces of destroyed colony, and waited in ambush for Zeon forces to swing by. The tactics were not exactly brilliant, any sixth-grader in the Empire's schools could come up with that one, but they worked alarmingly well on the Zeon.

The Empire had no trouble adapting such tactics to their own use. Namely, the Mobile Armors used in profusion by the Empire were more than capable of maneuvering debris out of a ship's path, or with a randomizer program could maneuver debris into a random but camouflaging pattern around a fixed point, usually a ship or fleet. In this the Empire struck lucky, as the other Star Empires were less than properly expecting an ambush from a debris zone that would kill most Warships in a matter of minutes. After the first few times such ambushes and flanking attacks happened, the enemy fleets began spraying down the debris fields with energy weapon fire to provoke a reaction before they approached it; sometimes it worked, other times the force was able to holds their nerves until the enemy closed to optimum striking range.

And one of the things that Eagle 20 had done during training was take a four-week graduate course in setting up such debris fields, along with more than a few other MA pilots in the force.

In six days from settling into position next to Mendel, the MHW Mjolnr (Hull designation MHW-6428) was now parked on the far side of Mendel, whereby it could not be observed from anywhere on Earth and was partially obstructed by the colony when viewed directly from the Lunar surface. What other concealment was needed beyond hiding behind a derelict colony was provided by the debris that had been 'randomly' arranged around the colony. And with enough debris stationed at varying depths around the area, a craft with powerful sensors would not be able to see the Warship or the bulk of tis escorts, which they were more than capable of doing using junk on hand. An investigating unit would have to get real close to Mendel itself to see the ship, but by that time it would already be subject to ambush, electronic jamming, and other hostile actions.

"Read the ELINT reports?" his controller asks.

"Neg, not yet. I am still going through the reports from the Geneticist on what they found in the colony. How about the cliff notes?"

"Someone's still alive out there, and by news reports it appears everyone is still at war right now. There was three major factions before this thing picked up, ZAFT, Aube, and the Earth Alliance, but it appears that the Earth Alliance crushed Aube. They swear ZAFT is next, and they appear to be preparing for it as well."

"Conditions on planet?" Eagle Twenty asks as he begins moving a piece of colony chunk toward where the Ship's AI thought it would be good to have it.

"Horrid at best. The Earth Alliance is too devoted to the war to provide proper sustainment for the civilians; there is a huge amount of unrest on the ground, and the military is suppressing rebellion in the name of 'the greater good' and 'purifying the Cosmos'."

"Blue Cosmos," Eagle 20 replies, catching the hint.

"Right. And since ZAFT is centered around some unusual colonies on the far side of the Moon from us, the war is about to shift up here, which puts us at slight risk of becoming involved," the Controller did not sound all that sour about it, however.

"Cute," Eagle 20 replies. His Mobile Armor was in excellent condition right now, giving him a good chance of surviving the oncoming slaughter as he saw it. "You know, as soon as someone finds us, we're going to have shitloads of problems."

"Honey, we're already there," the Controller replies sardonically.

"What?"

"Where do you want me to begin?"

"Whoa, hold off, honey," Eagle 20 replies immediately. "What's changed in the past six hours?"

"First damage report is in from the Jump Core, and it ain't pretty. Two years to repair damage, and that is even using the Nanos, as well as pure-strain material to make sure it is done right."

"I hear that," Eagle 20 replies immediately. "I take it thousands of tons of material?"

"Aff, namely Germanium for the core itself," the Controller replies.

"Fuck," Eagle 20 replies

"Oh, but it gets worse, sweets, we can't get a decent read on the Initiator for at least a couple months. The temp is going to be too high inside for at least that long, maybe longer," the Controller notes.

"And without the Initiator, oops, no jump core, not to mention an Initiator has to be custom-built for the core geography, which after this ours will definitely be different. Even if the core survives, we're probably still screwed."

"Well, worst case, we don't go home, we beat the shit out of the local terrorists and take up residence out here in the colonies, love," the Controller notes.

"Fuck this sideways. Whose leg do I hump for a ticket home?" Eagle 20 replies.

"You could borrow mine for that purpose, if you're half as good-looking as you sound, Eagle Twenty," the Controller replies.

"Getting a little corny on the comms, aren't we?" Eagle Nine says.

"At least it wasn't a straight load of pussy jokes," Eagle 14 adds. Given that 14 was a female pilot, that made the use of the word 'straight' a double entendre in and of itself.

"Hey, Twenty, Control, if you two are going to have any radio sex, take it over to a private channel, eh? Some of us don't want to hear it." Eagle 11 requests.

"You sods are no fun," their Controller replies in almost a pout.

-x-x-x-

(30 June CE 71, 1000 hours standard time)

If nothing else, the time it had taken the Archangel to move from Earth to the L4 colony cluster was a refreshing break from combat and plenty of time to relax their frayed nerves. After all, having gone from fighting ZAFT to fighting the Earth Alliance for their lives in a space of a few weeks had made things rough on everyone, and the losses did not improve morale.

"Captain, what are we really supposed to find out here? This place is supposed to be dead," Romero Pal asks.

"That's exactly it," Captain Ramius says. "Nobody around means we can lay low, plan our next moves and resupply if the Junk Guild contacts with Morgenroete are as good as Ms. Simmons says they are." It went unstated that the crew was not completely readied for the next few steps, mentally and physically both, nor was the ship in material condition to fight an extended guerrilla campaign right now.

Sai could do nothing but sigh. His job had become 95 percent boredom interspersed with brief and very violent fits of terror induced by someone shooting at the ship. The continual swings of stress were doing nothing more than giving him headaches and the doctor was considering putting him on blood pressure medication to better manage his vitals. While he could not complain whatsoever that his life was boring, the closet thrill of being shot at had gotten old real fast. Not to mention his home country had just given up the ghost, the sponsor nation of the ship he was in wanted him dead, and the enemies of sponsor nation wanted him dead. Therefore, any way they went except into battle, they were screwed. Which was good for another sigh.

Since there was nothing going on and Tonomura had his full sensor panel up on his console, so he figured he could get away with diddling around on the radio, see if he could find something worth listening to. So, with a few shell commands he set his system to scan the airwaves and classify what it could hear out there that was not straight noise.

"Captain, we're entering the approach alley in the debris. We should be able to see the colony coming up here in a few minutes," Newman notes.

"Thank you, Newman," Murrue replies.

The ship continued maneuvering, heading around dense patches of debris and in one case a chunk of a colony larger than the ship entirely. Several of the colonies in the area had been destroyed using nuclear weapons after the Bloody Valentine, to keep the Coordinators from using them as staging bases and the like, or so had gone the logic of that time. Nowadays the thought of such did nothing more than turn Sai's stomach.

The results of Sai's check came back far different from what he expected. Both ZAFT and the Earth Alliance had their own directed radio stations that put out propaganda all the time, but those two never showed in the list. Over 100 data streams showed in the list, instead, each heavily encrypted, as well as one radio stream that was clear channel.

"Uh, Captain, I have something real strange here," Sai notes.

"What, what is it?"

"A lot of radio traffic, Captain. Most of it is digital, very heavily encrypted. This is real unusual."

"Frequency sets?" Tonomura asks, since the ZAFT and Earth Alliance always operated in certain bands.

"None we've ever seen," Sai replies. "Above the Earth Alliance range, below and into the ZAFT ranges. Has to be someone else."

"Starting a break on their streams now," Chandra replies before he was even ordered to.

"They do have one unencrypted stream, close to starboard, audio only. Checking now..."

" 'To their own shore, came the world war
Gleaves and the Ingham Leading the bury west
In their own track, came the wolfpack
Gleaves led the convoy Into the hornet's nest' "

"What was that?" Chandra asks, clearly confused by what he had heard on Sai's earphones after he yanked them off his head for being too loud.

"That was intense," Sai mutters as he rubbed his ears.

"That was some Wolfpack by Sabaton," the DJ says after about a minute more of song, which sounded martial but rather depressing to him.

"What was that weak shit? Someone put on some Dead Gardens," another person says on the radio channel.

"Will the Turunn Fanboys (8) shut up or take your bitching to another channel? Some of us aren't Old School Zombies like you," A third person (this one being a lady) requests in a very tired fashion.

"Oh, that's freaking low, even from you," the same guy who declared the prior song 'weak shit' says. Everyone on the bridge was listening in fascination that someone, somehow, was arguing over music and not race. It was also fascinating because their accent was so strange as to be almost lilting, definitely not the normal speech patterns one heard over the radio.

"No, 'low' is trying to invade the ladies' showers for 'drainage maintenace' while they are in use, knowing full well there is no such problem in that shower block. That's freaking low, pilot, get your definitions straight." There were some chuckles and stifled sniggers on the radio channel.

"I concede the bidding, you happy now?" the complainer says.

"Only slightly. DJ, fire up something trance, if you will," the lady orders.

"Aff, milady," the DJ replies half-facetiously, unknowingly starting a trend that would take a while to truly catch on but would last a long time to come. "Here's some Haddaway, this is Life (Mission Control Mix), heads up ladies and gentlemen," the DJ says. There were a few raspberries blown before the song started in earnest, but the listeners were respectful enough to keep quiet while it played through.

Not that being respectful made things any easier for the Archangel crew listening in. "Okay, these guys are starting to freak me out," Miriallia notes as they 'bid' on the next song. The winner came out to be someone who had a pretty good story about a drinking contest involving their officers at some place called 'the Sniper Bar And Grill'.

"Ladies and gentlemen, next song is some Crematory, track title: The Fallen. Excellent song if you're into all that kinda 'life is screwing me' angsty stuff."

"Yeegh," Miriallia groans as she looks at her console, which she had tuned into the radio transmission.

"Captain, I think I have something here," Chandra notes. "Radar sets, all in frequency and amplitude ranges wildly outside anything we've ever seen. Centimeter, millimeter, even nanometer wave sets, I show hundreds of point sources out there, captain, all inside that debris field to starboard."

"Oh my god, hundreds? Are you sure?" Captain Ramius asks.

"That's the different frequency groups it is seeing, Captain. And if I can venture some analysis here this signal set," and on the main screen what his console was showing came up, with one ultrahigh-bandwidth signal set was highlighted, "is a coordination and telemetry system. Basically a system that ties all the other units together, like a network."

"Every unit uses every other unit's sensors and telemetry for IFF and enemy tracking, like a giant spider web," Commander Mu La Flaga says. "The Earth Alliance Research tried that with the Moebius Zero systems, but it was too hard to get it to work right and they began manufacturing the Zeros without the system."

"Do you think you can crack it?" Murrue asks. "I'd like to see what these guys are thinking and where they really are, if you can avoid exposing us," Murrue says.

"Sounds like Mendel has some ghosts," Romero Pal notes sardonically.

"Ghosts that like heavy metal music," Sai replies.

"It could be worse," Miriallia notes.

"Don't say it," Sai says, having a feeling about what she was referring to.

"I can do it," Chandra says. "The Computer thinks this stream has 8192K encryption, which might take a little while for us to break, as well as figuring out what the stream has in it, but it shouldn't be impossible," he notes.

"Do it, then, but if we have to transmit anything to get in I want to know before you do it," Murrue says.

"Yes, Captain," Chandra says as he begins processing the streams on the main telemetry transmission band. There were other bands that came and went in activity, but Chandra and Tonomura figured those bands to be temporary transmissions from a parent or command unit to subordinate units. They were not incorrect in their assumption, but they were off by a fair degree as to the scale of it.

The magic happenings came in from the mainframe in the Archangel itself. The most powerful quantum computing mainframe available had been shoehorned into the ship to aid in targeting and running the automated systems on the ship, and they got what they paid for. The quantum computer was also one of the favored solutions for encryption breaking, with a long legacy of such use dating back to the United States NSA's server farms. In this case, it took only a minute of processing on the streams before the computer analyzed what the stream was really for and began interpreting it properly. The computer itself struck it lucky, guessing from the lower-probability side of the hashes first, given that the encryption and authentication systems were engineered for months of hacking resistance as well as constantly-mutating active keys.

In one pass, the Archangel had defeated a system that had stood for over 14,000 years unbroken by five governments far larger than the (former) owner of the ship they just broke into.

"Captain, I got something, definite contact with their network...and holy shit is it big," Chandra barely squeaks. "I show over five hundred fifty contacts on the network, most of them inactive, some down for repairs, a little more than a hundred active. I can't go any farther without spoofing into their network as an active node, Captain," Chandra could feel the adrenaline running through his system, the risks and challenges were giving him a thrill like none other.

"Risk assessment?" Murrue asks, knowing now that she was playing in insanely deep waters against someone she knew nothing about.

"No telling, Captain," Chandra replies honestly. "They may never notice, they may see my attempt right off the bat, I have no way to tell."

The decision was not as simple as it may have seemed. Almost six hundred against the Archangel, and that with one unusable Gundam and one Gundam missing, as well as her two best pilots, made things very risky overall. Additionally, there was no guarantee that if the shit really did hit the fan, she would be able to escape the enemy forces, which almost assuredly included ships as well. The whole scenario was a recipe for disaster, but Mendel was the only place they could stay for now and something told a dark corner of Murrue's mind to go for it. Logically, she was

Murrue had relied on her gut instincts before, and so far they had not led her wrong. She snap decided to go for it. "Do it, Chandra, see if you can, er, what was it you said?"

"Spoof their network? Here goes," Chandra says as he enters a character-number string into the authentication box.

Nothing happened for ten seconds, making him wonder if he just blew it, but immediately thereafter the target network fed out its guts into the systems on the Archangel.

"Whoa, instant data orgasm," Tonomura notes as the sensor panel immediately shows over a hundred contacts in the debris field, all as friendly/blue contacts. Miriallia sighs gustily as he said that, clearly disgusted with his choice of phrase.

"Captain, I have access to their tactical radios! Up on speaker!"

"Eagle Zero declaring no contacts my sector at this time, over," someone declares.

"Thunderbolt Five, Mjolnr Flight Control, your element report to station Hotel for sentry picket, coordinate Montgomery command and control for distributed command authority, over," A rather young lady (easily younger than Miriallia) orders a moment thereafter.

"Thunderbolt Five plus one moving to Hotel, roger and wilco," the said pilot replies.

"Sierra Nine requesting vector to landing priority, that chunk of colony took out more of my MA than I initially thought," someone says in a very clipped voice. Some beeping could be heard in the background of his transmission.

"Roger that, Sierra Nine, you have priority clearance to all open berths, emergency teams are on standby. Get your craft in here, pilot," another person declares.

"Captain, check this out," Tonomura says as he puts something up on one of the minor screens. "I isolated on Sierra Nine, look at these unit specifications," he says.

"Oh man, that is a Mobile Armor?" Mu immediately asks, reading down through the specifications, recommended usage, damage status, and even the maintenance logs for the craft. The Mobile Armor in question, a RX-78GP03(MR5) Dendrobium, was massive. "That thing is ten times larger than the Moebius Zero!"

"At least," Murrue says. "Warship-grade beam cannon, modular weapons pods, and even a Mobile Suit in the core of the armor," she says of what quick facts she could gander from the record. "Whoever they are, they're clever and very skilled, but not clever enough," Murrue notes, her last referring to the apparent ease of her breaking into the telemetry systems.

"Captain, Kusanagi is hailing us," Tonomura says automatically, before realizing what he had just said and what they just did: "Oh, shit they're on the radio!"

The whole bridge staff held their breath for the inevitable from the enemy telemetry systems that doubled as radios and probably a few other things. Five seconds later: "TacFlash, TacFlash, all points stand to, we have unknown parties close aboard! Definite source, definite recipient in the approach alley to Mendel!"

"Eagle Zero reporting ready op."

"Thunderbolt One reporting ready op," the commander of Thunderbolt sounded like he was barely older than Kira.

"Sierra Zero reporting Ready to go," this one sounded like an older officer and a bit gentlemanly.

"Flanker One reporting ready op," another of the younger crowd in Murrue's estimate.

"Blitz Zero reporting ready operation," this one was younger but definitely female, and to Miriallia reminded her most of some of her tech college friends.

"Montgomery Command reports ready op," the CO sounded to be an older, wizened and battle-hardened lady. Not a hint of hesitation in her voice.

"Absinthe Command reports ready for action," this one was also older, but definitely a guy. To Murrue's ears, he almost sounded grandfatherly over the radio.

"All forces, Commander Grey. Be advised that we are not authorized combat action unless we are fired upon first or parties attempt hostile approach. If this is just a random patrol, we may get off the hook without so much as a sighting as to our name. All forces set EMCON (9) until further notice."

Murrue had been watching the screens for the ELINT tracking, and immediately every signal died off except the enemy telemetry and communications band.

-x-

"I want some intel on the bogeys in the approach alley. Anyone got some Marines or a stealth unit in the area?" Star Admiral Centara orders.

"Command, Shadow Hawk Six, I can approach," one of the recently launched craft notes.

"Do it," Wayne orders before releasing his communications button. "Calamira?"

"I'm still trying to focus in on them, give me a few sir," she requests.

"Take it easy, Calamira. We're in a position to hammer back hard and fast if necessary, nobody is going to fault you if you can't get the read in one shot," Wayne orders. "ELINT, I want some word!"

"Sir, they're silent, no traffic, no radar sets, no heavy sensors, nothing. They must have been spooked somehow and went black hole on us," he concludes.

"Right," Wayne grumbles. "Shadow Hawk, Command, time to intercept?"

"Fifteen seconds to position, sir, request final sneak check."

The sensors operator gives Wayne a thumbs up. "Shadow Hawk, Command, we show your active cloak is five by five, only electronic noise is C3. Take it in, Star Commander, and watch your ass. Don't hang it out in the breeze without good cause."

"Aff, sir," The pilot of Shadow Hawk replies. "Five seconds to good position. Stand by," those five seconds elapse. "Command, pirate my visual, 'cause there just ain't no describing this shit."

"Pair of monitors, look fairly well sized to ours," Wayne replies. "Bigger than the Riga, smaller than the Sendai or Flame Eaters. Can you get a read on those suits?"

"Aff, getting some data in now, sir," Shadow Hawk Six replies.

-x-

"Roger that, we got a read on the loose ones, as well as what they got hangared. One Mobile Armor, one atmosphere-only fighter, three machines we're going to classify as Gundams in the spinward ship, eight inside and four outside of the other ship that show as lower-grade, likely mass production Mobile Suits. Estimate no larger than a Taurus, equivalent combat capabilities."

"Those Gundams got me worried, sir," Shadow Hawk Six says. "The MS show as not having a fusion reactor inside, Star Admiral. My sensors think they are solid-state capacitor or battery systems."

"You have got to be joking...no, you are not. What the hell is up with that?" Someone unrecognized asks. "Those things would run out of power less than a third into the battle, necessitating a helluva resupply effort to keep them going. Bad joss, that, it's a major weakness for any pilot dumb enough to pilot one of those."

Murrue could do naught but groan. In less time than it took for the shit to finish distributing across the walls after it hit the fan, whoever these guys were had already discerned one major weakness of her forces and had comparative analysis of her warships to their ships. Or sho she thought:

"Uh, Captain, look," Sai says. "My screen," he continues.

"Yeah?" She gags immediately as she starts reading the file for the Mjolnr, a Phalanx-class Superdreadnought after replicating his screen to hers.

"Mother of God, how are we supposed to even scratch a ship that big?" Romero Pal asks after a few moments of looking the stats over. "That thing's engines are bigger than this whole ship by double and more!"

"David meets Goliath, film at eleven," Mu says sardonically. "The bigger they are, the harder they blow up in the end."

"They shoot, ram and die harder, too," Romero replies.

"Please, oh please don't let us have to shoot it out with those things," Sai says as he looks over the unit stats for Flanker Team, which was all space-use fighters of a type called Fireball.

-x-

"Conn, Comms, request immediate kill all external radio, including C3, from our ship," the Commander in charge of the radio room requests.

Wayne did not get as far as he had by questioning the logic of his subordinate specialists. When asked, he immediately killed the bridge squawk. "Talk to me, Commander."

"Sir, screen 14, pay attention to the last entry," the screen in question was halfway down the bridge on the starboard side, and immediately all eyes looked to it. It showed the C3 distribution of major command nodes, which in space action was typically warships. The first seven entries were all expected, being the Mjolnr, followed by the Flame Eater-class monitors, then the Sendai-class monitors, then the Riga-class monitors. Entry eight, which to everyone's logic should have been blank, showed LCAM-01XA Archangel.

"Holy fuck," Gerald Lightbringer says as he looked on with the rest of the 'really senior command staff' as he thought of Wayne and Calamira.

"That's literally a first, someone cracked and spoofed the Empire's C3 systems in real-time," Calamira says, since it was part of her job to keep tally and abreast of these things.

"No shit, sensei," Gerald replies acidly. "I'm heading out. If they're this good, we may need all the bloody firepower we can muster to bring them down."

"Gerald," Wayne begins, then halts.

"Star Admiral?" he requests after a moment.

"Watch your ass, and don't start shooting until after they do. This whole scenario may work to our advantage if there is just two of them."

"You are gambling loud and hard, sir, are you sure you know the stakes?"

"Life or dishonor are the inevitable outcomes, Gerald. All we have to do is make sure we fall in the former category," Wayne replies evenly, which was enough of a morale booster in and of itself to the rest of the bridge.

"I hear that, Star Admiral. By your leave?"

"You are cleared," Wayne replies. "Comms, continue monitoring their activities on the C3 network. Now that we know we have a flea in the system, we can use this to our advantage. We can clean up later."

"Aff, Star Admiral," the Commander in the radio room replies.

Wayne hovers his hand over the squawk. "You have them yet, Calamira?"

"I'm searching for the needed info now, sir," she replies. "I know the game, I'll talk to you when I have it."

Wayne depresses the squawk trigger, turning it back on. "Shdow Hawk Six, return to formation at this time. We have enough intel on bogey warships and mobile compliments, over," Wayne half-lies.

"Aff, Star Admiral. Looks like another Frigate navy among many, if I may venture a guess, sir."

"Keep in mind, Star Commander, that if the sandbox you are fighting over goes no father than the LaGrange points around Terra, all you need to hold territory and defend it is Frigates," and Wayne pauses for a few moments...

-x-

"I read you, sir," The Star Commander replies. "The big toys are for the big boys playing the game beyond the small sandbox."

"I can't believe anyone sane would think that," Dearka says over ship intercom, since the Buster was still connected to the ship's power grid.

"It's a psychological ploy," Captain Ramius says immediately. "It has to be. No smart Admiral would let fly that kind of intel or logic on a radio band he suspects to be compromised unless he wanted us to hear it," she continues.

"What's his game?" Mu asks for clarification.

"He's giving us fair warning that his ship is ready to do battle if we get hostile, but he's also in a dicey position because he doesn't want to be officially found, so he's not making any advances except gathering intel. This guy is slick," she stresses quite a bit of admiration into her phrasing. "Admiral Halburton and this Star Admiral would have gotten along famously, I'd bet."

The conversation on the radio continued unabated: "Yeah, well, when they evolve past the point of beating the shit out of each other over pieces of real estate on one planet, call me. I'll be in the bar until then," Shadow Hawk Six says.

"Oh, someone needs a monkey wrench up his arse," someone unknown prior declares over the radio.

"Star Commander, if they find out about you saying that, and they want to beat your face in for it, I will let them beat you down, and I will sell tickets to the show. Clear?"

"Yeegh," the chastised pilot replies in a groan. "Well, if that does happen, at least I'll try to give the audience a good show before they annihilate me. Gotta maintain the family record of going out with flair and all that. Until then, I'm taking a nap."

"Chuck Norris doesn't sleep, he waits." Which was good for some laughs among the other persons on that channel. To the crew of the Archangel it made practically no sense.

"Criminey, how old is that joke? Twenty thousand years? Thirty Thousand? More?"

"More, likely," the Star Admiral replies. "Doesn't matter, though. Somebody stuck Chuck in cryo and just thaws him out whenever ass needs kicked. And if you believe that, I have a bridge outside the Admiralty Review I would like to sell you, real cheap." Which was good for even more laughs among the listeners, except from the Archangel. "Oh, come on, no bids? One bridge, slightly used, sub-standard neighbors?"

"How about a piece of chewed bubblegum, in wrapper, two paper clips and a bra extender," a slightly older female pilot asks.

"Sold to the Alpha Azieru pilot in Sierra Team!"

"These guys are completely crazy, cracking jokes that don't make sense in the middle of a crisis situation," Chandra notes drolly.

"It's more psychological ploy," Murrue says. "They're showing demeanor: they're cool, calm, ready to act at a moment's notice but they aren't going to start things. The jokes don't mean anything to us but it shows they're completely in control of themselves, not scared stiff and not panicky. He knows his stuff," Murrue concludes.

And still the radio antics continued: "Guys, guys, guys!" one younger and almost ditzy-sounding pilot puts out on the waves.

"What? This is not the time for a discussion about geology, Eagle Twelve," someone else says.

"Well, I don't know if this is germane to our present situation, but I'm seeing eight nodes on the Warship band right now, and I'm only counting seven Warships on our side of the debris field."

"Busted," Mu says quickly.

"You're smoking it, kid, unless...whoa, she's right, there is another node in the Warship bracket," the same punk-sounding guy declares.

"Harvey, are you spoofing command authority again?" A lady asks in a very alluring sing-song voice.

"Fuck off, Matilda, I don't spoof the command net during an alert!" The guy assumed to be Harvey replies.

"Guys, guys, guys, no fighting during a crisis situation please!" the original caller on this section of the radio notes.

"We're not fighting yet, honey," Matilda replies still in her alluring voice.

"Okay, that's just freaking me out," Miriallia says.

"No kidding," Romero Pal agrees softly.

"That eighth node isn't replying to most C3 Commands and polls, but it does have an identifier: Lima-Charlie-Alpha-Mike-dash-zero-one-Xray-Alpha, Warship's name is Archangel. It's the contact spinward right now, the one with the two wider forward legs and the large bank of engines. Looks like a badass piece of hardware for the under 400,000-ton bracket, but a bit thin on mobile compliment. Only question is, how long has command authority known we were being spoofed?" the punk-sounding pilot asks.

"Oh, some time, Point Officer, some time," the Star Admiral replies. "So, Captain Murrue Ramius, this brings us to the inevitable question: since you know we are here, and we know you are there, how do we go about settling this? I leave that judgment to you."

-x-

"And now we wait for them to respond, one way or another."

"Think they got the message?" Gerald asks by way of a radio earpiece that Wayne had donned to communicate with said pilot/command officer.

"We think so, the rest is up to fate," Wayne replies.

"We'll see what we get," Gerald replies with a level head.

"All right, Star Admiral, you know who I am. Before I continue, I'd like to know who you are."

"Wayne Centara, Human, age 39, Star Admiral, withholding my home nation and planet, any other questions?"

"You...you're joking about being Human and the rest of that, right?" Murrue asks. "I mean, being alien is being alien, but..."

"On the contrary, Captain. I am completely human just as you are, if a bit on the crazy side of human. Of this I swear a rede to."

"I'll take that on faith, Star Admiral. And that also means you're not Earth Alliance or ZAFT, so who are you, really?"

The answer was not even a moment in the coming. "We are lost, a long way from home and no way to get back there."

"So what's the big deal?" A prior-unheard guy asks. "Your light-speed drive busted or something?" he asks with a rather cruel snicker, as if it was he doing the joking this time around.

Wayne decided to play along: "Actually, yes, it is busted. Six hundred thousand tons of it cooked off in the process of depositing us wherever the hell we are right now."

"Oh, man," the same guy says. "Bummer," he concludes.

"Hate to interrupt, Star Admiral, but where exactly is your home?" a third guy asks, this one sounding closer to thirty than the prior one's closer to eighteen voice.

"How much do you know about interdimensional travel?" Wayne asks deadpan.

Silence on the radio band for over a minute.

-x-

"You lost me," Mu finally replies after over a minute of thinking real hard about it.

"Easiest way to describe it, same worlds, different history for whatever reason you want to imagine. My Empire exists among many of these parallel histories, moving between them by use of ships similar to the one I am in. Only thing is, we ended up here by accident, wherever 'here' is, and we can't go back because our jump engine is fried out. Speaking thereof, you wouldn't happen to have a few tons of Germanium you would be willing to trade for?"

"Eh, nope, sorry," Murrue replies, knowing that raw Germanium was not one of the supplies that had been loaded onto the ship at Morgenroete. "And...you can't get home without it?"

"Without a working jump core, I can wish myself home faster than this bucket will get me there. Now, if I may ask a question, Captain?"

"Certainly," she replies after a few moments.

"You are not with either of the two local military superpowers, I am guessing their names are Earth Alliance and ZAFT, correct?"

"Correct, and we used to be with them, but not any more. You?"

"We've been here for two weeks, prior to that we were jumped by a force that outnumbered us practically six to one. We won, but because of the battle we're here now, no way to get home, no way to call for a tow."

"I still don't believe this crap," Dearka says, earning not just a groan from Miriallia for shooting his mouth off, but a facepalm from her as well.

"You don't believe it? Bring a flashlight and a hard hat over here, I'll pop a maintenance access into the core for you to take a long, hard look. How's that grab you, kid?"

"I'll be over there in twenty minutes," Dearka promises, more than willing to try and call this joker's bluff.

"Can't let the kid go alone, so I'll head over with him," Mu says.

"You don't object if several of us come over to take a look and talk to you about this?" Murrue asks, since she couldn't very well let her whole Mobile compliment go in alone.

"How many you want to come and take a look at a million and change tons of scrap jump core, come on over," Star Admiral Centara replies. "It'll look as depressing as it sounds, trust me."


Author's Chapter Afterword:

Unlike the last time I went through this minefield, I am now using the official SEED timeline to help coordinate dates, times, and actions, making it more of a realistic link to SEED. The show doesn't properly show time and they cut around for the sake of expediency, but the timeline on GundamOfficial is logical. Logic gives me something to work with, and I always like that.

Last time through, someone suggested that there would be less shock from meeting humans from an alternate history than was shown in the original, so I went about running on that assumption, and this is where I came out. Dearka being a smartass, Kira and Athrun nowhere in sight, Miriallia about ready to strangle the blonde Buster pilot, Chandra having hacked the unhackable, and the Star Admiral that got momentarily pissed off when a brat pilot less than half his age called him a liar. Fun times indeed. Also, this section is a lot less cluttered with tech details due to the use of footnotes, one of the major complaints from my prior work, which I will implement in further revisions as well.

Revisions are fun, especially when you can play with prose and plotline (within reason)! Other than that, I have nothing major to note at this time.

NEXT UP: the Archangel crew gets a crash course in Jump Physics, Interdimensional theory, and what Calamira really is, as well as why former personnel of your ship makes dangerous enemies...


Review Replies: Three replies from frequent customers, always a pleasure gentlemen.

FraserMage: You may be right on more than one level, and still undershooting the reality to come. Also, going to and from the colonies is the work of a short-range shuttle in Battletech parlance, imagine how easy it will be for the Mjolnr itself, which has a maximum of 3.03G burn speed. (Ref the frigate disparage one of the Gundam pilots said above)

Knightowl 4183: Always a pleasure, Knightowl. Stay tuned, thing will get infinitely more clear and far more brutal in chapters to come.

Necroblade: As I stated in reply, the fighters and MS are usually going to be more effective in a fight due to technological disparity, as well as raw training. Magi pilots train for years before they are loosed into the ranks, and as the pilot continues in duty he advances by combat, so even at perfect peace with the other Star Empires the pilots are still subject to battle. Training will prove to be the master of the battlefields to come, and both the EA and ZAFT are going to get a harsh lesson in its value.


The Gripe Sheet:

No complaints from the last chapter.


Footnotes:

(1A): It is a linguistic nuance of the Magi that when referencing divine authorities, the plural Gods is typically used, in deference to the fact that there are more than a few Religions that declare the supreme being, and any or all of them may be right. Thus the premise of multiple beings is respected; Magi take no chances on offending one of them and blowing their chances later in life.

(1B): 'Sniper Checking' is referring to saluting or otherwise drawing attention to officers that may incur a sniper round. This is discouraged as enemy tactics are to prefer taking out Magi command and control assets first, then the regular forces in question. For most purposes among the Magi, simply coming to attention is enough acknowledgement of an officer.

(2): Another premise of Magi military structure: there is no real division between enlisted and officers, both are considered to be of the same structuring group. Therefore, fraternization above or below one's rank is not illegal.

(3): Printed Circuit Board, more or less most electronics boards made nowadays. Typically green with silver or gold contacts. May have other things attached to it, like microchips or expansion cards.

(4): Locals is the Magi reference to persons in a geographic area, usually not used in any larger reference than a planet and its nearby colonies.

(5): Control Key is a Magi mobile forces safeguard. The key is typically a mount bracket for the pilot's codex necklace to allow battle data to be recorded on the fly by the machine's control computer and prevent use of the machine without the key. A static key exists for each machine as well, allowing the machine to be used by someone other than the normal pilot if necessary. These static keys are typically secured inside the machine somewhere not in the cockpit and are normally accessible by the mechanics. As an absolute last resort, an artificial intelligence entity can bypass the key check but this also causes damage to some subsystems inside the machine and is very rarely used.

(6): Inertial Dampening Field, a spatial anomaly field that slows down moving objects above a certain threshold of speed. Especially useful against kinetic energy penetrators, as the effect on the object slowed increases with the velocity of the object being slowed. Not used on Mobile Army units or larger due to the fact that the field becomes unstable and increasingly less effective when expanded beyond a 3 meter shell around the point of origin

(7): Magi Double Barreled Shotgun, Revision 8, Drum-fed. The 08 variant of this venerable shotgun line is select-fire, capable of being used full-auto, semi-auto, or single selectable barrel. Drum magazine holds 15 rounds per barrel of 10-gauge shells. Very effective against unarmored targets and even of some utility against heavier when used with slug, sabot or explosive shells.

(8): 'Turunn Fanboys' is in reference to the original lead vocalist of the band Nightwish, Tarja Turunn, who when replaced with Annette Olzon generated a massive backlash from fans loyal to the original singer. Despite this, the band continues being very popular in the 'non-mainstream' music groups. The Magi in particular have a very long tradition of listening to Nightwish, and many can be classified as Turunn Fanboys under this definition.

(9): EMmission CONtrol: turning off all electronic devices that put out a notable broadcast.


Logic And Reason:

Picket Lines, Defensive Patrols, Fleet Bubbles, and Mutual Support Zones

These four terms may seem similar on first gander, but each refers to a different set of tactics and philosophy pertaining to space battle, as well as each requires a totally different approach to counter. For the record, all four of these tactics are primarily defensive, not offensive, though they can be used aggressively if the commanding officer of the force in question has the balls to do so and a well-trained force to use them with.

Picket Lines is the most simple of the three main defensive bulwarks, and under most circumstances it is also the most vulnerable tactic of them all. A picket line simply refers to a defensive palisade built in two or rarely three dimensions of forces, arrayed in one direction, with all forces responsible for handling forces in the axis of advance of the picket. Additionally, perimeter forces will also be responsible for guarding their perimeter zone, so if a ship and its mobile compliment is on the left flank of a picket line, that ship would be responsible for forward action as well as covering the left flank and making sure no enemy forces get in behind the line to cause havoc. The major strength of a picket line is that it is directional, ergo the whole force is focused in one direction and natively attacks in that direction, meaning anything caught in front of the force is hamburger. The secondary strength of a picket line is that it is infinitely scalable; a picket can be done by as little as two units and as many as your whole navy. The major and crippling weakness of a picket, however, is also its major strength, in that being directional once the force is flanked it is all over and the only thing left is the screaming. In strategic terms, this tactic is common of ZAFT forces on the defensive and both ZAFT or the Earth Alliance forces on the offensive.

Defensive Patrols are a significantly more complex tactic and requires more flexibility from the unit in question, but in so doing provides a far larger ability to defend and counterattack in every direction, but not always with crippling strength. Unlike the palisade, there is no really fixed large-scale formation to defensive patrols, as subordinate units typically are in motion around the command elements to which they are attached, constantly changing their vector and velocity to provide the maximum area coverage allotted to them in their patrol route. This is the main strength of a patrol: as they move, they are constantly searching their areas assigned for hostile contacts, making surprise a far less likely event for the patrolling force. This motion and required spacing, however, are the great weaknesses of the patrol plan, since the minimum effective patrol radius cannot be smaller than the maximum range of the enemy weapon systems, or all an enemy needs do is park at his maximum range and bombard the asset being patrolled around. Additionally, this operation plan requires a significant amount of forces to patrol in every direction, as well as early warning assets, to provide the necessary striking power to stall an attack while the rest of the forces get in place to stop it outright without compromising the rest of the patrol, or the protected entity becomes vulnerable to a secondary attack vector. Additionally, a patrol system can be considered scalable to multiple layers, provided enough forces are available to do the job, making surprise even less likely for the defending party and an effective offense infinitely harder. Typically, both ZAFT and the Earth Alliance use patrols around fixed ground locations, though in space the Earth Alliance is more reliant on their sensor systems, whereas ZAFT practices some minor patrolling and early warning techniques.

Fleet Bubbles are the most complex of defensive practice, as well as the most cohesive and powerful in defense. Unlike the prior two formations, the fleet bubble is not really rigid in application, as the positions of ships, mobile forces and fighters can be adjusted on the fly to suit combat necessities, whereas adjusting patrols requires time and changes vulnerability during that change. Fleet Bubbles consist of concentric rings of force stations, with the protected asset or main fleet ship in the center, the main combat warships forming the next outward ring, followed by the mobile forces screen. The rings are always arrayed in three dimensions, commonly called shells or spheres, providing coverage in every direction from every layer, meaning that an attacking force has to hammer its way through several concentric rings of firepower to get to the center assets, and even if they do get to the center they risk counterattack from the other vectors that are not tied up. The major strength of this tactic is that it provides flexible, scalable, all-direction defense for a fleet, meaning that flanking a fleet bubble is nearly impossible and almost always suicidal. The major downside of this tactic is that it requires flexibility for the involved forces of a level not commonly seen among contemporary naval forces, and this tactic also requires an honest-to-the-Gods fleet comprised of multiple capital assets with a large compliment of mobile forces both active and on standby for rapid reaction. Excellent command and coordination is a must for a fleet bubble, as the commander that moves from his position at the wrong time exposes the next shell inward to a penetrating attack as well as exposes his own forces' flank or rear to the enemy. In practice, ZAFT does not use the fleet bubble tactic at all, as their command and control structure lacks the depth or strategic acumen to array a large amount of capital ships into a cohesive fleet. Additionally, only under the hands of an expert Admiral does the Earth Alliance use this tactic, most notably Admiral Halburton, though it is also arguable that Admiral Sutherland tries to do so during the battle of Yakin Doe and fails at it. The only failing point Halburton had in using a fleet bubble tactic against the Le Creuset Team was that the Gundams simply blitzed the bubble, pushing through the defenses in a rapier-style assault to attempt to attack the Archangel, and Halburton's mobile forces were unable to stop them in the attack.

The fourth tactic, Mutual Support Zones, is not so much a defensive formation as it is a defensive philosophy and modifier to how the other formations are arranged. In common practice, formations are arrayed as wide as possible that they cover the most front possible, giving them the appearance of a larger size than they actually have. Mutual Support philosophy is the exact opposite: formations are tightened up to the maximum interval that forces are apart from each other but still capable of providing fire support and assistance to neighboring units. This reduces the cross-section of a force and makes it look smaller than it actually is, as well as focuses more of its firepower into a smaller cross section to maximize fire on target. In this fashion, an enemy that attacks the defensive formation has to face the guns of up to three units at once, making attacking any given area of a formation a dicey proposition at best, and guaranteed suicide at worst. The major downside to this is the fact that it has a reduced cross-section, making for a more dense front and therefore allowing an enemy to envelop the formation easier. In practice, this tactic is used to an extent by ZAFT, and in limited amount by the Earth Alliance, though the main provenders of this tactic are the Three Ships Alliance, who use the tactic to great success in the battle of Mendel.

Magi Naval forces have learned their lessons of naval combat in millennia past from many early defeats in space combat, and it is standard training that Magi learn the appropriate way to structure each formation and when to use them. A standard operations fleet consisting of two Phalanx-class ships, four battleships or battlecruisers (typically Leviathan II, Texas or McKenna-class ships), and up to twenty smaller Warships and Monitors will operate using all three defensive tactics in a Mutual Support clustering: a fleet bubble surrounded by an active patrol zone with a picket line forward along their axis of advance or along the axis of a known or suspected enemy attack. This array provides a massive amount of defensive frontage as well as a strong forward guard or offense, depending on the fleet's assigned mission at the time. The downside of this tactic is that it literally requires hundreds of active fighters, mobile suits, Gundams, and Mobile Armors at any given time to complete the patrols, picket and defense bubble, and that above and beyond the warships and monitors themselves. Such deploy operations usually measure their fuel consumption in the thousands of tons per day, which does not make the eco-weenies happy but makes the enemy about to be assaulted by the fleet even less happy and usually very skiddish. For this reason a fleet will typically deploy with large amounts of tanker-only Dropships, in the Magi case they would be Guild-II class Dropships each carrying over 50,000 tons of fuel per ship, and would be periodically resupplied during a patrol run by relays of Jumpship convoys carrying food, ammo, supplies, parts and more fuel.

The Mjolnr, in contrast, tends to focus its efforts into a tighter fleet bubble and use long-range sensor systems to guard against intrusions. In this fashion Star Admiral Centara gives himself the maximum response time possible as well as several overlapping fields of fire, at the cost of possibly having an enemy able to range to any point in his fleet with long-range fire. Though typically considered bad form, in practice it provides excellent fire density especially from the Mjolnr and its escort Monitors, as well as very short cross-fleet response times for mobile force assets. This tactic is hedged against the bet that an enemy commander would not have the time to capitalize on his formation's density before his warship has been raked several times over by capital fire from the Mjolnr and the nearby Monitors.

Just a quick primer on space defensive tactics :P


TRO Section:

No TRO to deploy today. No unit really took a starring role today or kicked major portions of ass. Stay tuned, however, some real crowd-pleasers will be along in the next chapter :P