'FarStrider'

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

This follows Fresno's 'The Grrrk Report' and 'The Ystarr Border Incident'

There will be three chapters.
With the second belatedly written, now being tweaked, here's the first...
--

Getting our depleted Flamker 0305 ready to sortie as Guard Ship for the FarStrider_4 took every time-unit I'd allowed.

Several crew members were, despite their loyal protests, much too weak for medical waivers. They had to be replaced. Experienced Flanker crew proved hard to find, their commanders unwilling to release them at such short notice. We settled for two very junior Gunners and a Third Artificer, all barely beyond Cadets. The promised pulse turrets were delayed twice for no good reason, but finally delivered and fitted, self-tested well.

Again and again, our clearly marked re-supplies kept going to the wrong docks, had to be chased down. Three heaped pallets of spares that should have arrived late on the previous day-cycle arrived barely an eighth-day before our scheduled departure. And, at the bottom of the third pallet, we found Fleet stores had somehow sent us eight left-handed main impeller gaskets instead of the three left and three right on the manifest.

My First Officer agreed with the Chief Engineer that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. They could go 'Through Channels' but, some-how, yet-another difficulty would surely appear. Instead, they bundled three 'wrong' gaskets together, sent that young, fit Third Artificer 'hot-foot'. To his great credit, and almost a quarter time-unit before our nominal deadline, the nimble youngling scrambled back with the correct gaskets and a most curious tale.

Flanker 0305 sortied on schedule. We needed several eighth-days to clear the Station, meet and dock with the departing FarStrider, which had been on a more central pylon.

Internal air-bridge connected, their Second Officer Tannik came across for a 'courtesy visit'. In fact, he had an 'interesting' tale for us. So, sat around our small galley's tiny table with me, my First Officer, our Chief Engineer and four shots of my best 'Melcovian' poured, he said, "This is strictly 'Off the Record': It did not happen, it could not happen. Yet, like your impossible 'Outlanders', it did...

"Early this day-cycle, I was on duty at our air-bridge. Counting in the strays from 'Last Liberty'."

That earned a chuckle. It was a thankless task, as several would surely arrive between weary Port Marshals, often with 'mild' injuries and charges pending. Hasty changes to duty rosters were often required. At least 'Intoxicated' or 'Dazed' were better than 'No Show'. And, of course, there was always, always their crew records to review and update...

"An eighth-day before we closed for departure, a utility buggy delivered three Agents with heavy flight bags to our air-bridge. Their Senior Agent tried to board. I had very, very specific orders not to admit any personnel not on my list, and these Agents were not listed, by name or other-wise.

"Thrice refused, the furious Senior Agent produced an official document carrying the Imperial Seal, which he claimed gave him the necessary authority. It looked real, but I am only a 2nd Officer. I claimed conflicting orders, called it in...

"I was very surprised when our First Officer, High Envoy TanTan and two fully armed and armoured Heavy Marines came to the lock. The High Envoy studied their writ, then produced a similar scroll, said to the Senior Agent, 'Your scroll carries the Imperial Seal. Mine, with the same Seal, is further authorised by the Imperial Hand. It takes precedence. I have the authority to refuse your boarding. I so refuse. Go away.'

"The Senior Agent began to wave his scroll at the High Envoy, make increasingly officious demands. When bluster failed, he put a hand on his holstered weapon--

"I do not know what signal passed, but the two Heavy Marines levelled their big Repeaters on those Agents.

"Into the long silence, the High Envoy said, 'If you draw a weapon, you die. I have Plenipotentiary Powers, direct from the Imperial Hand, to make an honourable peace with these strange 'Outlanders'. Whose mere freight hauler, remember, returned fire and utterly destroyed a most formidable Task Force. This imbalance is beyond even pulse-turrets against a regressed tribe's 'black powder' muzzle-loaders.'

"The High Envoy continued, 'These 'Outlanders', please note, then gathered the few surviving life-pods and delivered them to the last, wide Flanker as, stealthed --Stealthed !!-- that now-distant craft sought escape.'

"The High Envoy took a careful breath, dropped the war-hammer. 'I do not want you aboard the FarStrider. If you insist on boarding, I will order you disarmed, confined until clear of the Station, given a long walk from a short air-lock. Please, just go away.'

"The Senior Agent hissed and seethed, hissed and seethed, but was out-matched, out-gunned. Thus thwarted, for perhaps the first time in their careers, the three finally picked up their heavy flight bags, backed clear." Second Officer Tannik hesitated, added, "Which is when they found the buggy driver had already left, and they faced a long, long walk with those big, big bags..."

[jemhouston]

Karma is most fun when you get watch from a safe distance.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

'FarStrider' #02

After quiet chuckles, our Chief Engineer countered, "We have had Agent problems, too. Three heaped pallets of spares that should have arrived yesterday were unaccountably delayed. Came this morning. At the bottom of the third pallet, we found Fleet stores had sent eight left-handed main impeller gaskets instead of the three left and three right on the manifest.

"This was wrong, wrong, wrong. We could go 'Through Channels' but..."

We shook our heads in unison. At best, Fleet Stores' formal resolution would take an eight day.

"There's an oddity of 0305's impeller series that these gaskets, though 'handed' left and right, are partially reversible: Flipped, they have a 6/8 'Power Rating'. As we did not need all of them, it was worth trying a hand-carried 'Return to Stores', while enquiring of the delay.

"So, we bundled three 'Left' gaskets together, sent our young, fit, just-transferred Third Artificer 'hot-foot'. Barely more than a Cadet, we could manage without if he did not return in time.

"But he did, clutching the manifest's missing 'Rights'...

"He reported that the Senior Store Keeper had had them ready, together with an apology and explanation...

"Late the previous day-cycle, just as our three pallets were being loaded for urgent delivery, two Agents had come to the Stores and demanded to speak with him. They ordered him to make a significant error on our consignment, something that would not be noticed until required. Worse, he was not to warn us...

"From any but an Agent, this would be 'Treason'...

"The Store Keeper slowly, slowly talked them through the manifest and the piled pallets. As the Agents lacked any familiarity with such parts, he had to explain at great length how this item or that could be identified at a glance, with absence or error so obvious.

"Then he came to the impeller gaskets. He knew about this series' partial reversibility, but made a big, big fuss about them looking so similar, yet 'handed', like gloves. This was a failure mode even these Agents understood. Convinced, they ordered him to make it so, watched while he pulled five extra 'Lefts' from stock, replaced the three 'Rights'.

"Yes, the Store Keeper explained, while the lack of *any* gaskets would be very obvious, the scramble due delayed delivery meant our exhausted 0305 crew were unlikely to look twice at a couple of extras...

"The Agents further ordered him to defer those pallets' despatch until the following day-cycle. This was easy, as that detailed exposition of the pallets' contents meant the day-cycle's last delivery run had left. The Agents went away convinced they'd 'nobbled' us, apparently unaware that the recent series of 'difficulties' had put us on our guard.

"Here, the nimble young Artificer, who'd been eyed with some doubt by our close-knit crew, is now considered to have 'Earned his Berth'."

[jemhouston]

If I was being paranoid, I would say all this was done to make the Artificer look good.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

#03

FarStrider_4 excelled during acceptance trials, but this voyage to KREB_01001 was the fast survey ship's shake-down cruise. We did tests, drills, tests and drills. We paused part-way at a 'Brown Dwarf' sub-star, spent two busy eights of day-cycles ship-handling, scan testing and such. Our Flanker ferried Heavy Marines to an asteroid, where they ran their own drills. We provided fire-support from pulse and tail-guard turrets. And, yes, confirmed our two junior 'Gunners' knew their trade.

Finally, FarStrider slipped into the target system, some-what further out than Fleet's usual Overdrive limit. This provided two benefits. It disguised the survey ship's enhanced capabilities, it let the excellent sensor suite take a good look around before the 'Outlanders' could consider us a threat.

It was soon apparent that vast 'Heavy Hauler' was no longer in orbit around the Outer Giant: Progressively expanding the scan-field determined it was not in 'free' orbit, not near any of that Giant's moons and moonlets, not at either 'stable' zone a third ahead or behind.

Had they moved to the Inner Giant ? No. Though that was currently far across the system, the 'Outlander' ship was much too big to hide from FarStrider's excellent instruments.

Cautiously, FarStrider swung closer to the Outer Giant. Scans noted its upper atmosphere had 'significantly elevated' levels of metallic elements, perhaps from wrecked strike-group debris. Remarkably, given the vast destruction, there was no orbital debris. None.

In fact, the only clear evidence anything had happened was a single, faint life-pod beacon. Wave-number variation soon matched its motion to an icy outer moonlet. Its beacon code, though, was unsettling. Yes, we knew these 'Outlanders' could some-how 'solve' our beacon codes. The task was P/NP-Hard, apparently impossible, but they did it. And, within moments. Despite long discussions, trying to tease even the slightest clue to such capabilities, the two FarStrider communication specialists just shook their heads, dipped their whiskers, flicked their tails.

This beacon, though, was more than just a beacon. It was that of the life-pod hijacked by the Flag Lieutenant and his Senior Agent. Also, as we'd salvaged that pod's power core, the beacon should have been mute.

So, FarStrider 'stood off', ready to run far and fast, while our Flanker 0305 ferried six Heavy Marines to investigate...

Our wary passive then active scans found a single life-pod beside the mouth of a big ice-cave. The moonlet was small enough that we could land beyond line-of-sight, yet within scout range for the Marines. They went off in full 'Recon in Force' mode, moving by pairs between the moonlet's small craters and pressure ridges.

"Commander ?" Our Bridge Comms specialist raised. "Squad's calling."

"Put him through."

"Commander... " The Heavy Marine sounded uncommonly uncertain. "You need to bring 0305 here, take a look at what we've found."

"Verify ?"

"Our un-ripe Breen fruit has yellow stripes."

That suggested toxic root-mite infection. "Reception unclear: Please repeat."

"Our un-ripe Breen fruit has orange spots and yellow stripes."

This meant it was too toxic even for Wikk-bait. It was also a free-form 'safe' message, any 'harmless' or 'identical' reply being coercion codes we'd very quietly discussed, agreed.

Slowly, carefully, 0305 lifted from our 'holding' location, crept around the icy moonlet's curve. Ahead lay the life-pod. Just beyond that, well-lit, a boxy 'cave entrance' loomed. But this was no mere 'cave', it was very, very obviously a massive, open-fronted chunk of hangar deck from the task-group's beam-cleft carrier.

The many upper and lower deck-levels were missing. All outer hull zones, passages and compartments were missing. From the thin strata, some water-ice had been spray-layered above to protect this vast box against solar flares and micro-meteorites.

But what were those shapes, those many, many shapes on the deck ? From what we'd seen of the Outlanders' actions, from what we'd so-warily deduced of their thinking, I'd an unsettling suspicion.

"Commander," Squad called. "You need to see what those 'Outlanders' have done. Also, as remaining cabling has been modified, I must request urgent inspection by an Electrical Artificer."

This mission's 'Military Attaché', I was permitted the discretion to thus go 'Into Harm's Way'. A duly-rated Artificer was found. We suited up, adding the essential double-insulated over-boots for such ice-work. Respecting the low gravity, we worked our way across the ragged surface to the mouth of the 'box'.

Set within, at the very left, we saw power was provided by a spare 'Striker' power module, a second arranged as 'fail-over'. An existing lighting control panel had been re-positioned conveniently, re-connected. My Artificer examined the work, murmured reluctant approval. A shallow-buried but clearly marked power-line ran to the life-pod and its beacon. Inside the hangar, ample lighting made the scene brutally clear.

As I'd barely dared surmise, those shapes, those many, many shapes, were bodies. Contorted in death by battle-trauma or decompression, vacuum de-volatilised, they were carefully arranged in eights, with a sufficient path between each 4x2 group. They bore no damage, showed no interference beyond their 'cause of death', were clad as they'd been. Eights upon eights upon eights, their groups stretched the length and width of the remaining hangar.

There were two exceptions. An area on the right had a collection of stray body-parts, efficiently arranged by type. And, beside it, there was a part-fenced enclosure. Lengths of conduit had been spot-welded to the deck, cable strung between these uprights as a low rail. Inside, were eight plus three bodies. They had all died before decompression. Several had visible gun-shot wounds. From their overall tabs, this eight were the group allocated to that life-pod. The three extra were Junior Officers who, surely trying to get the eight away, had also fallen to the Senior Agent's busy weapon.

This hangar box had been cut from the rest of the cleft carrier, trimmed 'square', stripped of cables, ducts, conduits, even hatch-side signs. Beyond the lighting, there was no equipment left, not a fastening nor connector. Even the massive over-head hoists were gone. The 'Outlanders' must have like-wise cleared the orbital wreckage.

Yet, some-how, despite the Task Group attack, despite all the chaos and debris, they had collected, deduced, respected, honoured our Fallen...

Truly, we were the 'Primitives'...

[jemhouston]

That wasn't on my bingo card.