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Rebirth - Pod Planet fiction entry.
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Rogue Lawyer
University of Caille
Gallente Federation
#1 - 2016-10-26 22:54:01 UTC  |  Edited by: Rogue Lawyer
Authors note: (Copy and paste from word has tottally boned the structure will post on external blog.)

It was a big hit, a mighty one, he knew this before he asked or was given ship wide diagnostics of

if-any damage that had been done to the mighty war vessel, but they had to have been some he

thought to himself as his ear’s were ringing from the loud boom and the accompanying shudder that

that run through the mighty war beast. The Bridge, far from being the elegant, neat looking bastion

of power and monument to his Empire’s technological acumen resembled a room having been a

victim of a bomb detonation. Wires hang from the celling, they protruded from consoles that had

been blown apart by ship wide static overloads, the mechanisms which would have prevented such

failures having long since failed themselves. The flashing red and yellow light that was the hallmark

of when a ship entered combat were like an illuminating disco ball on the bridge, it was a good

thing then they were dim and gave out insufficient lighting to gauge the true scale of the internal

destruction that had befallen this vessel. He caught glimpses of dead and badly injured bodies

laying on the floor, one victim who he noticed has burned, the face charred black from the heat

where her console had blown. He hoped, at least, they had a quick death. The smell of burned

metal and wires hang in the air, but those took secondment to the smell burned meat and boiled

blood, that was the smell of death.


For a while he was frozen by inaction, the play book it seems was not working, not here, not now.

The worst of times.

“Broadcast to all ships, change formation to the spear tip”. Formation Beta-52 or the spear tip as it

was known was one of many formations in ship to ship warfare. It didn’t lend it self well to small

scale engagements, only large ones, large brutal, grinding, offensive assaults; the type of assaults

that were the staple in the Amarrian Navy. “Battleships at the forefront, flanked by Battle-cruisers

and they themselves flanked by cruisers which in turn will be flanked by destroyer and Frigate class

ships”. He barked his orders, shouting over the howling system failure alarms.



“My Lord-”.

“Insure the Guardians and all other Logistical ships are behind us 40km from the tip minimum

distance the-”.

“My lord”.

“What is it?” He asked, irritated by the unwelcome interjection which interrupted not only his

speech but his trail of thought as well, he hoped for her sake that the interruption was of the

uttermost importance.


“My lord, we don’t have enough ships-”

“What do you mean we don’t have enough ships?”. The question was rhetorical He knew

perfectly clear what that meant; he cleared his throat. “Fleet status report?” he asked with a cool

voice, and so silent it was almost a whisper.


“Eight ships my Lord, the two remaining Battleships have suffered severe damage, The Genesis

has suffered multiple hull breaches and loss of power to propulsion, they are hailing for help and are

preparing escape pods for non-essential crew, they fear a reactor overload they fear they can’t

maintain antimatter containment, the Testament is not doing much better my Lord. As far as Battle-

cruiser and Cruiser class ships go, they have all been lost or are crippled to the point of uselessness.

We have no Frigate and Logistical wing left my Lord”. The update was given in a matter-of-fact

manner, betraying no emotion about the scale of

their current predicament.

Fell tilted his head backwards and closed his eyes, did his insufficient preparation lead to this?

He was as prepared as he could be, given the limited amount of information coupled with the

limited amount of time; maybe he was not given enough of a force, enough fire-power? Before

the battle began and the space littered for hundreds of kilometres by space derbies from shuttered

ships he had a fleet of thirty ships. Not a large amount by any Amarrian standards, but when you

consider his targets had a grand total of five battleship class vessels of unknown origin, it

was looking very much in his favour. The simple and tried tenants of Amarian space warfare were

straightforward, defeat of your opponents was to be done not by the electronic trickery of the

Caldari, the backfoot nature of the Gallente and their love of drones, nor the cowardly hit and run

tactics of the Minmatar, the Amarrian way was to overwhelm your opponent with upfront

brutal fire-power of heavy lasers whilst shrugging off his assaults in ships coated in layers upon

layers of the thickest and strongest religiously inscribed armour plating New Eden has ever

known.

In his long and decorated career in the Navy this had worked, it worked wherever it was applied

In the out reaches of the Empire on it’s southern borders in a campaign against the heretical San

Sabik or Blood Raiders it as they were universally called, it was the doctrine which rolled back

Omir Sarikusa’s campaign of terror. Even Sansha’s formidable war vessels at the hands of his

deranged hive slaves succumbed to the Empire’s method of space warfare. Fell’s belief in it’s

superiority above everything else had been absolute.

An absolutism that had now been broken.


* * *
Rogue Lawyer
University of Caille
Gallente Federation
#2 - 2016-10-26 22:55:23 UTC  |  Edited by: Rogue Lawyer
* * *

The room was dimly lit by two lamps on opposing ends of the rooms, on walls that were long

overdue a make over. The only furniture that occupied the room was a small metallic table in the

middle, with two metallic chairs, Fell Kurator sat on one of those chairs in orange robes, hands

chained much like his legs were placed on the table his blood shot, sleep deprived eyes were

starring down at the parchment on the table.

“Illuminating, aren’t they?” asked the figure sat opposite Fell.

“The lights or the scriptures? If it is the former then it’s a no, which in turn by extension of logic

effects the second”. Replied Fell. He didn’t know who the robbed, hooded figure was, introductions

weren’t exchanged when he first entered the room; that was . . . a long time ago, Fell couldn’t

accurately predict but it must have been hours now. The room was windowless, it offered no

indication of time, no clue as to where this planet’s star was in its rotation, if at all there where

planet-side time in here it seemed, was meaningless.


“Then the doubts haven’t left your mind” said the hooded figure.

“And you know this how?”

“I see it in your eyes”.

“Then you must also see the indignation of my treatment”.

“Indignation. Indignation?” asked the hooded figure with chuckle so heavy it was akin a growl.

Like one of those feral dogs his Empire used to patrol the perimeters of one of those hundreds of

slaver labour camps in the Empire.


* * *


It felt like whole minutes had passed before he opened his eyes on his bridge and gave new orders.

“Stick to the spear tip with whatever we have left, we will go for a final run”. He said. It was not a

decision born out of resolve nor one out of desperation even though in such a desperate situation it

could be classed as such. It was out of inflexibility, Captain Kurator had simply run out of ideas.

This was to be the final charge.

The holo feed in front of him traced the blue dots which represented his ships moving slowly in

position, 130km away were the opposing war vessels, Drifters they called them, represented by red

dots. Only five of them. Five and yet they were devastating. Their weapons proved to be so

effective they sliced ships in half whilst at the same negating incoming remote repair augmented

nanites. Despite their size they raced across space and turned direction at a whim in a manner that

would rival the agility of much smaller war vessels.

* * *

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now he did, it was a subtle sound at regular intervals, it sounded like water dripping off a leaked

pipe or a fountain. His hearing was getting back to him. During the initial interrogation he wasn’t allowed any sleep, every time

his eyes closed loud sounds were blasted into his ears in speakers placed near to where he sat confined. It left him with

temporary tinnitus that was now starting to fade away, and the minute sounds of his immediate environment were trickling in.

Water, pipe? Station? Military base? Ship? He run through the list of his possible locations. The immediate source of the

possible leak was not in his field of vision, nor could his turn his head to either side, his neck throbbed from the pain of his

head restraints. The possible water indicated at least one thing, he was not in a remote location, he must have been

somewhere built up, somewhere were a degree of residential permanency required the implementation of running water. He

felt relieved, at least it wasn’t who he thought it was. For they only held and tortured their captives in remote locations, slapped

with charges under the most obscure laws that even the most pious of the Empire’s citizens wouldn’t have heard of; their

families would be indentured into slavery, and if they were lucky they would join them too. That was how the Navy treated those

whom they wanted to make an example of.

“There is a look of guilt in your eyes”. Said the hooded figure.

“Guilt? It is the look of a sleep deprived man” responded Fell.

“The eyes review more than the physical, they are the windows to the soul”.

“That sounds . . . heretical, only the eyes of God can peer into the souls of men, a religious man such as yourself should

know this”.

“Religious? What makes you think assume that, is it the attire I wear, or the fact that I brought with me a parchment containing

the words of the scripture”. The hooded figure laughed, “ assumptions are dangerous to be beholden to. Surely you of all, in

this moment in time should

know”. He added.
* * *
Rogue Lawyer
University of Caille
Gallente Federation
#3 - 2016-10-26 22:56:48 UTC
* * *
The eight Apocalypse class battleship drifted into a make shift formation, Fell’s Battleship the
Winter’s Edge took position on the tip the forefront of an incomplete spear’s tip. Its thrusters bellowed out plumes of plasma from burst pipes, like cut blood vessels spewing out blood into the cold void.
“Transmit to all ships, maximum velocity forward” commanded Fell.
“Orders sent”. Said the navigator.
“For Empire and God”. Added Fell.
The Winter’s Edge shuddered as it’s battered super structure was surged forward by the ship’s antimatter reactors fuelling its thrusters. All ships followed suit.

Hundred-and-eight kilometres separated what was left of Fell’s fleet and the black hulls of the Drifters. The strategy of distance, and tactical warp around the combat grid was not going to work. It didn’t work. This was to be the last play in the book, the final showdown; he knew that as much, they all did. All around the Bridge, and possibly all over the ship crews uttered prayers to God.
No doubt the scenes were repeating themselves amongst the souls of the other ships.
The Drifters remained stationary as Fell’s vessels raced towards them, and as soon as they got within eighty kilometres the order to fire was given.
The lighting on the bridge flickered in and out of dimness as the ship’s eight Tachyon class Beam lasers disgorged the fury of their murderous energy stream towards the Drifters, their primary target - a ship that was positioned slightly a head of the others. All other ships followed suit, the black void separating the two groups was lit up by a light-show of multi coloured rays of light. A rainbow not of nature’s making, but out of man’s desire to kill and obliterate.
The defensive shields of the targeted Drifter flickered into life as the beams of high energy made contact with their targets, the shields shimmered around the contours of ship as it absorbed impact after impact of that would have otherwise sliced conventional vessels in half and ruined stationary targets into floating balls of super heated matter.

At sixty kilometres the torpedo tubes that had been loaded into lunch tubes spewed out from their vessels and slashed across the dark void, they found their targets and exploded in a furious light
as they disgorged a tempest of destructive energies. The discharged electro magnetic resedue interfered the ship’s lader based sensors and for a few brief moments Fell’s group run blind, Their sensors clouded by static fizzling reading. They were edging closer and closer, as quickly as as the interference came it dissipated.
The Drifters had started to move.
The Drifters held formation, their lead ship, which had been the target of Amarrian concentrated fire was not a charred wreck that would have befallen any conventional vessel under such overwhelming concentrated fire. It had sustained damage, forward sections of its shimmering black hull were torn apart, exposing the red hue of its immediate under armour structures. For the first time they had done some semblance of damage, it should have caused Fell some relief, it didn’t, not only because it had taken so much to even scratch the surface so-to-speak; but the Drifters had yet to return any of the destructive compliments thrown their way.
Fell had his eyes fixed on the tactical grid holo view, they kept coming, fifty kilometres now separated the two factions. This, he thought to himself, was how it felt to have the privilege of facing your own death.
* * *
“Are you familiar to the failures of Vak’Atioth?” asked the hooded figure.
“I am the familiar with the failures that lead about it’s inception”. Replied Fell.
“What failures were those?”.
“The failures of the Empire in sending good men to die in a slaughter”.
“Now look who talks of heresy”.
The hooded figure starred at Fell in silence. It was then that Fell felt a rumble, a humming.
Or was it his mental fatigue again. He held his breath for a while and slowly exhaled. It was still there he felt it . . . he saw it too, or saw something indicating to its presence; the parchment on the table flickered if not for the tiniest of amounts. Not due to the rush of air, but the table which was bolted into the floor also vibrated to. That in itself didn’t mean much, but It could have meant that there were close to something, or something was happening around him. The hooded figure ahead of him ignored it, he seemed oblivious to it, almost as if it was something to be ignored, not to be worried about. The comfort of understanding the known.
* * *
Rogue Lawyer
University of Caille
Gallente Federation
#4 - 2016-10-26 22:57:40 UTC
Drone bays were opened and hordes of Curator sentry drones were magnetically catapulted from their bays, unlike other types of drones which manoeuvred under their own propulsion systems a sentry drone was a type of static external turret, without any form of propulsion it had to be launched away from the ship were it would activate and its internal systems would go about executing the orders sent from the ship whose encrypted command frequency it accepted. The two groups of vessels were now separated by thirty kilometres, their distance still closing as they were about to engage in a deadly embrace.
Up until now, the Drifters were only mere dotes on the Winter’s Edge bridge holo grid overview.
This close to the ships the visual feeds were focused on the ships, their shiny black hulls and the protruding turrets that hovered around them. It was technology clearly far more advanced than conventional methods of weapon engineering.
Fell’s ships continued to close distance. This was not going to be a tactical of battle of play and counter-play, this was going to be a slugfest in a manner akin of the old ship to ship naval combats of Ancient Amarr.
No indication was noted, no warning of weapon power ups given, the damaged Drifter titled at an angle facing down the battleship at the furthest starboard edge of the spear tip.

* * *
The intelligence given to Fell and his fellow Captain before their mission was, thin-in-depth to
say the least. The off hand intel gathered from Cupsleer pilots from their various engagements in all corners of New Eden as a result of their increasing frequent and often violent encounter suggested they were a cause to be reckoned with, the yet unconfirmed reports of their Jovian origin should have given the Amarr Navy pause for thought before committing to engagement not only due to them unknown technical specifications of the vessels; due also due to the events of the distant past whose events the Amarr where forever being reminded off in the existence of the Republic.

The few briefing points of note normally started with the words “It appears” and frequently ended with “Incomplete data to validate”, the Amarr were distrustful of external intelligence choosing only to act on first hand accounts of their own.
* * *
“You were experiments, nothing but cannon folder in the wilder scheme of things”. Said the hooded figure.
“You lie”. Replied fell.
“Oh? Why then did they send you out on a mission which they knew would be suicide, why were
live battle reports sent for sturdy?”. The hooded figure placed a data pad on top of the parchment, Fell Kurator’s entire world came crushing down, as the magnitude of what he witnessed took hold.
* * *
Death came quick, a blinding light of fury; the souls that weren’t fortunate enough to be incinerated by the initial strike-which cut the ship in half-were thrown into the void of space, asphyxiated and become part of the wider debris field, in this thunder-dome of destruction. Their corpse destined not for rest in the burial sites of their home planets but to act as vessels for their executioners.
In quick succession, quicker than he could think, let alone react, the Drifters cut their way through Fell’s remaining battleship contingent. Communication feeds were overwhelmed by the cries for help as thousands of souls were butchered in a manner of minutes, their incoming collective feed a static white noise of the soon to be dead.

Then there was only one.
What happened afterwards was hazy, he gave the command to abandon ship, and looked into the eyes of the young navigator. Her eyes a sight of desperation, of terror, expectant of her impending death.
Then silence, no flash of light, no sound, just silence. He felt warm and a bit off balance almost like he was levitating. For a while he wondered if this was how it felt like to be dead. Further still when he regained conscious tied up and retrained he wondered if he indeed he was dead and was in hell. Punished for the failures that were very much in mind. The smell of blood still strong, only this time there was no smell of melted metals, burning plastic and barbecued flesh.
* * *
“Now you see, now I have opened your eyes” said the hooded figure. He proceeded to take his hood off, the move drew Fell’s eyes away from the data pad that was the focus of his attention; and his the rising fury within.
“Pawns to ascertain their threat level and capabilities”. He said.
“What’s a few ships, when you already have hundreds with crews of thousands?”.
The man’s face gave Fell trepidation and excitement at the same time. “I have killed many of you”. He whispered.
“Yes, indeed you have, that. Is why you should be one of us”. Said the figure.
* * *
The data they collected would go a long way in helping the Amarr Navy defend their space and
their heavenly ordained ruler Empress Jamly of house Sarum. They managed to gather a lot of debris from the battle site long after the Drifters had returned into the artificially generated worm holes they spawned. But something else had beaten the Amarr to it, in the time between the Drifter’s extraction and the Navy’s recon vessel’s arrival, something or someone came. One of the destroyed vessel’s scanners was recovered in a semi functional state. Amongst all the data it had collected an anomaly, or what the scientist thought was an anomaly appeared. It was dismissed as part of the wider data corruption that rendered only half the scanner useless for further sturdy. A piece of data it had probably collected during its campaign in the outer most regions.
It read one line over and over.
Omir#s&^%$usa
Omir#s&^%$usa
Omir#s&^%$usa.