#of human battle cruisers

[ruins-of-gods]

Something that I think Warhammer 40,000 storytellers miss sometimes is the sheer scale of their setting. I mean, don't get me wrong - I love the big, dramatic clashes, the characters you can buy in mini form and their convoluted, interwoven lore, the dramatic combats against unstoppable foes across a thousand ruined worlds. But that's the top of the setting, as it were - the most powerful beings in the universe, all fighting for supremacy. And at ground level, the level of the ordinary person, are so many other stories.

Did you know that a Lunar-class void cruiser has a crew of 95,000? Nearly a hundred thousand people, aboard a spaceship five kilometers long. A city, flying through outer space to wage war. Many of those people are proper trained soldiers, fresh from some academy or veterans of long, grueling campaigns, and many more are pressed into service, begrudgingly laying their lives at their Emperor's feet. But, unless the ship is currently actively involved in a really bloody campaign, most of those people were born aboard that ship. Most of their parents were born aboard it. And their grandparents. And their great-grandparents. Lineages stretching back centuries, so far that the original soldier who came aboard has been forgotten. A lot of those people probably know, on some level, that they're aboard a ship flying through space - but a lot of them probably don't, and I guarantee you almost none of them understand what that means. This ship is their world. To look out the window means madness so often that they avoid it - not that windows are readily available anyway. Most of them probably barely even understand that they're fighting. All they know is that when the readouts on their analog instruments display like so, when they hurry to obey the blared orders through the klaxon, the Emperor is pleased with them. They were born into that world. When they were children they did smaller tasks the adults couldn't. Their entire existence was winding metal corridors, laid out according to some archaic design, any logic that might dictate their layout long since degraded after millennia of ignorant maintenance, lit only by emergency lights that have long since become the default. They learned how to read an angle readout or how to relay an order perfectly the way another child might learn history or math. When they grew up, their service was flawless, born of pride and ignorance, and when they grew old and died, their legacy was remembered until it was forgotten. Many were killed in battle, but who cares? They gave their lives to the Emperor - a name whose meaning they don't understand, but whose importance they believe in wholeheartedly, all but synonymous with the commanding officers up above.

Sometimes, the klaxons sound a specific command, and every person on board who understands what it means feels a deep, awful dread as they run to their battle stations. They don't know what a warp jump is. They don't understand they're going from one place to another by the fastest way available. All they know is that, for a time, the ship dips into hell. The corridors go wrong. Things and people might not be where or what they were before. Daemons stalk the halls, and must be killed by any who can hold a lasgun. The overcrowded berths, the little nooks that families find for themselves - they are not private anymore. They are not safe. Things drift through the shift that do not care about the laws of physics, but that delight in killing and torturing human beings. Vast energies shake the ship and tear parts of it away - their home, their world, their existence, the biggest thing they can imagine, assaulted by something bigger. Is it the Emperor's punishment for failure? Is this what battle is? What's going on? They don't know, and no one who does can be bothered to tell them. The dread of those who have seen this before is even worse, because they don't know how long it will be. It might be just a few hours. It might be days, or weeks, or months, or years, or decades. It might be centuries, as the captain of the ship goes hunting daemons deep in the warp - the officers live that long, after all, and have little care for those who don't. There will be people born in hell, who spend their entire lives fighting from the day they can stand, and who die in hell, as old age and need catch up to them and they curl up in a corner to perish. To them, it isn't even hell. It's just the world. The world is death and pain and cruelty, an infinite metal box through which monsters stalk, and sometimes you must run to a battle station and do as you're ordered to do. And sometimes, as they reach forty or fifty or even a ripe old sixty, the ship drops out of the Warp, and, for the final years of their life, they are granted a life of relatively safe service better than anything they ever hoped to dream of.

Those are the kinds of stories I want to see more of. Super-soldiers fighting each other is cool, yes, but I want to see this universe explored. I want stories from the perspective of those that keep the Imperium going, or the aeldar, or the tyranids, or anyone, really. There's just so much potential in this setting. It deserves it.

[dynamitegun]

Can we acknowledge the fact that Commander Shepard memorized the names of the eight Alliance warships lost during the Battle of the Citadel?

Shepard: "The turians lost twenty cruisers, figure each had a crew of around 300. The Ascension, the asari dreadnought we saved, had a crew of nearly 10,000."

Khalisah: "But surely the human cost—"

Shepard: "The Alliance lost eight cruisers: Shen Yang, Emden, Jakarta, Cairo, Seoul, Cape Town, Warsaw, Madrid and yes, I remember them all. Everyone in the Fifth Fleet is a hero. The Alliance owes them all medals, the Council owes them a lot more than that. And so do you."

If you make the Paragon choice, ordering the Fifth Fleet in to save the Destiny Ascension it costs the Alliance dearly both in ships and lives, and Shepard never forgets this. They enshrine the names of the lost ships, the number of crew, as a reminder. That when called upon the System's Alliance was willing to go into harms way damn the costs.

A high cost it was.

...

O hear us when we seek thy grace

For those who soar through outer space

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Know thy enemy

“Enemy fleet exiting jump now.” The tactical officer called out.

Admiral Haru nodded at the confirmation and switched the holographic projection to a live feed.

Bright pinpricks of light flickered in and out showcasing the enemy ships exiting their jump points. On the side of the screen the tracking software updated itself with each new ship, tracking and marking their current locations. The current count was at one hundred ships and increasing steadily.

“I recommend a withdrawal.”

Haru turned from the display to see his alien counterpart fleet master Wrang standing next to him. The translator unit was doing its best to interpret his species speech patterns, but it couldn’t fully remove the high pitched screeching.

“I assure you that we are in no danger of losing this engagement.” Haru replied even as the number of enemy ships continued rising.

“They outnumber us three to one.” Wrang pointed out. “We can not form a battle line against such numbers.”

It was true that the tracking software was not up to three hundred ships but thankfully the lights from jump exits were dwindling more and more. Haru wagered the majority of the enemy had arrived and any stragglers would be petering out soon.

As if to confirm his sentiments the enemy fleet began dispersing itself, morphing from a rough sphere of ships to a well-organized battle line. The heavier battleships and cruisers taking up position behind a screen of frigate and destroyer class vessels. Their sleek polished hulls reflecting a mixture of greens and oranges, with the crest of the Vulzon Theocracy proudly painted on the front of each ship.

“Numbers are not always the key to victory.” Haru remarked as the communication officer called out to the admiral.

“We have an incoming communication from the Vulzon flagship.”

“Begin a trace on the link and pass along their location to the gun batteries for targeting.” Haru said as he sat down on his command throne. He straightened his uniform and smoothed over several creases before nodding to the waiting communication officer.

The holographic projection flickered for a moment before switching from a view of the enemy fleet to a view of the Vulzon command bridge. There, standing in front of his command throne with one hand resting on his viper blade and the other behind his back, stood Haru’s adversary.

Tatiman; war chief of the eternal rage.

“We meet again,” Tatiman spoke through sharpened teeth,” little human.”

Haru said nothing and so the war chief continued.

“I must admit, I am surprised you stayed to fight.” Tatiman chuckled. “I had expected your kind to run and h-“

Haru motioned a hand across his throat and the communication officer cut the communication.

“Why did you do that?” Wrang asked; both deeply confused and troubled by the human’s actions.

It was true his government had relinquished control of their fleet to human control for the duration of the crisis, but he was also instructed to rescind that order and regain control of their forces. Humans were still unknown in the galaxy, making them an unknown and potential risk. A risk Haru seemed to be confirming right now.

“He’ll call back.” Haru remarked as he rested his hand on his chin and smiled.

No sooner had the words left his mouth did the communication officer speak up again.

“From their command ship again, Admiral.”

Haru listened to the chiming noise to indicate an incoming transmission but sat passively in his throne. A minute passed and the communications officer was about to ask again when Haru waved him to open the link.

Once again Tatiman was on screen aboard his command bridge, though looking substantially angrier than before.

“I am trying to be diplomatic,” Tatiman said through clenched teeth, “and you dare insult my-“

Again Haru swiped his hand across his throat and the communication was terminated.

“Do you have a death wish?” Wrang asked as he began to sweat.

“Hardly,” Haru grinned, “there’s a new episode of battle base five airing in two days and I will be damned if I will be killed before finding out which cyborg gave birth to Maria.”

At a loss for words at the entirety of the admiral’s statement Wrang just stood there with his mouth hanging open as yet another communication chime came in.

This time Haru answered it immediately rather than waiting and the link was established again.

Tatiman was now far beyond anger. Behind him one of the arms of his command throne was sparking erratically and Wrang imagined that the war chief had struck it after the second transmission was terminated.

“I will rip the eyes from your sockets, and make you watch as I strangle the life from your frail body!” Tatiman shouted. The loud shout startled several of the human crew but Wrang saw nothing of the same on the admiral’s face who yawned loudly.

“Listen, taint,” Haru began as he lazily slouched in his throne, “as much as I love your boastings I am with a friendly delegate and my time is short; so would you be a dear and surrender already?”

Wrang couldn’t describe the colors Tatiman went through as he stuttered words of rage. His eyes were wide and focused with a killers gaze while Haru yawned again and made the swipe motion to terminate the transmission.

“I hope you have a plan,” Wrang began as the entire Vulzon fleet appeared to power their engines and begin rushing towards them, “as you may have just killed us all.”

“Fleet wide transmission, now.” Haru ordered crisply and the communication officer complied without question.

“This is Admiral Haru to all ships, activate targeting scramblers and launch full spread of chaff.”

Wrang watched as the holographic screen flickered for a moment as the scramblers activated while a barrage of chaff missiles were launched. The first Vulzon energy lances began hammering the ships shields as the chaff missiles exploded. The space between the two fleets suddenly was filled with a thick cloud of white particles as if a bell had just been dropped in a dusty foundry.

“That tactic will only delay them.” Wrang remarked as the energy lances suddenly lost accuracy. Energy lances passed their ships harmlessly as the chaff interfered with the Vulzon targeting locks. “Even with scramblers and chaff it won’t be enough; they will be switching to visual targeting now.”

“I’m counting on it.” Was all Haru replied as the energy lances began finding their marks again. “By now every gunner and commander in their fleet is looking out a window or view screen to watch us.”

A shudder through the ship made Wrang wobble on his feet for a heartbeat before he regained his footing. Warning icons were flashing now across the view screen as energy spikes from the shields were beginning to ravage the human flagship.

“Why are we not returning fire!?” Wrang demanded as another shudder sent him to his knees.

“I’m waiting.” Haru remarked as he watched the view screen. The enemy icons had cross half the distance between the fleets and had now entered within the chaff cloud.

“For what!?”

“For this moment.” Haru said with a smile.

“All ships, all ships; fire Cheshire rounds now.”

Before Wrang could ask what a Cheshire round was the view screen lit up as every cannon amongst their fleet fired at the same time.

Wrang watched the Vulzon ships to see how many would explode, but was surprised when a second cloud of bright purple appeared.

“This was your secret weapon?” Wrang shouted. “You launch colored dust while they slaughter us?!”

Haru held up a finger to silence Wrang and said nothing else. So infuriated was the fleet master he was on the verge of ordering his people’s ships to retreat when he noticed something.

The ship had stopped shuddering.

Turning back to the view screen Wrang was astonished to see that every ship in the Vulzon fleet had ceased firing. They were still hurtling towards them but otherwise their guns had fallen silent.

“Admiral to fleet, disperse formation to avoid incoming vessels and prepare full barrage as they pass by.” Haru sounded off.

The fleet began to spread apart just in time as the first Vulzon ships began flying through their line. Some Vulzon ships passing close enough an engineer could reach out and scrape the Vulzon paintwork with a wrench but thankfully no collisions were reported.

“Fleet maneuver completed and all ships confirm they are ready to fire.” The tactical officer sounded off.

“Open fire.” Haru spoke as he watched the Vulzon flagship pass by before being hammered by a full broadside of energy batteries.

The shields flickered then collapsed in an instant under such a close bombardment. Wrang watched as the delicate paint work was burnt away as hull punctures riddled the entire ship from stem to stern.

All along the entire line human vessels were firing at near point blank range causing horrific damage to the Vulzon fleet which was still passing by without retaliating.

“What did you do?” Wrang asked softly. He had never seen a Vulzon fleet be destroyed so utterly and in such a manner that it defied all reason.

Haru rested his chin on his hand again and watched as the Vulzon flagship detonated under the latest salvo.

“Did you know that the Vulzon have very unique eyes?” he asked the fleet master. When Wrang shook his head he continued.

“They can see spectrums of light and energy well beyond what our human eyes can see, but that also makes them incredibly sensitive to certain things; things that can trigger violent and sometimes fatal physical bodily reactions.”

Haru looked at Wrang, but when he saw the fleet master still struggling to put the pieces together he decided to spell out his plan entirely.

“The color purple,” Haru stated as he pointed to the dissipating cloud of the color, “has been known to trigger a form of cardiac arrest if observed during moments of intense stress for Vulzon’s.”

“So,” Wrang began as he puzzled together Haru’s plan, “when you fired those Cheshire rounds you gave them…”

“-a form of mass seizure.” Haru finished.

He stood up from his command throne and walked over to the tactical display. “Vulzon are a dedicated military race with a strong sense of loyalty to their commander.” Haru began. “But this means that they also emulate their commander in all things. Dress code, discipline, mental state, etc.”

“So when you made Tatiman angry, they all emulated him and became angry as well.” Wrang put together.

“Exactly.” Haru nodded. “So when they saw the purple color they were all in a state of pure rage and anger, making the cardiac arrest they would normally experience that much more effective.”

“But they would know of their weakness.” Wrang countered. “Their sensors and displays would be programmed to remove the color from their screens to prevent that.”

“Unless they were scrambled and the Vulzon were forced to rely on visual confirmation.”

Suddenly the scramblers and chaff made sense. The human admiral had not deployed them to hamper the Vulzon weapon locks, but to force them into a situation that would expose them to their weakness without them even knowing.

“The benefit of making an enemy mad is that they tend to fail at thinking beyond the current moment.” Haru finished as he flicked a speck of dust off his uniform. “They don’t see the knife until it’s embedded in their chest.”

He pointed to the last of the Vulzon ships to pass between their fleet still steaming ahead with no regard for their own safety. A few had suddenly began to maneuver in different directions and Haru pointed them out specifically.

“Inform the fleet to focus on any ship not moving in a straight line first before others, regardless of class.”

The communication officer nodded and relayed the message. When he turned and saw Wrang looking confused.

“I imagine that by now someone must have gotten to the bridge to find their captain is dead along with most of their command staff and tried to steer the ship to safety.”

“I applaud you for your thoroughness.” Wrang bowed. “You are much wiser in the ways of war than I had expected.”

Haru smiled and returned the bow. “There’s an old terran saying that has defined my career.”

“To defeat your enemy, you must know your enemy.

[foone]

We build bases on the moon. Colonize the planets of the gas giants, terraform Mars and Venus, build orbital habitats around everything with enough gravity to hold it up. We invent FTL, and send ships named after dreams to every star we have cataloged. We have rulebooks and plans and endless ideas of what we do when finally we meet another spacefairing race, but it never happens. We don't hail any vulcan cruisers above the skies of Epsilon Eridani and get in no laser battles with a star destroyer in the scarlet light of Wolf 359. No one responds to our endless messages sent to the heavens.

Life? We find that everywhere. If a rock is big enough to hold onto enough atmosphere, we find something growing there. Maybe just a moss or some protokarotic slime, but there'll be something growing there. We spend centuries cataloging the flora and fauna (and everything in between) of a million stars, and never meet anyone who can say hello back.

Not yet at least. In the unending sunset of the Mu Herculis system there's the Peterson's Mermaids who are just developing language and starting on metallurgy. The vampires of Fomalhaut b have begun to write down numbers, and we expect them to have a full language sometime within the next hundred thousand years. There's no animal life on Gliese 499 d, but we have reason to suspect the clonal organism inhabiting most of the northern forest is verging on sapience. And we don't even have time to get into the theory that 55 Cancri B (the red dwarf orbiting the star Copernicus) is a living being in it's own right.

There's plenty of life to study. Lots to learn. But we never meet anyone we can greet in friendship, and there's no star gods out here in the black. We've looked everywhere.

Humanity takes decades to come to terms with the reality of the situation. But we do, of course. We can't give up now.

We searched endlessly for the ancient aliens with all the answers, who built hyperspace portal networks before our sun even burnt, and couldn't find them. We settled for locating our brothers and sisters amongst the stars, another race that had fought their way up from the trees and into the stars, and couldn't find them either.

We always dreamed of finding a parent we could look up to, or a sibling we could share the sky with. They weren't there.

Humanity settles into their role. It wasn't what we hoped for, but we'll be the big brother/big sister to the life of the universe. Not the parent, no. We didn't create them, and we don't control them, but we'll protect them. We'll help them when they fall, and let them make their own mistakes when they need to. But we're here to be the role model and the helper and the partner in crime, the one we wanted but never had.

We keep searching, of course. And our observers on a thousand planets report that there are hints of an ancient race, older than writing, mentioned in the myths of endless cultures. Gods from the skies who stopped the flood, who ended the plague, who taught them to plant a new crop, who stopped the war just as the bombs began to fall, and who led them to a new land when the star began to flare.

We investigate these rumors and myths and stories, just in case we missed the Ancients we always wanted to find. But at the heart of these stories, there's always a description of the helpers: bipedal, two arms, two eyes, no fur, no wings. And if the species has developed art and writing, there'll often be a drawing of a figure, standing alongside a local god or great leader, and nearby the legend will read "humans".

Art historians and religious studies scholars are amused at how often they give us halos. Someone even suggests redesigning our force-suit geometry to reinforce the impression, but cooler heads prevail. We're not doing this for praise or worship. We're doing this because no one could do it for us.

Millenia later after we've been joined among the stars by our sibling races, a mermaid and a vampire are idly chatting while they wait for their turn through the portal network around Fornax A. "What drove the humans to do all this? Why did they take it upon themselves to search every corner of the universe and decide to protect and shelter and guide the many younger races of the stars?". The mermaid shrugs, which is hard to do without shoulders. "I think they just wanted friends."

The vampire looks out the observation window, at the thousands of ships from hundreds of spacefairing races, waiting in line or jumping through phase gates to the other side of the cosmos. "Well, they've got them now."

There's a beep from a console, and a warning light activates as the ship accelerates towards a shimmering gate. Our children play among the stars, without fear of the dark. There's no monsters there, we checked. There's only us.

[daikikaicommart28]

Spooky Month Before Christmas Commissions~

Protocultural Pondering

Commissioned by @michaelmac6072

The Space Emigration fleet in its intergalactic crossroads, are met by the retrofit Zentradi cruiser TALOS, in order to carry out a special assignment of great importance, one that requires a radical step in regards to diplomatic interactions with the inhabitants of the Oceanus drift.

The duet of captains behind the command of the Talos; Moroboshi and Oniboshi, they're no strangers when it comes to collaborating alongside their Terran and Zentran allies, their whole ship is a testimony to the phrase "mixed-up", much like most of the crews and fleets that were raised from the ashes of the great space war back on Earth. But amidst their interstellar exploits, the crew of the Talos have always pondered if the Zentradi's coveted bioengineering devices, could work for humans too, based on solid evidence regarding the genetics of humanity and Zentradi alike.

2/?? commissioned art

Today..

it was finally proven by Captain Misa Hayase herself, that there wasn't a large difference as the crew first thought, even when questioned whether there were unexpected side effects or factors into play that could place a strain on the human physiology, the impossible became possible...

With this action....it reinforces the relationship between these two civilizations...regardless of their origins, their differences, the events of the past and those to come, Zentradi and Human..are forever one..and in the right path..they can bring peace once again to the milky way.

=POST DATA=

• the captains of the Talos are essentially cameos of the main characters of Rumiko Takahashi's Urusei Yatsura, and if you know the history behind the creation of Macross during it's early stages...I bet you can understand the deep cut reference behind their inclusion, if not, TLDR, Urusei Yatsura influenced the shift for what was originally called Battle City Megaroad into Macross as we knew it, either in its original form or it's Robotech counterpart.

•Misa Hayase's uniform: without going into too much detail, let's just say that this is a sneak peak of sorts into something I'm working on in the future.

[orion-archives]

MegaSound Week - 2024

Day 5: Pride / Regret

Soundwave swings a roundhouse kick that takes Bumblebee in the side. Bee goes down, falling among the wreckage that was his friend.

"I'm saving you for last, Autobot," Soundwave tells him. "You've earned special treatment.” He pauses to look at the vast wall of attack ships nestled beneath the battle cruisers. With firepower such as this, any remaining resistance from the Autobots, from humanity—from anyone or anything—would be brief. "Better have our fun while it lasts."

He steps forward and kicks Bumblebee viciously several more times, and still Bumblebee does not cry out.

Then Soundwave looks toward Megatron to see if his lord is entertained by his actions.

Megatron gives him a pitying glance and then looks away.

Suddenly the enjoyment of his actions ends for Soundwave.

TRANSFORMERS: Dark of the Moon by Peter David. Pages 368-369.

I had done this prompt before, but didn't like how it was turning out so I rushed a little bit and experimented with brushes and a different canvas. I really like how this one turned out! It may be my favorite piece for MegaSound Week so far!

Original (warning, it's ugly lmao):

Bayverse MegaSound has so much angst potential aND I INTENT TO CHANGE THAT

WHO'S WITH ME?

[on-a-lucky-tide]

saw the gifset of nik in that striped shirt of his and remembered reading about how sailors often wore striped shirts because that made them easier to spot if they were to fall into the water.

of course my mind immediately went to a reversal of your merman story :3

Weirdly, I've been reading up on the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-05, so this has come at a brilliant time. Nik fighting on board one of the Russian ships at the Dogger Bank incident. If we tweak it a little and say a British vessel fired back to defend the fishermen, and Nik was knocked overboard? Only for a merman that had been following the battle cruiser to pluck him from a very cold, lonely death in the North Sea.

Unfortunately, mermen imprint quite easily during heightened emotional moments, and while Nik is coming back to consciousness, the merman has already decided this fit, strapping human will carry his young (just as soon as he figures out how human anatomy works).

[moltengoldveins]

hm yes emduo and bedrock bros and the eggs in Space. Phil is one of the last surviving members of a fragile but technically immortal species of elytrians that is now only whispered about in fairy tales. He’s a private investigator and enforcer (space pirate and muscle) for his beloved wife’s galaxy-wide uhhh….. Independent illegal group of people dedicated to protecting order and monitoring corruption? Gang of space pirates who steal from rich people? League of assassins but with morals? Unclear what the Syndicate Is Exactly but it sure do Be. He’s the pilot for the SBI Boreas, a light cruiser with a frankly Absurd munitions outfit. (Tubbo’s his mechanic) 

Techno is a member of the only recognized sentient deathworlder species, an odd mix of orc, elf, and pig features, and is by all accounts a living legend, or a living nightmare. He’s solidly twice the size of most other species, capable of surviving injuries what most would deem a death sentence, and a highly trained warrior to boot. Now, by all human accounts the texts of his people are pretty self-explanatory, (the Art of War is 89% Common Sense by volume) but in a galaxy of peaceful races on peaceful planets, it’s complex and brutal enough to be nigh-incomprehensible. He’s on a Lot of watchlists, but he’s also the like… platonic third partner in Phil and Madam Kristin, The Lady Of Death TM’s marriage??? So not a lot can be Done about him. 

Tommy is a younger avian teen (distant relation to the elytrians, definitely Not Immortal) who Techno found breaking into the Boreas and decided to keep (Phil took one look and his Dad Instincts kicked in) and his life is going swimmingly until he gets Yoinked for leverage against his dads and mum. The organization who gets him runs a blood sport colosseum, and while in transit his cage was stuck next to this weird hairless thing?? Chained with like Heavy Duty restraints. Tommy doesn’t have a ton of time to bond with this Strange Thing before the hostage negotiations happen, but they do manage to exchange names and Tommy decides with his classic impulsive passion that This Thing And He Are Brothers For Life Now. then the negotiations immediately go south, there’s a bit of a standoff, and Techno ends up trading himself for Tommy, which is what the organization wanted in the first place. They run a Reeeeally expensive exotic show for super Rich Jerks in an undisclosed location and Techno is their latest attraction. They’re also painfully cocky, and will be dying with extreme prejudice the moment Mumza gets her claws in them. 

So Techno gets Got and shoved in a high-security cell once they reach the colosseum, along with, surprise! This strange hairless creature with four limbs. It’s Chayanne, who is A Very Human Teenager who Did Not Want To Be Abducted By Aliens, Thank You. They’re both deathworlders, which Techno Does Not Realize until they get assigned to the same team a few weeks into the battles and watches Chay rip a bug man’s limbs off (Chay is Not having a good day. His dad (Missa) taught him self defense and was a martial artist, a butcher, and a rather morbid man, so some Relevant Knowledge and some general chillness around death is to be expected, but Not a chillness around KILLING PEOPLE FOR SPORT) Techno thinks this must be a fully grown adult whatever-it-is all the way until Chay breaks down crying and sounds Just Like a shoat (baby pig) and Techno feels the Dad Instinct rising again. 

Meanwhile, Halfway Across The Galaxy: the government has been developing space flight, but are really only at the borders of our solar system when they catch some aliens in the act of Yoinking another kid, this time from an orphanage (Tallula) they don’t manage to save her, but Holy Crap ALIENS???? Missa, who saw a bit of his son’s abduction but not enough to know exactly what happened, sees the news broadcast, puts two and two together and gets plot advancement. He starts pulling strings, asking about old connections in the space force (Cosmonaut Fit Emsi, godfather to Chayanne and Missa’s college best friend, may or may not be involved in the Turning Of Blind Eyes) and manages to get access to a hanger bay with a captured alien ship in it a few months after the incident in what might be the coolest heist sequence ever not-actually-written. (It’s very cool in my head, think Oceans 11 but the majority of the qsmp cast, trust me I swear.) He launches himself right into space and proceeds to systematically work his way through spaceport after waystation after colony planet in search of The Aliens Who Steal Human Kids (Specifically My Son) 

Techno is at this point playing the long game. He knows Kristin and Phil aren’t about to leave him hanging, and that they have enough firepower to burn this place to the ground, but he’s not sure when that’s gonna happen or how he’s gonna get Chay out. Meanwhile, Chay has No Idea what this strange Exceedingly Chill Pig Man has going on, but as far as he’s concerned, this is his life now. Forever. And making allies is important. They start trading languages and Techno starts teaching Chay katas (modified for the drastically different joint structure) in their free “big open space enrichment time.” (Side note: what aliens consider almost horrific cruel and unusual punishment is at worst severely unpleasant for humans. They just can’t take psychologically what humans can, so they kinda Have to treat their slaves better than we would. Doesn’t mean it’s good treatment, but it does mean Chay and Techno are both doing significantly better than they could be.)

Finally, Phil and Kristen rock up to the party incognito, dressed to the nines and attending a Big Event To Show Off Our New Deathworlders. They see Techno in the ring and have to Play It Cool, but he seems to be doing ok actually, so that’s good. Eventually the Head Honcho Man gets into a discussion with Phil right by the viewing window, so Phil has to pretend he’s fine when he sees a door open in the arena and A @:&;!ING HUMAN STEP OUT AND SQUARE OFF WITH HIS BEST FRIEND. (Shockingly, being immortal tends to inform you of such things like Secret Deathworlds and their Scary Inhabitants) Kristin is of course Immediately On The Move, but it turns out to be not necessary: Chay just kinda strolls up to Techno and gives him a side hug (bLEASE, you want me to fight my Roommate? Get out) and while Phil is laughing to himself, the Head Honcho gets maaaaad. He pulls it around though, announcing that he “already knew the two monsters had bonded the way only such vicious creatures could, and will be giving them a challenge only they could hope to face!!” And releases, like, four of the heccin Dune sand worms into the arena. Techno and Chay proceed to fight like demons while Phil and his squad take out the party and Kristen and her squad sweep the lower levels of the colosseum in an effort to keep More Worms out of the arena. Slavers die horribly. The end. 

Meanwhile, halfway across the galaxy: Missa returns!! Now with Even More Rage! His ship has broken down and because he ain’t got no Space Green Card, he’s got to get it repaired at a place that’ll take anyone. Enter Tubbo Underscore, Syndicate Member and Tinkerer Extraordinaire. Tubbo takes one look at this guy and goes “yeah that’s not a normal guy there’s something Wrong here” and through a series of pointed questions (and aggressive preening by Benson, a rather horrifying eldritch duck-dog thing the size of a small horse) Missa eventually explains why he’s in space. Tubbo, having just recently repaired Philza H Minecraft’s ship on its way to wipe out a gladiator ring, puts two and two together to make more plot, explains his Theory, and decides to accompany Missa, getting them into the next Syndicate raid on this organization. They, along with an undercover agent by the code name of Boo (It’s a word in Old Enderian that means ‘Eldritch’ or ‘Unknowable.’ Missa has to choke to keep from laughing) storm a freighter and rescue a bunch of valuable slaves and also!! Sunny and Tallulah! They have different first languages, Sunny was treated Significantly Cushier by the slavers than Lulah bc she was younger and viewed a bit more like a pet than a fighter, and they haven’t really spoken to one another before the rescue, so their rough start happens at this point. Cue Missa and Tubbo # Struggling to keep these two feral children from each others throats while they keep searching (‘Chay was literally never this bloodthirsty, the heck???’ -Missa, holding two backpack leashes apart while the girls are trying to strangle each other) 

Meanwhile on the Boreas: CHAY AND TOMMY REUNION POG???? Techno formally adopts Chay according to his culture (think Mandalorian, but to the left) and Chay has enough language to understand, but not enough to inquire about, yknow, whether Going Back To Earth is an option. As far as the Boreas crew know, it isn’t: Earth is a no-fly zone and Chay’s been out here for nearly a year and a half. They have no idea how they’d begin to get him home. 

Then finally, on a Syndicate-owned spaceport in the middle of nowhere, Missa finds the Boreas and sees his kid across a crowded bazaar. They hug, it’s super dramatic, very tearful, (Phil and Kristen are already planning his room on the ship: if they’re gonna coparent, they’re gonna do it Right) and after a bit of waffling, both Chay and Missa decide it’s for the best if they spend some time in space before heading back to earth, what with the whole “definitely stole a star fighter and wanted by the government, the entire world knows about aliens now” bit. There is fluff. There is cultural sharing. There is hair braiding. It’s amazing. 

Then comes my literal favorite space au trope Ever: a few days into the new and improved Boreas gang’s voyage, their ship is boarded by (shock, horror) a group of Human Pirates and the crew is Immediately captured. Turns out: it’s kinda hard to keep the existence of an entire galactic community from Everyone on Earth, and these are guys who, similar to Missa, yoinked a spaceship from their military and went rogue. (I’m putting Quackity here, cause I love charismatic villain Quackity and I think it works) they pirates are very VERY “humans are gonna expand to cover the universe” “might makes right” “come, join us, and together we can rule the galaxy” about it when they realiz Missa and Chay are aboard, and the Boreas crew honestly expects Missa and Chay to join them. They’re human! They speak the same language! They value the same things! Obviously they’re gonna take that way out, we wouldn’t even blame them! (Techno feels pretty betrayed but Phil/Kristen/Tommy just look resigned) Missa and Chay play along, pretend to hate their ‘alien captors,’ and arm themselves “to help them secure the ship.”

What follows is a rather emotionally charged but Very Very Cool sequence in which Missa and Chayanne use the skills they gained in their unfortunate struggles across the galaxy to Clean House, clearing their home the ship room by room until they’ve got a pile of bloodied and unconscious or dead humans and a very very shocked new family. There might be a bit more plot after this as the family settles, perhaps a sequel made of short stories, but this is generally the end.

The epilogue is five years later, when Fit Emsi, head of the new Intergalactic Human Intergalactic Relations Organization and Expansion Section (HIROES) has his monthly checkup call with Missa and Chay, who’re having a blast with Techno and Phil and Tommy traveling the universe. Fit calls them in to consult in cultural stuff during the negotiations with, yknow, the Actual Galactic Government, the one that views the Syndicate as a crime organization, but it’s pretty well known at this point that Mumza is In Charge Of Things on the Downlow, and Fit’s still Chay’s godfather for heavens sake: there’s simply nothing the government can Do about it. Tubbo has adopted Sunny and Chay took one look at Talulah and decided “Thats My Little Sister.” Phil apparently has had a crisis recently related to some kind of ancient evil ex long thought dead, but is on the road to recovery. Everyone lives happily ever after, the end. 

[hanro50]

Data report V97

Author: Captain Veginine

Unknowns warped into varicose space one cycle prior. A deligate was sent to greet the unknowns, which ended in a firefight. One A class scout ship, V1969-Thunder, was reduced to warm plasma and another 2 ships. Including V7099-Beetroot, a B class scout, and V77120-sunrizer, an S class cruiser, sustained critical damage. Both made crash landing on V99.

V99 was attacked, and the varicose on the surface died when the unknown force....glassed the planet. We asked for aid, the Planta were unable to survive in varicose space. So, unfortunately, they couldn't do much. Humans were hesitant. The fractured diplomatic structure of their species soon locked up in an internal squabble. This was until V76 was glassed.

V76 contained an embassy. More accurately, a human embassy. Humans, despite their seemingly brutish love for war, valued their diplomatics. The unknown threat just succeeded in killing an entire assembly of them who were stationed their with their mates and children.

On the part of the attackers, this was a mistake... a grave mistake....gravitational waves were felt across the entire cluster as H1-7-BFK-FUP landed out of jump space. A panetoid colony, designation H7, encased in a battle ship with 9 jump drives lining the surface.

As soon as the sensors came back online, we noticed that H1-7-BFK-FUP was charging up its main fleet of weaponry. Our engineers scrambled to power down every sensor array still active in the hole of varicose space. We knew what came next.

The combatants who foolishly tried to attack H1-7-BFK-FUP didn't. Their death was instant. A bright beam ripped through their shields and reduced their fleet to plasma. The ships that missed the beam were soon destroyed by secondary kinetics. Namely, a set of 300 tungsten rods thrown through jump space.

We sent one radio broadcast to H1-7-BFK-FUP. "Temper temper"

[upsidedior]

Silly excerpt from my one and only complete fanfic that I'm thinking about going back and fixing lol

Enjoy my trash

---------------------------------

Somewhere on the other side of the island a signal was releasing with an annoying beeping sound. The green lights flashed on the bottom of the experiment container, the dome materializing a holographic image of a white furred female canine creature with three eyes and two antennae. "Warning. Experiment 259 has been activated. Primary function; Dream viewer." The nonstop beeping was getting under his skin.

"625, could you get that?" A deep voice called from the back room of his X-Class Battle cruiser. The ship needed some repairs from his last mission; certain parts had blown out thanks to an electrical genetic mutant with trillion watts of voltage coursing through it. He was extremely pissed one of those parts was the main cable line. "Hey, can you get the container?" No answer…and that irritating beeping. "625, push the button on the container please." The voice called out again.

"Warning. Experiment 259 has been activated. Primary function; Dream viewer."

Now he was getting angry. "625, push the button!" Still no answer and that beeping…it was taunting him! The gigantic alien growled clenching his fists as he did so. This was exactly what he needed, the sandwich freak going rouge on him. The alien stood up to his full height walking towards the annoying beeping room's entrance which happened to be the main galley. He poked his head out, scanning the room for any sign of the sandwich making trog. Still nowhere to be found.

"Warning. Experiment 259 has been activated. Primary function; Dream viewer."

Oh this was getting old. "Blitznak." He grunted walking over to the container with the holographic image of another illegal abomination running loose on the island. He hit the button and that aggravating beeping finally ceased. The image enlarged, displaying the genetic mutant in further detail. White fur, three brightly shiny black eyes, two antennae and an odd circular crest on its back, Experiment 259 was an identical match to Experiment 626 in body structure only seemed more delicate than it's latter cousin's design. Not meant for fighting. For being a scientific genius that idiot scientist didn't show much variation in body composition for these mutants. It showed female characteristics a lot like that… oh what was that blasted trog's name? Uh… Angie?...Angel?...Carrie? Charlotte? Miranda? Sama…oh Blitznack. The big alien shook his head. He needed to stop watching that scandalous show. Single Human females and their courtship rituals, he was surprised they weren't ruling the planet itself. Though the show was very interesting… if there was one thing constant in this vast universe, females of all species were on a constant quest to find the perfect mate and the perfect accessory for outfits. Even his species females were the same! It was freaky. 625 would laugh at him whenever he watched the program, until "certain scenes" came along…who was laughing now? And besides, he thought, Charlotte was cutie.

"Hey, Fish Lips," a small pudgy genetic mutant wobbled in with a bag of groceries. "Give me a hand will ya? I got some food for my latest create… hey, who's that?"

"Where in the flagnarg did you go?" Gantu looked down at the beige sandwich making experiment. "And that's my paycheck you're spending on unnecessary purchases! All for sandwiches?" 625 waved his pudgy hand to shoo the gigantic whale-like alien out of his way as he trotted towards the experiment container.

"Quit complaining, chowder head, it's food. Now who's this little lady, huh?" 625 raised his eyebrow with a small devious look at the hologram. Gantu rolled his eyes and shrugged. This was the fifth paycheck the little trog used just for buying sandwich supplies. Now he knew what a single father felt like. "Dream viewer experiment?" 625 leaned back from the holographic image, "Huh, why would Jumba create an experiment for that? He's got that other one that invades dreams, why view them?"

"He what?" Gantu gave 625 a puzzling expression. "When did that one become active?"

"Don't you pay attention?" The sandwich maker put his paws on his hips. "The little girl named it Remmy or Remus, something corny like that. It was a few weeks ago, the container wouldn't stop complaining about it, so I unplugged it." The giant alien felt his heart skip a beat as he looked incredulous at his roommate.

"You unplugged the container communicator?" Gantu turned on his heel with his hands extended in the air. "Ugh! That explains the lull." He lowered his arms, his hands covering his face. "Oh Blitznak, cosmos knows how many abominations the little earth girl and the trog caught while I was MIA! Hamsterviel's gonna have my head…"

"He'll have more than just your head, Fish brain, you'll be served on a platter with all the trimmings of a fish dinner, cole slaw and everything. Hey, think of it as normal weeks for you, you never catch anything! Ha!" the little beige mutant broke out into a laughing spasm. Gantu let out a loud growl, muttering in his native tongue about disemboweling the trog limb from limb in a feeding frenzy.

"Watch the ship, I'm heading out to find and catch this one before those two find it first." Grabbing his blaster and the glass experiment containers, he left the ship, not without hearing 625 shout behind,

"Go get'em, Shamu! Bahahahaha!"

------------------------------------------------------

Gantu had been searching the island for over an hour with no sign of the abomination or those pesky "cousin-loving" duo. He sighed, at this rate that experiment was as good as gone now. There was no way he was thinking about going back to his ship, 625 would be waiting with some snide comment and Hamsterviel on the communicator harassing him with insults. Maybe he would just search the island a little more; that Samoan gig was doing well for his camouflage fitting into this planet. Humans were stupid. They were really taking him as one of them, just a big one. Well, he thought to himself, he was on a backwater planet in classified territory; he was not on an updated map. This galaxy was refrained to as Roswell's Area, no one was permitted to fly near here or make any form of contact with the locals. He was not even sure his old military captain had ventured out here. And yet, here he was, in classified territory getting his ass kicked in every direction. The big alien felt his life was taking a turn for the worst; dishonorly discharged, crappy job, and banishment on a forsaken planet. Yep he was definitely getting his ass kicked.

Even though the foreign planet taunted him, Gantu could not help but feel natural in this alien world. He hated to admit it, but he sometimes felt out of place on his home world. He could not place his finger on it, but he always felt natural, a sense of belonging. He sometimes wondered if the planet's sun caused these thoughts. The sun and his own internal instincts would drive him to the large body of water surrounding the island. Humans called it an "ocean." He called it trouble. And the vicious cycle of thoughts, internal mechanisms, and long swims continued day after day, weeks after weeks until he, Gantu, was on this miserable rock for over two years. Well, he pondered to himself, it could be worse; he could have a sucky job with an abusive boss and a sandwich making roommate…oh…right…

"Oh blitznak." The ex-Captain of the Galactic Armada found himself standing in front of the so called "ocean." His damn internal mechanisms led him right to the water's edge. This was becoming more frequent along with the headaches that came with it. "Double blitznak." Gantu let out a sigh. He needed to clear his head, finding that experiment would keep his mind busy. With that in mind, along with the pounding headache, the "Samoan" set out towards the town in hopes of locating the newest member of trogs running loose on the island.

The town was busy, bustling with Earthlings here and there. He could only guess it was getting towards midday or "noon" the little earth girl called it. The sun was at its peak angle, the heat increasing which was making the alien sweat. Gantu had walked around the town once again, saying his usual lie whenever an earthling asked about his size, and still to no avail. No experiment in sight. Oh well, he sighed as he leaned against a shaded palm tree, he would try again and again until he found something.

And then he saw them. There was no denying the blue fur and odd earthly plant pattern on the child's dress. The little earth girl and the abomination were traveling with none other than its "cousin" experiment 259 in tow and…another female earthling. She was an older female, quite a few years older and the skin color was a lighter shade than of the little earth girl's skin. Hair was lighter as well. Coincidently, she looked a lot like his cable crush that Charlotte character.

"Hmm… where are you going?" Gantu allowed a little smile to spread across his lips. Well, he needed to hunt the experiment which was traveling with the trog-loving duo, why not enjoy a little eye candy? He knew 625 would be heckling him by now, either getting off his keister to catch the experiment or to stop eyeing up the poor earthling.

The big alien straightened up with his plasma blaster set on 'Stun.' He needed one clear shot of the blue trog and Experiment 259 was within his grasp. He just needed to conceal himself from the abomination's visual sensors.

There was the tropical vegetation up the road with a small clearing… "Perfect."

[aspiringnexu]

On the topic of Weird Things About Humans: we find small things adorable. Not small objects, but small replications of normally much larger objects.

I had tons of Sylvanian Families stuff and I'll admit I got them mostly because I adored having teeny tiny plates and teeny tiny cups and an itty bitty oven that opened and had little muffin trays in which you could put tiny muffins. (That fit perfectly into the tiny little cups in the tray, by the way. Everything was tiny but it fit.)

So just... aliens being confused because they made a small replication of one of their new ship designs and the Human Starfleet Admiral found an inanimate 24th scale replica of their latest battle cruiser cute.

[tvckerwash]

thoughts on wash's fighting style and his position in pfl because I can (utc because it's really long lol):

wash is very unique among the freelancers for a variety of reasons, one is that he doesn't specialize in one specific area of anything, he's a jack of all trades who is able to fill in for other freelancers if necessary. for example in s9 when york was supposed to be unavailable for lock picking/infiltration duty, carolina immediately went to wash (and we are ignoring that york is not shown to be good at lock picking!) if she trusted wash to fill in for their specialist in one area, I feel it's not a stretch to imagine that he can do so in other areas as well.

need a snipper but north and wyoming aren't available? wash can cover. need someone to get into the enemies' computer systems in place of ct, south, or york? wash can cover. need someone for stealth or reconnaissance in place of florida? wash can cover. etc etc.

wash's combat style reflects that jack of all trades, master of none thing very well too, as the way that he fights is very grounded and pragmatic when compared to the rest of the freelancers. a lot of people like to portray wash as less skilled than the other freelancers, but in truth I believe that wash being able to keep up and compete with the other freelancers despite his lack of dramatic flare is a show of just how competent and skilled of a soldier he is. wash is so good at doing what he does that he doesn't need all that extra bullshit to get the job done. sure, he might not look as Cool and SexyTM as the others while doing it, but completing the mission and surviving to live another day takes precedence over all else.

another way of looking at it is that wash fights in the same way that the odst's do, that is to say that he fights like a human who cannot plow his way through the battlefield in the same way the spartans can. wash's style of fighting is one that employs careful planning and targeted hit and run tactics—this is most obvious in recovery one and s6 whenever he's fighting against the meta.

I also feel it's important to note that wash is not a cqc fighter, he can handle himself if he gets into a cqc situations but his primary weapon is the battle rifle—which is a mid/long range weapon. if I'm being honest wash's way of fighting makes waaaaaaaaay more sense if you look at him not as someone who is trained to primarily fight against other humans, but as someone who is trained to fight against 8ft 2 ton aliens with plasma weapons that can slice through the hulls of UNSC battle cruisers (ships designed to travel through space!!!) like a hot knife cuts through butter and have the technology to raze entire planets to the ground in a matter of minutes.

I also personally believe that wash has the most military experience out of all the freelancers right behind florida, wyoming, and maine (who I hc as a spartan iii). we know that wash did his basic training in the leonis minoris system (a canonical halo system) and that system had two of the three planets glassed by the covenant in 2537, and wash directly references these events in the washed hands interview in the fan guide and the way he says it implies that he likely completed his basic training that same year. now I have some grievances with the timeline given in the book when it comes to the events depicted in the freelancer saga because it's just kinda weird, but everything prior to that bit is actually fine (though I hate the way that they decide to number the timeline lmao).

now in halo canon the human/covenant war ended in 2552, and according to the timeline in the rvb fan guide that was 1 year after alpha was sent to blood gulch. project freelancer is first cleared for funding 7 years BBG (before blood gulch), and recruits the 50 freelancers 5 years BBG. doing some math we can determine that pfl was cleared for funding in the year 2544, and the freelancers are recruited for pfl in 2546. so assuming wash finished his basic training in 2537 that would mean that he was in the military for 9 years before he joined pfl, and while wash is addressed as a corporal (e-4) in the washed hands interview he was most likely demoted to that after he was court martialed, and he was possibly going to be dishonorably discharged from the military because of his disorderly conduct.

using the current standards used by the us marine corps when it comes to rank progression, wash was most likely a sergeant (e-5) who was very close to being promoted to a staff sergeant (e-6). wash as a sergeant would've essentially been the assistant manager/co-leader of the platoon he was in while his staff sergeant was the manager/leader, and that would explain why he was able to even get into an argument with his CO in the first place. I believe wash held a similar position in pfl, as it's kind of implied that he did some management stuff in pfl (talking with internals/upper brass, him feeling comfortable with openly questioning carolina about whether york should be allowed on the sarcophagus heist, and of course he shows the ability to direct and somewhat lead south in recovery one, and him leading church, caboose, and the reds in s6, and him taking charge of the meta in s8).

even if wash wasn't a sergeant as a corporal he would've been in a position to be the leader of a fire team, so basically wash isn't some rookie who had no clue wtf he was doing as many in the fandom like to characterize him; he is an experienced and battle hardened soldier by the time he joins pfl no matter how you look at it.

to put all of that into context, carolina is born 29 years BBG, which would be 2522. so during pfl she's in the 24-28 range and she wouldn't have joined the military until 2540. I actually personally head canon that wash is the same age as carolina, but that he illegally enlisted at 15 because of a crappy home life, but ignoring my head canon and assuming that he joined the military at 18 instead, he would've been born in 2519.

[thereasonhavingfun]

Fictional Ships that Helped Save Humanity (in no particular order)

Name: USS Daedalus (Space Battle Cruiser)

Series: Stargate Atlantis

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The Hammer and the Anvil ( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )    

“Retreat!?”

Several of the bridge crew turned at the admiral’s raised voice before a look for their captain had them return to their duties. With the enemy fleet now fully assembled before the Coalition Armada there was more than enough work for each of them to attend to.

Troy Brakus was a seasoned captain serving the Terran navy for thirteen years with the last five aboard his own vessel the “Unruly Yeoman”. She had fought everything from opportunistic space pirates to despotic warlords carving out their own tiny petty kingdoms amongst the stars. There wasn’t a vibration or groan that her ship made that he did not recognize nor crew member he did not know. This ship was his home and at the moment it looked very much like it was about to be blown to pieces.

Having been a member of the Galactic Coalition of Star Systems, the Terran navy had been dragged into the recent conflict with the Genven Imperium. This outcome had hardly been a surprise to anyone as the Genven had been launching an increasing number of raids along the border for the last year until finally the Coalition had had enough and made an official proclamation of war to halt the incursions.

What they had not counted on was that Coalition intelligence had been drastically underestimating the Genven’s naval strength. So when the Coalition united fleet entered Genven territory they were met by an enemy war fleet three times their size. A notion the supreme admiral of the fleet had certainly noticed as they were now issuing a fleet wide retreat order.

“We are outnumbered 3:1 Admiral Kelly,” the supreme admiral said over a communication link, “if we stay here we will lose the entire fleet.”

“And if we retreat we deal a crippling blow to the Coalition’s morale and hand the Genven’s the initiative!” Admiral Kelly countered.

Admiral Kelly Winfeld was the overall leader of the Terran contingent of the Coalition navy which had allocated fifteen warships and twenty seven cruiser and smaller class vessels to the coalition fleet. No other commander outside of the supreme commander could issue orders to the Terran navy, and even then it had been an unofficial understanding that said orders would only be listened to if they had Admiral Kelly’s blessing. Which was making the current disagreement all the more dire.

“Numbers does not always guarantee victory,” Kelly continued, “we can still win this battle if we use our heads and out maneuv-“

“You have your orders Admiral Kelly!” the supreme admiral cut in forcefully. “If you are unable to comply you shall be stripped of your rank and-“

The transmission suddenly was cut off and the hologram of the supreme admiral faded away instantly. Captain Brakus took his hand off his command console and looked up at the Admiral.

“Your orders, ma’am?”

Standing up straight and adjusting her uniform, Admiral Kelly turned around to Brakus and grinned.

“All ships line up behind the Unruly Yeoman and divert all power to forward shields and engines.” She pointed at the heart of the Genven fleet which was now spreading out in a large crane formation in the hopes of surrounding the Coalition fleet before it could withdraw.

Captain Brakus relayed the orders to his crew as the power diversion to shields began. The lights flickered as each station called out that the power had been successfully diverted and shields now were at 300%. Taking a look at the tactical display he could see that while the rest of the coalition fleet began pulling away the Terran contingents were following the Admiral’s orders and forming up behind the Unruly Yeoman.

The last ship had entered the formation just as the first volley of enemy plasma lances impacted the fleet. A number of coalition ships were struck in the rear and suffered critical engine failures or outright exploded.

“Engines to full,” Admiral Kelly shouted as the shields endured another barrage, “make for the center of their fleet!”

“All ahead full.” Captain Brakus relayed and the Unruly Yeoman slowly pressed forward at the head of the Terran navy.

“We have a communication incoming from the supreme admiral.” The communication officer shouted across the bridge as another salvo struck the shields sending a shudder through the ship.

“Ignore it.” Admiral Kelly said as the Terran line continued pressing forward.

The amount of incoming fire was steadily increasing as the Genven ships began to find their mark. Each impact sending increasingly violent shudders. At the front of the column were all of the heavier ships were in the front soaking up the majority of the damage while the smaller escort vessels clung tightly behind them for protection.

“Do we have an actual plan?” captain Brakus inquired as the fleet pressed ever closer to the center of the Genven formation. “I’d rather not end up like the light brigade.”

“We needn’t worry about that unfortunate debacle.”

She pointed to the tactical chart. Coalition forces were making all speed towards the edge of the system while the Genven fleet was still in hot pursuit.

“Now that we’re between their wings they can’t fire on us since any deflected or missed shots will hit their own forces.”

Brakus nodded as he realized why the admiral had ordered power to the shields and engines. “So only the center formation can still attack us freely.”

He looked up from the display to see the center of the Genven fleet steadily becoming larger in the view screen as was the looming dreadnought that housed their command staff. It was the easiest to spot as it was twice as big as any of the surrounding vessels and dotted with nearly three times as many gun ports.

“So are we going to eliminate their command?”

To his surprise the admiral shook her head. “Even if we did wipe out the center the two wings would still be enough to wipe out the rest of the coalition before turning around and snatching us.”

She tapped the tactical display as if counting down to some event only she knew. “We need to destroy their formation in a way that causes enough chaos to break their momentum and give our own forces enough time to counterattack.”

“Captain.” One of the deck officers interrupted. Brakus turned to see the officer motioning to the proximity warnings now displaying as the Genven ships were rapidly approaching.

Brakus nodded to the officer and turned back to the Admiral.

“If you have a plan, now would be the time.”

Without missing a beat Admiral Kelly finally stopped tapping the tactical display and shouted “All ships hard to port!”

As one the entire line of terran ships broke off what many appeared to be a suicidal charge and steered headlong into the right wing of the enemy fleet that was still chasing after the Coalition.

“Divert power from shields to forward batteries; fire when ready!”

Brakus could hear the thrumming of the energy planets as they once more diverted power across the ship on a whim and watched as the first plasma lances from the forward cannons lashed out.

The Genven right wing had been so focused on catching the retreating Coalition forces that the sudden attack from the Terran navy blindsided them. They had expected the humans to smash themselves against the center of their lines but now faced massed fire from dangerously close quarters. A few of the ships attempted to divert power back to their shields but at such short distances the plasma lances were already carving through their hulls.

Like a hot knife carving through butter the Terran navy decimated the right wing, separating the forces almost in two as the forward elements aborted their forward charge and the rear elements found themselves crashing into the burnt remains of the destroyed ships the Terran’s left in their wake.

Several of the bridge crew let out a hearty cheer as the gun batteries across all decks adding nicely to their ever growing kill count until finally they broke through the line entirely. Brakus was about to ask for next orders but the admiral beat him to it.

“All ships hard to starboard now, come up behind the center; target engines and rear emplacements first then work your way down through critical systems.”

Brakus relayed the orders to his crew as the Terran navy came about once more and poised themselves to strike at the rear of the center Genven fleet.

Already their attack was causing the desire chaos the admiral had wanted as the left wing of the Genven fleet was breaking off their pursuit of the retreating Coalition forces to come turn and face the Terran forces. The center was likewise positioning themselves to track the Terran fleet but finding their progress slowed by how packed together they were.

“Coalition forces are turning around Captain.” The scanning officer called out followed swiftly by the communications officer.

“The Supreme Admiral is hailing us again and is demanding to speak to you admiral.”

“Tell him to take a number,” she said with a smile as the opening salvos against the center fleet started, “I’ve got a battle to win.”

[mrcarriertheii]

Oh boy 1AM thought that has to be put to words immediately

Not-so-Wooden Horse

Log 15: January 12th, 2194

Our battle against the humans in sector gamma is finally shifting in our favor. We managed to get a perimeter around our capital ship making the humans unable to recklessly attack us. However the battle isn’t won yet, the humans are cunning, they use tactics only the insane would ever use. I still remember the look on everyone’s faces in the control center when a human battlecruiser rammed a flagship Supercruiser, killing everyone on both vessels instantly when the fusion reactors lost coolant.

I shall record another log in the coming week

Log 18: February 15th, 2194

Our victory draws near, we have destroyed 80% of the human navy in this sector of space, they have only 12 cruiser, 7 frigates, and a single malfunctioning and disarmed battleship left. We managed to get a direct connection the humans, we announced that we are going to give the humans a chance to surrender, none of us wanted this war and we want it to end just as much as they do.

I shall report once the humans have made their decision

Log 19: February 16th, 2194

Surprisingly the humans have decided to surrender, we are confused because humans are known for never giving up, even when faced with inevitable failure. But we are glad that this is over, they are sending their malfunctioning battleship with everyone on board to our capital ship. I can only assume they surrendered because they have “no cards left to play” as the humans say.

Will report once all humans are transferred to their cells.

Log 20: February 18th, 2194

They had one last card left to play…

When we let the ship through our perimeter and they docked at the capital ship we expected that they would walk out and let themselves be captured, we greeted them with open arms…

They greeted us with superheated spears…

Every single human was armed and armored and they stormed the capital ship, they used primitive spears that burned brighter than a reactor. Our armor was made to protect against lasers and radiation, we never accounted for such primitive melee weapons to be used in actual combat.

The battle over the capital ship quickly turned in our favor as surrounding ships began to drop reinforcements. But as we came across the last human, the general, he simply smiled and laughed.“did you like our little gift horse? Because I have one last little surprise for you.”

As he finished his sentence alarms started blaring, the alarms that signaled critical overheating of the reactors. “Your reactor security system used a mere 256bit password, guess us humans aren’t the only ones that ignore IT.” Said the human as I processed what was unfolding. I ran immediately to the nearest escape pod and left with a few surviving coworkers. I watched from external cameras as only mere minutes after we took off the entire capital ship, and the entire fleet around it, was vaporized.

This was my first time writing a story of some kind so I hope it Is ok, also sorry for grammar mistakes.

Should I write the perspective of the human side of this?

[thehydromancer]

J03 Hunter Class destroyer & F16A Marathon class Heavy Cruiser, scaled for playing Mobile Frame Zero: Intercept Orbit. Inspired by the MCRN Donnager battleship from The Expanse.

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The J03 Hunter Class destroyer, designed and built by the First Great Expansion megacorp Northern Sky, was a dedicated seek and destroy platform designed to overrun targets with a single minded ferocity. The class often performed picket duties or acted as forward deployed scouts, but it truly shined when it was able to engage in one sided fights, chasing wounded and/or isolated prey, and was known for pack hunting, multi-dimensional pincer attacks that drove a target into a vector for one of the destroyers to ram for a killing blow.

Its primary weapons were two side mounted dual railgun chase armaments, a capable enough system to damage enemy light to mid armor while being relatively easy to maintain. In lieu of thick hull plating which would have slowed the class, a multi-layered defense of PDGs and defensive missile turrets (capable of firing anti-missile missiles as well as chaff/dazzlers) allowed the destroyer to capitalize on its speed for both aggressive as well as defensive maneuvering. The forward section of the class was also heavily reinforced for ramming, and was painted to evoke the grinning maw of an apex predator like aircraft nose art of old.

The F16A Marathon class heavy cruiser on the other hand was a dramatic scaling up of the venerable Hunter class, albeit with a much different mission in mind. This heavy cruiser was intended for extended solo operations such as deep space exploration, strategically hidden emergency reinforcements, or advanced system scouting; as such it needed the legs to operate on its own, carrying enough bullets, beans, fuel, and propellant to maintain happy and fully operational battle stations. Its massive armored bulk was supported by no less than eight engines, the primary four of which were over engineered for safety's safe; a catastrophic failure when the ship was millions or billions of miles from the nearest safe harbor or ally was a serious concern. Its primary weapons were two 3-barrel cannon launch missile turrets with exceptional firing arcs, that offered an impressive range of initial firing arcs. By forgoing traditional VLS cells or launch tubes, the Hunter class sacrificed volley mass and refire rate for exceptional accuracy and engagement ranges. The Marathon also mounted the same model PDGs and defensive missile turrets the Hunter class did, though with double the number of both included (later 'B' and 'C' variants instead tripled the number of missile turrets as instability throughout human and Ijad space began leading to large scale space fleet combat).

A Marathon could also easily have served as a flagship for a military or megacorp fleet, although the newer 'B' (improved C&C facilities and outsized comms arrays) and 'C' (mobile frame hangar and catapult) hulls were better suited for modern mobile frame centric combat. Despite its age, the original Marathons were still powerful forces to be reckon with, should an organization have had the resources and manning to support one. Unfortunately, as space combat transitioned from one-sided curb stomp beatdowns between well funded militaries and upstart colonists with more bravado than brains (not to mention the occasional megacorp skirmish over resources) to full on interspecies warfare between the human goverments and the Ijad forces with Free Colony Cells not only popping up more frequently every day, but also increasingly better trained and better geared, the heavy cruiser saw the end of its heyday. While the purpose built combat ship was ton for ton superior to most converted civilian vessels used by free colonists, as well as the oddly alien designs the Ijad introduced, the increase of space based mobile frame companies closed the gap enough that many militaries decided that the class just wasn't worth the manning and logistics to field any longer, in favor of smaller, more modern light cruisers, battle cruisers, and carriers that came to dominate The Second Great Expansion.