LiotrentRCNS Piggyback
Kelmarthy System
The impossible vastness of space meant that despite falling within the Commonwealth’s borders, the Kelmarthy system had only been surveyed five years previously. With no habitable planets, nobody had been particularly desperate to settle the system, despite its relative abundance of minerals and the pockets of life below the ice on one planet. So it was that there was no one to see the Migrant Fleet arrive in the system and begin operations. Until RCNS Piggyback showed up.
The ship settled back into normal space with a slight amount of creaking and groaning. Captain Rekkavik briefly noted the faint sound; it was the first sign of fatigue on the ship’s internal structure, and she’d only be good for another hundred or so FTL jumps before she needed retrofitting. But that was a far off concern for the moment.
“Multiple unknown contacts!” the tactical officer called out, and Rekkavik looked up at the main holo display and the gray shapes of unknowns. “Unknown configuration, no transponders...spectrometers indicate similar hull composition to the probe we saw back in Duranin. I think we found our mysterious visitors, Captain.”
“Very well,” Rekkavik nodded. “Comms, prepare a standard first contact package-”
“Missile launch detected! Make that multiple missile launches detected! We are being targeted,” the tactical officer called out, interrupting the Captain mid sentence yet again as the gray unknowns switched to hostile orange. Rekkavik shot him a venomous look, wondering if perhaps the officer secretly delighted in interrupting him. But it was a passing thought; Rekkavik had more important things to focus on. He had put the ship at general quarters and action stations before arriving in system for exactly this reason, and his ship was ready to return fire.
“Railgun batteries to 100% defensive fire. Launch half salvo counter missiles half salvo ion warheads, prepare to open fire with positron cannons,” Rekkavik ordered calmly, securing himself to his seat. He’d barely finished his sentence when a closely knit shell of flak and EM fields exploded out of his ship, the railgun batteries precisely alternating and overlapping their fire to create the optimal shell of active defenses around his ship. The missiles, meanwhile, raced off at top speed. The ion warheads were shield-killers cleverly designed to detonate either as proximity charges at point blank range or shaped pulses at standoff range. They were usually the first missiles fired in any engagement. The counter missiles were just as clever; instead of actually detonating, they projected widespread gravitational fields, sweeping through enemy missiles and drawing them inwards and off their intended targets. Both types of missiles raced towards the unknown but presumably hostile ship.
It was then that Rekkavik noticed something. The enemy missiles were not bearing down on his own ship, but rather were orbiting the unknown hostile in sweeping chaotic loops. The rest of their weaponry, while targeted, was not actually firing. This didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t going to start firing; Commonwealth ships liked to employ similar tactics, deploying multiple missile salvoes into space on low power, then having them all swarm the target in devastating alpha strikes. But it could be the unknown was just being cautious. Aggressively cautious, yes, but Rekkavik had to consider giving them the benefit of the doubt. He had only seconds to decide. Scuttle his own missiles, and risk the destruction of his ship? Or let them strike, and almost certainly guarantee war with an unknown species….
“Tactical! Scuttle missiles!” he called out abruptly.
“Are you sure Ca-”
“Do it!” Rekkavik briefly noted a small surge of satisfaction at being the one to do the interrupting this time.
The missiles detonated, seconds away from their intended targets. Of course with the distances involved in stellar combat, those seconds translated to a few hundred thousand kilometers. Rekkavik exhaled slowly. “Keep the defensive fire going, but hold offensive fire. Comms, get that first contact package on the airwaves. Helm, move us away, nice and slow, one quarter reverse.”
RCNS Piggyback began to move away from the foreign ships at a leisurely, nonthreatening pace. Her flak shell didn’t dissipate one bit, but nothing else fired on the unknowns. Meanwhile, a first contact package began broadcasting across all frequencies. It contained atomic diagrams of the first 20 elements, an alphabet, and a plethora of sample phrases.
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City of Alusia
Corinthene
Parliament was sitting on Corinthene this month, so it was with some reluctance that Castlereagh, Telemachus, and Bismarck found themselves meeting in Castlereagh’s office high up in the Govplex Arcology. Unlike his Praetoria office, this one was as sleek as possible. Everything was smooth metal, composite plastic, all it shiny and gleaming. It was considerably larger than the Praetoria office, with larger holo projectors, counter-grav seating, and nothing so anachronistic as a fireplace. Ironically enough, Castlereagh had the smart windows displaying the view from his Praetoria office, clearly indicating his preferences.
The room’s centrally located holoprojector was displaying a large swathe of the galaxy, from the farthest western fringes of the Commonwealth to the ends of Musashi space. The desk holoprojector was replaying a brief message from Martuf, who was not joining them today due to his dislike of Corinthene.
“The Confederacy has entered a formal military alliance with Uther’s forces. Make of that what you will, gentlemen.”
It was a brief message, but most timely. It would likely be days, perhaps even a week before the Commonwealth Intelligence Directorate picked up that same news. Yanissans were experts at ferreting out information, as Castlereagh had learned time and time again.
“It seems quite clear to me,” Castlereagh said aloud. “We need to secure an alliance with Uther for ourselves, and hopefully secure a stronger bond with the Confederacy.”
“What kind of conditions might Uther impose though,” Telemachus interceded. “Suppose he demands we halt all expansion into former Imperial territories. I don’t think the public could stomach that, not after we’ve spent so long telling them it’s our duty to secure those lawless planets.”
“I don’t think Uther is exactly in a position to demand something so contentious,” Bismarck said. “His back is, well, not against the wall, but close. The Dominion and the ‘Xeno-barbs’ rage at his borders. He needs us as badly as we need him, if not more.”
“If we do this,” Castlereagh said, “if cabinet agrees, we’re committing ourselves not to a possibility of war, but a certainty.”
They were all silent for a moment, then Telemachus spoke. “How would such a war be fought?” He and Castlereagh looked over at Bismarck, who sighed slightly as he rose to his feet.
“Well, the main conflict would likely be over old Imperial worlds in the deep core, that is to say, Faust vs Uther. Let’s be pessimistic and assume Musashi joins in on the Dominion’s side. The way I see it, we’d need the Confederacy and Uther to hold the Dominion and Musashi. That leaves the other branch of the Dominion’s allies for us: the Varangians. Securing the aid of the Alorians would be absolutely essential, the difference between a long, drawn out stalemate and a decisive victory,” he illustrated his words on the holographic map with a few tweaks at the controls. “After that, we could launch combined operations east, into Dominion territory, and relieve the strain on Uther.”
“I admit, I’m nervous about taking on the Dominion,” Telemachus said. “Their Titans are, what, twice the size of any Commonwealth Star Carrier?”
Bismarck snorted, a rather indelicate sound. “You forget, Cato, we have more than twice as money, thanks in part to my own efforts. I have no intention of engaging Faust’s Titans in straight brawls, not without support from the Confederacy and Uther. 18 operational CSC’s gives us vastly more strategic flexibility than 7 operational Titans. I would use that flexibility to strike at Faust’s core worlds, to force him on the defensive. However, Faust is a madman, and a dictator. He may well ignore his own losses to push the offensive, in which case we’d almost have to meet him in battle.” Bismarck’s tone was grim.
“Well, all the more reason to start securing alliances. I’m going to send someone off to Carina Prime, immediately.” Castlereagh said. He reached into his desk and retrieved a bottle and three glasses. Each man took a glass and drank deeply, relishing the fire of the expensive Earth whiskey. They sat in silence and stared at the map, as they worried for the future.
