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Intel Blockade Blockade03 was engaging Explorer Outcast Seeker #4 on 23:00 7-30-2779. read more ...

Tales from Naidar territory as told by Shinzon of the Blitzkrieg Empire

Captain of the Savior, at least one of the eight that currently kept it running along a course to sanctuary. Not knowing where they were headed, but in search of a world they could call home after the disaster that claimed their previous home. There were hundreds of vessels in the fleet, every one of them ran below a skeleton crew to preserve the hundreds of thousands on cryo.

"Sir, you should probably come to the bridge. We have an anomaly on the sensors we haven't run across before", buzzed the helmsman over the intercom.
"I'm making my way there now", replied Shinzon. "Better steer clear of it, we don't want anything to happen." Upon entering the bridge, Shinzon saw what could only be described as a maw of nothing. Seemed empty, there were no faint energy readings at all.
"It's pulling us in!"
"Full thrusters, get us away from it."
"It's too powerful, we are headed for a collision with the Advent."
"All hands brace for impact!"

The two ships came crashing into each other, cryo cells came pouring out of the hull from the Advent. People who survived the catalyst of their world, only to die in the cold reaches of space.

"We are about to enter the anomaly!" shouted the helmsman. There was nothing the fleet could do, it was under the control of the foreign entity. Once again, their species was at risk from something they couldn't control. As the chaos unfolded around them, all Shinzon could do was drink.

The fleet passed through the anomaly; they had been thrown across the universe into an uncharted area of space. There were ships on fire, dead in space, venting atmosphere, shuttles being launched and heading for the nearest relatively undamaged ships. The fleet had about a third of the ships left, yet amidst the dire situation there was a planet, their saving grace.

"Helmsman, what is that planet?" asked Shinzon. It was no good, the helmsman was dead. The ship was already traveling well above its own speed. The anomaly's gravity well had amplified their own speed. The fleet of survivors had found their planet they'd been looking for, but it was also going to be a grave for many of the remaining people. With no drives to slow them down the only ships that would make it would be the ones with functional shielding.

One by one, the ships entered the atmosphere. With no drives, many collided mid-descent, causing an inferno of debris to rain down on the untamed surface. The Savior screamed through the lower atmosphere with minimal shielding. The landing was going to be horrible; it'd be a miracle if anyone from the skeleton crew survives.

"This is the acting Captain," Shinzon was speaking to the entire crew. "We are about to crash land in moments. Everyone to the cryo chambers, they are well reinforced." Most people wouldn't make it anyways, but they needed hope, a reason to try and live.

Shinzon barely managed to enter the room before the doors closed. He could hear banging on the door, poor souls trapped on the other side of the room. Despite the yelling, he could not hear anything, like a calm before the storm. Then it happened.

The Savior hit the planet surface and everyone in the room was thrown violently across it. The pods themselves were unharmed, held in place by sturdy support structures. The planet was riddled with ships, few were barely intact. Most of them were barely recognizable, only the logos on the scraps of ships were an indicator of which ship they belonged too.

For all they had lost in such a short amount of time. For the survivors of this disaster, the planet offered hope. They had the blueprints to start rebuilding their civilization, they would find out what happened to the other fleets. Where ever they may be.

Tales from Archons territory as told by mike_eastham of the Smurf Liberation Front

The dictator looked at the report, hard copy, stamped urgent, hand delivered and requesting his signature.
The report detailed the rioting that had suddenly broken out in the colony and the Astro Police were asking permission to execute final justice in the streets.
His normally clear blue eyes welled up with tears as he read and then reread the report.

"How can this be? I have done nothing, nothing except require mandatory recycling and legalized narcotics. While many of my peers are banning contraceptives and forcing urbanization. Hell, everything was hunky dory when I went to bed last night." He whispered to himself but the chief of the Astro Police standing before him heard the question and felt obliged to answer.

"Sir, are you not aware that the empire has declared war upon itself?"
As he looked up at the chief in stunned disbelief his holocom produced the face of The Death Knight.
"Hey, Mike, my new diplomatic holopad just arrived. Man, it is really sweet; works really fast with none of that AI cautionary BS getting in the way. We will be able to make diplomacy on the fly now."
"You did not happen to declare war on somebody did you?" the dictator said with a little strain leaking through his tone of voice.
"Well, hell yeah. I declared war on myself to check it out," TDK replied.
"TDK, you cannot just declare war on yourself. When you declare war you are speaking for the entire empire," Mike said with some intensity. "You have put the entire empire at war with itself."
"Oh, well, guess I had better change it back," replied TDK.
"Yes, good idea," Mike replied.

Looking up at the chief of the Astro Police the dictator tersely stated, "Permission denied," while tearing the report into tiny little pieces.

The remaining leaders of True Humanity, of Bloodline, looked at Vaffel and he back at them. They'd always known that the Scalar Field bomb might destroy more than just their enemies, that it might undo the very fabric of the cosmos. It had done just that, rendering the Universe down to just this scattered collection of galaxies. But it had succeeded in demolishing the Technocrat-Commonwealth-Discordian alliance battering Bloodline. Their remaining opponents were now scattered, disoriented. Vulnerable. Gone, too, some of the Bloodline’s greatest fighters - The Black Hand, VV (whose true name was too honored to even speak), and the zealots of the Church of the Red Fire. Gone but not forgotten. Never forgotten. And soon, very soon, thought Vaffel, to be avenged.

The Commonwealth markets were doing something Yknottry had never seen before. Nothing. No gains, no losses, devaluations, revaluations, nothing. No margin calls from the Universal Banking Guild, no orders from the Soldiers of Agamemnon; no injunctions from Lex Talionas Lawyers. It was as if every feed had dropped at once. Well, someone's getting fired today. Or bribed. Or both. The chatter in his temporal implants peaked. So. The spies were right. The Bloodline, desperate and besieged, had lashed out at the universe itself in an effort to save their pathetic spartan cult. Good for them. He'd never liked three-way alliance against them. 'Us verses Them' limited opportunities for trade, for profit. But with the playing fields level? The possibilities were almost endless. And this was THEIR galaxy, bought and paid for with Galactic Lottery Commission credits. Time to collect the rent.

"Less than Optimal." That was the Galactic Research Initiative's assessment of their new circumstances. Shadow wanted to add "...and history repeating itself. Again." Cataclysmic destruction on a universal scale, and the combined scientific brilliance of the Amydrian Protectorate and the other Technocrat empires had failed to foresee it, much less prevent it. Others would have been demoralized, but not Shadow, and not the leaders even now linking in to the Technocrat GRI cloud. They were a new breed, unbowed by failure, willing to take chances, ready to roll the dice for Unitos, for Science with a capital 'S'. And Shadow couldn't shake the feeling (quickly becoming a certainty) that this time? The dice were coming up sevens.

Brandon had stood, watching the stars overhead wink out one by one, feeling... vindicated. The Goddess had spoken, and the Universe was pruning itself, cutting loose the dead or sickly branches. She had taken the Bloodline's Doomsday Device, and usurped it for her own purpose. Of that (and of other things, many things) he was sure. Gone the Erisian Brotherhood and other Discordian sects. The weak ones. Now only the strong, the hardy remained. His group. Led by him to this remote corner of creation, now to discover that they were the center of the remaining universe. His vision was stronger, clearer than ever: the remaining stars, galaxies seeded one by one by this Discordian Remnant, then pulled together into a single brilliant emerald pyre to light her way home. Let there be light.

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