Flavorful
A TWILIGHT IMPERIUM 3^rd EDITION (Shattered Empire) PBeM

:: MAIN ::	:: MAP ::	:: SUMMARY ::	:: POLITICS ::	:: FLAVOR ::
:: CARDS ::	:: TECHNOLOGY ::	:: DISCARDS ::	:: RULES ::

:: PROLOGUE :: CHAPTER 1 :: CHAPTER 2 :: CHAPTER 3 :: CHAPTER 4 ::

:: CHAPTER 3 ::
:: PART 1 :: PART 2 :: PART 3 :: PART 4 ::

Mecatol Rex. Alcom Et Saqwa gazed at the sunset.  It was, without question, a beautiful sight.  Once the sun reached toward the horizon, the incredible dust storms that swirled constantly scattered the light in a way that was breathtaking.  And yet.  And yet always in the back of Saqwa's mind was the reason why these beautiful sunsets reappeared night after night.  He was, of course, gazing out across the Sea of Desolation, the last gift of the great races to the Lazax, and by extension, the loyal Winnarans.  Saqwa frequently came here, to the extremity of Mecatol City, directly next to the city shields, to remind himself of his important duty as a Custodian. For many long years, the Winnarans had done everything that the ancient Lazax could have wanted.  They would be proud, Saqwa was sure.  To the best of their ability, he and his people had retained the order of the galactic council, the imperial records, even the imperial throne.  They had even managed to field a small fleet of fighters and a contingent of ground forces to repel any foolhardy attempt by others to place a foothold on this glorious world. Saqwa had a feeling that this time had come to its end.  There was great movement among the races of the galaxy, great excitement in the chambers of the council here in Mecatol City.  He knew that eventually -- it might come sooner, it might come a little bit later -- Mecatol Rex would again see war, again shudder beneath the footsteps of warriors.  The Winnarans had made clear to each race's ambassadors that Mecatol Rex should remain a peaceful world, neutral to the affairs of the galaxy.  But behind each ambassador's assent could be seen a slight, knowing smile.  Because of course any contender for the position of galactic ruler would feel obligated to control Mecatol, if only for its symbolic value. Even now, Saqwa and the fellow members of his Custodial Council grieved for the loss of life that would come from their small fleet and army, the force that had been enough to keep the darkness at bay for thousands of years.  They would fight, he knew.  And they would die. The only question that remained was, At whose hands? On the surface, the Yssaril were focusing their efforts on advancing their technology - a harmless goal to even the most suspicious of their opponents.  However, in a remote corner of Mecatol City's vast corridors, two shadowy figures were meeting.  Only the faint red glow of the taller figure's eyes cast any light, and had anyone passed by, they may have thought it only one of the myriad of running lights that were sometimes found in the older portions of the cities. "You have come!  We are certainly pleased!" scratched a strange, almost mechanical voice.  Yet this voice still seemed shaky.  Fortunately, the other figure either did not notice or did not care. "Of course.  Our people have also known the yoke of oppression, and our Scrolls have told us that to fully throw off our yoke, we must be willing to talk with those like us.  I assume you have brought your end of the deal?" "Yes, I have.  The Mindnet does not offer a bargain only to retract it at the last minute.  Once the plan has been set in motion, we shall see that your people have their reward."  With that, the taller figure handed a small datapack to the smaller one.  "Use this, and you will find what we need.  We would get it ourselves, but we also feel that mutually beneficial unions, even informal ones, may serve us best." The smaller figure pressed a button on the datapack.  After looking at something on the small screen for a moment, he smiled confidently.  "We shall have the preparations ready by next week.  Be sure that your people are ready." With that, he faded into the shadows, and the hooded figure turned back towards the main portion of the city.   The next week, the capital city was bustling with activity.  The Winnarans had issued an urgent summons to the Council chamber for all delegates, and everyone was scrambling to get there in time.  It could only be imagined that whatever this was for, it was either an emergency or an announcement of vital importance. After the delegates were settled in their seats, the Primary Custodian stood and beckoned to the small Yssaril who was sitting in the traditional spot for the one who was to take the floor. "Fellow delegates!  We have come across an item of extreme importance.  It was once possessed by the Lazax emperors of long ago.  Though we cannot say how we came across it, we would like to present it to this assembly!"  As he said this, he looked slyly at the silent Hylar group in the corner.  They scowled back at him, knowing to what he referred, but daring not to speak up, lest the council drive them even further into obscurity.  "Behold!  The fabled Crown of Emphidia!"  He held aloft a small cube, and out of the cube eminated a strange, glowing energy. The Winnaran Custodian looked amazed.  The records, of course, spoke of this icon of Imperial strength, but he had thought it lost along with the emperors who had once borne it.  However, he realized that he should not have been so doubtful; the emperors had returned, albeit in different form.  Why not also the symbol of their strength?  He cleared his throat.  "We, the Custodians of Mecatol, are grateful that you have found this wonderful gift.  We promise that we will keep it safe until such a time that—" He was suddenly cut off from a voice in the council; a low, rumbling, yet dignified voice that had only recently begun to be heard in this chamber.  "No!" he said forcefully.  "That is unacceptable.  The L1Z1X Mindnet demands that this be returned to us at once!  It is ours, and will remain ours!" The Custodian was taken aback.  This was certainly more forceful than he had expected.  The custodians had often discussed the role the L1Z1X should have, and whether they should be given the throne back outright.  However, they had not reached a decision, and now the Custodian was in an awkward situation.  Giving the crown to them now could ignite the flames of war anew, just as it seemed peace was returning to the galaxy.  "Honorable delegate, we have heard your request.  However, for the sake of peace, and the sake of the instructions we have been given, we must decline your request." "Nonsense!" spoke up another voice.  "You custodians spend too much time thinking, and not enough time doing!  This is the type of attitude that kept our people enslaved for years!  We demand decisive action.  This crown is only a symbol, an icon; it does not make one Emperor, yet you claim it for yourselves.  This is unacceptable.  WE, the races of this council, must decide the fate of the galaxy, not you!"  The Mentak representative sat down, obviously wanting to say more, but controlling her emotions. Looking around for support, the Custodian glanced around the chamber.  Quietly, the voice at his side spoke up.  "The Yssaril tribes agree that this crown, which is still in our posession, be returned to it's rightful owners for now.  We know there are many secrets that only they can unlock, and without that, this crown will serve no purpose." The Custodian sighed in defeat and sat down.  While the empires of the Letnev, Sol, and Muaat were still debating what to do, the Mentak, Yssaril, and L1Z1X had greater numbers present, and the debate died quickly.  As the council departed, the Crown was given to the Mindnet delegate, who smiled triumphantly.  Later that night, the once-strange trinary signal eminated from Mecatol City once more. The carrier from Arc Prime contained two entire squadrons of fighters complete with pilots, mechanics and the sundry other people required to keep these squadrons operational.  All of this, however, barely occupied a third of the vast space available in the capacious ship.  Tightly packed into the space that remained was a special cargo consisting of large concave pieces of a hard dark material. The Letnev fleet slowed as it approached Garbozia, excitement buzzing through the troops aboard the various vessels.  In the coming days and weeks these troops would see the wondrous theories created by the ever co-operating Offices of 'Technological Development’ and ‘Engineering and Manufacture’ be put into practice. First a number of machines, modified to bear the intense gravity of Garbozia, and a small workforce of men in special power suits were sent down to begin excavation and construction.  Large underground caverns were created and coated with a special material that had been found to absorb a small amount of gravitational force.  Then living and working areas were created inside a bizarre maze of flywheels and gyroscopes which were intended to further lessen the effects of the planet's gravity to something more comfortable to the Letnev.  Following this the concave pieces from the carrier were floated into space and slotted together to form one of the vast construction spheres the Letnev used to build their ships.  Giant cables are then shot down to the planet, tethering the sphere and allowing for the modified cable clinging elevators to bring materials that would be mined from the planet up for use in future construction efforts.  During all of this the first deployment of the special phason mines took place.  One could only hope that they should perform as intended should the need arise.   "Ciel, I want you to deploy to Garbozia.  It is time you took control of the delegates sent to Mecatol. They are not performing their duty!" "As you wish, Lord Knight," Ciel responded, his bitterness at having to leave the comfort of Tsion clearly evident in his tone. "You will be accompanied by General Farran who will be setting up training facilities on Garbozia; the intense gravity should do wonders for our troops.  Admiral Unlenn will also be there to govern defence of the sector." With that matter sorted I began to ponder recent developments.  The Mentak and the Yssaril had both supported the Elwonzewonex claim to the Crown and I could not fathom why.  Both of their peoples had been mistreated by the supposed ancestors of this race of cybermen.  I could only hope that Ciel's removal from the vices of Tsion and closer proximity to Mecatol would drive him to delve the secrets of the Galactic Council members. "Just one more check, Rico, then you're done." Thank god for that.  The calibration procedure was on its second day, and Johnny had a splitting headache after day one.  And that was after the surgical implants.  It was going to feel good to be done with this Genetic Cybernetic Synthesis procedure. Everyone called it Gen Synthesis for short of course.  It described the long process of taking the enhanced cybernetic implants and performance enhancing drugs and matching them up with your unique cellular structure and brain wave patterns.  Due to the recent economic boom there was enough cash in the Terran Mobile Infantry budget to use this new technology and outfit all the combat troops.  And it was supposed to make a big difference too from what Johnny heard; improved sight and hearing was only part of it.  You also had new senses to detect electromagnetic waves and radiation and drug-enhanced strength and endurance for combat.  The best part was that the data they collected would allow them to clone you back home if you bought it in combat.  Of course enough of your body had to survive for that to work but it was nice to know that you had a chance. Of course the Federation was at peace now and maybe Johnny wouldn't see combat for the rest of his term.  Everyone was too busy making money off trade and the current economic boom.  Hopefully that would continue; the limited action Johnny saw on Mirage was quite enough. Though busy before, the announcement of the return of the Crown of Emphidia to the L1Z1X caused the activity on [0.0.0] to rise in an unprecedented way.  Even the small squadrons of fighters seemed to be more precise than before.  To the untrained eye, however, you probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between these formations and standard "parade" formation, useful in ceremonious activities only.  The latter would make sense given the circumstances, but even the wisest of the Custodians were unsure what to make of it.  These may be the Lazax reborn, but at the same time, they did not know this new strain of their former emperors, and in many ways felt self-conscious that perhaps they, too, should have evolved.  On the other hand, maybe cybernetic evolution wasn't the proper path, either?  So many questions, not enough answers. As news of this heightened activity began to be rumored even among the common soldiers of Sol and Mentak, a signal was sent out to the galaxy: "Do not be alarmed. The Mindnet is currently engaged in rigorous training exercises, as we fear our recent fortune may not sit well with all races.  Our goal is to be prepared only, not for aggression.  Do not be alarmed. The Mindnet is currently engaged..."  It repeated for many hours, until even the common soldiers knew it by heart.   Meanwhile, on the other side of the galaxy, a small convoy of freighters delivered a load of highly-advanced electronic supplies to a small Yssaril outpost. The Mentak Coalition was never used as an example of a well-oiled, optimally-organized machine. In fact it was quite the contrary. "Organized chaos" was the most common way to describe the inner workings of the Coalition. Still, such was the environment where the Mentak thrived and built up their strength.  They seemed to feed on it, always challenged to find a better angle, an up on one's rival, a new scheme. Be that as it may, the sudden expansion driven by the arrival of the Lazax and the renewed intergalactic trading had stretched the concept of organized chaos to its maximum, even for the Mentak.  Thus a new group was set-up to deal with the requirements of an expanding position. The idea had come from where most things came to the Coalition: the outside.  This particular idea came from the Barony of Letnev. Following the extraction of the compromised operative of the Organization on Trade Station Tsion, an extensive debriefing was conducted. The operative had repeatedly mentioned how the legendarily well-organized Letnev had an Office assigned to run every aspect of their regimented barony. Although Meta Baston immediately saw the potential for implementation of this concept, this did not protect the said operative from early permanent retirement. Thus was created the Coalition's Logistics group. It would not have impressed any Letnev observer by its efficiency and rigorous methodology, but one could not argue its effectiveness. Things got done; not always the right thing, but as the Lazax proverb says:  "Mecatol City was not built in one day." "My lord, it is my opinion that the meager Winnaran defenses on Mecatol Rex will not delay an attack on the planet for much longer ... and several other governments have fleets already within striking distance." None of this came as any surprise to the High Fire Warden.  The foresight of the solarius stone had prepared him for this eventuality. "It is also my opinion, my lord, that to allow Mecatol Rex to fall would be a severe mistake.  While the mercenaries of Primor can complement my current troops, I would like to formally request additional men." General Umbat's request was not unexpected. "You shall have your extra legions, General.  Perhaps such a large contingent in such close proximity will make others think twice before attempting to take Mecatol by force."

:: PART 1 :: PART 2 :: PART 3 :: PART 4 ::

Admiral Skyrrl peruses the library of the Tribal Congress. His mind has been on recent political developments.   The Tribal Congress recently nominated the cyborg L1Z1X government for the Crown of Emphidia. What's more, they actually voted FOR the soulless robots. And furthermore they made arrangements not to take the Crown from the Mindnet nor help others in that enterprise. What the &^#@ is going on?! he thought to himself. He often felt this way.  "The Tribal Navy is merely an extension of the Civil Government."  He winced everytime some knucklehead told him that. Just once, I'd like to make policy AND enforce it! When he felt this way, it really discouraged him. Skyrll would often find solace in the library, reading patrotic literature. He has asked for the day off so he can spend the afternoon reading the Tribal Declaration of Interdependence. When in the Course of Yssaril events it becomes necessary for one tribe to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the Retillion, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of Yssaril-kind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all Yssaril are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among the Tribes, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, ... Daqan frowned, and leant into the hard back of his chair - not for the first time experiencing a dichotomy of appreciation for the unyielding surface that mirrored his own implacable will and regret for the pride that held him back from embracing the comforts due a Knight of the Letnev.  He glanced back at the datascreen and the field report, and raised an eyebrow at the déjà vu as the contents caused him another schism of simultaneous satisfaction and discontent.  Another tonne of produce from Yssaril taken. The ISO tacticians had done well, and the plan had been executed flawlessly - at first.  Acting on Daqan's intel, they had activated five of the better field agents Dir5 maintained under deep cover on Tsion for just this sort of eventuality.  Hard looking, known to each other only by colour coded designations, they'd swiftly appropriated their man - a mid level clerk in a trading office whose identity had been flagged during the investigation over the missing produce.  After this, things started to go downhill.  The interrogation was disappointing - being in the middle of an overcrowded station and far from the dark pits under Feruc the team could employ only their least persuasive methods.  They were able to establish that the man was working for The Organisation (about whom the 5th Directorate had heard much, but knew little), but only at a remove.  In return for some favour, he'd 'arranged matters' so that the 'what', which was coming from 'where' (he claimed ignorance of that also), could pass unseen through station security and into the hands of a 'who', whose identity remained concealed despite some impromptu creativity at the hands (and feet) of Agent Green.  Agent Black, undaunted, initiated plan B.  A tracing device was implanted behind The Organisation man's septum - not some crude radio beacon that would have been spotted and jammed by any halfway competent band of thugs (and The Organisation was well beyond thuggery), but a completely unrumoured device, invisible to most scans and completely inert until a particular signal would cause it to explosively combust with a trinary effect: firstly, powering a tiny locator beacon that would fire toward the coded signal; secondly, removing any indictable evidence; and thirdly, cooking a goodly portion of the host's frontal lobe as it went. Intel was subtly leaked to certain parties and before long, The Organisation was banging down the door.  Resistance was brief, and the room was emptied. The remaining three Dir5 men did not regret the sacrifice of two of their number - hell, it wasn't them dripping down the wall right now, and the Letnev were not known for their sentimentality.  They followed their quarry through the warren of slums and shantytowns generations of refugees and asylum seekers had made of the vast commons around the internal circumference of Tsion, eventually coming to rest in a disreputable-looking store that looked well past whatever boom times lay in it's dusty past. The Organisation team along with their rescued agent had disappeared into a small warehouse across the way.  Only a trained eye would see the concealed surveillance gear and lines of defence the building offered.  Agent Black knew that the man inside would currently be experiencing no succour, no doubt being subjected to intense counter-interrogation.  With no hope of a covert infiltration, and certainly no likelihood of a forced entry with just the three of them, all they could do was cut their losses and try to minimise any information on themselves getting into the wrong hands.  Agent Black nodded to Orange, who lifted a small device resembling a common comm unit and entered in a complex code.  A red light flashed once.  The team left, making as little noise as they had coming in. The shopkeep didn't know what they'd wanted - and couldn't help but feel relieved that he hadn't found out. Sir Daqan leaned forward again, cleared the field report and frowned again as he hit the new file icon.  He had to make this sound good for Commander Zi`el but he had little enough.  They'd proven his hypothesis that The Organisation was somehow involved with the stolen shipments - the team that had come to rescue the shipping clerk had verified that - but that's where the hard evidence ended and speculation began.  Although, the difficulty they were having tracing the movements of the missing produce was evidence of a sort also, that seemed to point to a group whose greatest strength lay in their sheer lack of organisation - and therefore complete inability to sustain a chain of evidence.  Regardless, Daqan's hunches had rarely been wrong before and even if this mixed bag of results didn't give the Commander enough to go to the galactic council with, they had enough to motivate a very close watch on the Mentak from here on.  Daqan's finger hovered for a moment over the send icon, then fell.  It was late, and dark.  But then, it was always dark here, and the Knight knew his 5th Directorate would be busier than ever.   There was much to be done.  My fleets were growing and more troops were completing training, this time a batch from Wren Terra where they were testing the new range of battle suits and their enhanced ability to deal with full sun-lit environs. My eyes wandered over to the report from Sir Daqan.  I knew that soon my attention must shift back to this trade theft business.  It was time I put and end to this folly! Drill Sergeant Min marched down the halls of Velnor's Camp Victory with an unmistakable gleam in his eye.  The new recruits had arrived! Min marched with eager intensity, and he was ready.  His face was shaved so close it shined.  The crease in his trousers could cut paper.  The brim of his drill instructor hat never bobbed up and down but stayed a constant 5'6" off the ground. This was what he loved about the service.  The chance to take undisciplined kids off the street, tear them down to nothing, and then build them back up as members of the Terran Mobile Infantry.  There would be a number of them who wouldn't make it, as always, those who were too proud to be broken down or those who couldn't handle the pressure.  But the rest of them, they were going to make him proud at the end of these sixteen weeks. He was ready. More training exercises, yet it could be easy to see from the outside how threatening these may look.  The only thing that kept the neighbor planets at ease was the fact that none of the warships moving quickly into the system had their weapons armed; it seemed these exercises were simply maneuvers, not combat training. The people of Perimeter seemed to enjoy the attention the extra ships brought.  They had long been awaiting the return of their emperors and had nothing but joy in seeing them return, though even they had to admit they were surprised by their new appearance and demeanor. On the other hand, the Custodians at Mecatol began to grow uneasy.  While the L1Z1X did not seem to have their eye on conquest of the other races, they were fearful of the proximity of the fleet.  Perimeter wasn't exactly across the galaxy from Mecatol Rex.  Would the L1Z1X actually dare try to wrest power of the planet by force?  They did not like the prospect, and even those who defended the Mindnet in being the true emperors were disconcerted by this.  The Custodians began to ready themselves to protect the capital, hoping they wouldn't have to truly defend themselves against those that they had once sworn to server forever. Ervana inspected the rows of new ships.  Well, "new", sort of: Naalu-designed, assembled with recycled alloys from old N'orr carriers. At least they had fire control equipment from the Barnny. The Letnev make such great weapons, she thought. They were not cruisers but then again, for the same resources and time, a lot more had been manufactured.  This will have to do, she thought as she left the internal lauching pad of the brand new carrier.

:: PART 1 :: PART 2 :: PART 3 :: PART 4 ::

Yssaril myths abound with tales concerning the Shadows of Tartar. Take, for instance, the Tragedy of Avamorgo. This Yssaril fable tells the tale of an arrogant sailor named Avamorgo. Avamorgo believed his piloting skills were so keen that he could find shade in Tartar (hence the Shadows of Tartar). A whirlpool's maw opened up and sucked his ship down into the abyss. Avamorgo was never seen again. Another Yssaril myth tells about Gate Mallice. Gate Mallice was Grand Warlock of the Church. He is mentioned in several tales, but always as a supporting character, so not much is known about him. But the one common theme in all these tales: Gate Mallice walked in the shade of Tartar, and he could travel to the otherside.   Admiral Skyrrl's stomach growled. It had been almost ten hours since he had last eaten. He put down the book of legends, leaving the tales of the Shadows of Tartar for later. In the mess hall, Skyrrl partook of a lonely meal, his mind swirling about the book his was reading and with the news report that the Barony of Letnev had discovered a Precursor Fossil. "Admiral!" a shout came from down the hall. It was Commander Kvienit.   "Yes, Commander?" "The probe that we sent into the wormholes in the Shadows of Tartar ... well, we have a telemetry report. I thought you'd like to see it."   The telemetry report was dry reading: technical data on the gravitational and gaseous readings in that system. But the photographs were invaluable.  "What is that?" the Admiral inquired. "That," the Commander smiled, "appears to be a planet. On the otherside!" "A planet on the otherside?" mused Skyrrl. Could the myths be true?   The colonies at Arnor and Lor would be the stepping stones for further colonizations. The carrier picked up the ground forces. The fighters were fueled. The battlecruiser was locked and loaded. The expedition was launched. Through the beta wormhole the ships were rocked back and forth. Wormhole travel was still dangerous even in this age.  Then, as suddenly as it had started, the turbulence stopped. The wormhole spewed the fleet out into a placid system. There in the middle was a habitable world! The myths were true.  The Yssaril claimed the planet, naming it after Gate Mallice. Admiral Skyrrl was pleased. But he wondered: how did the ancients who wrote the myths know this stuff? What other secrets had they uncovered? Sakulag, a world of vast jungles and dangerous creatures, was next to fall under the all-encompassing gaze of the Letnev.  A planet that had great potential but was hopelessly underdeveloped.  The native predators were considered so dangerous that the planet had escaped serious development even at the height of the Lazax Empire.  Not only would this prove an excellent training opportunity for the troops, but they would also provide ample security during the setup of the research and development laboratories I wanted installed on Sakulag to take advantage of that rich source of biochemicals. And while I was assigning resources to the sector, I figured I might as well wring what I could out of that other miserable planet, Lazar. With my mind made up, I brought up the appropriate forms to get things under way. Lieutenant Commander Bismark shielded his eyes from the sudden blast of wind and looked up to see that familiar greenish-brown haze on the horizon that signalled another dust storm was coming.  Capha was truly a miserable planet, mostly bare rock and dust.  That fine gritty dust that got everywhere; no shower could ever really get rid of it.  Leading this survey team had seemed like a good assignment at the time back on Jord, especially right after the breakup with his girlfriend.  But it was dirty work and really pretty boring. From the reports he had read, the Planetology Bureau estimated that it would take decades to start terraforming the planet.  Capha had apparently been a pretty nice planet before some war or other in the distant past had reduced it to it's current state.  But it sure was mineral rich.  The deep core refineries that were going in were supposed to yield all sorts of raw materials.  That was why this place had to be defended and how he ended up on this dirtball. Bismark snapped out of his daydreaming to turn and give the order to stow the gear and get below, but he could see that Chief Martinez was already on it.  As usual. Hopefully this storm wouldn't last as long as the last one or their schedule was going to slip.  The planetary defense system equipment would be in orbit in two standard weeks and they had to be ready. The people of Torkan went about their business as usual.  The L1Z1X had let them be mostly autonomous, though the effects of the strict martial law imposed by the Mindnet could not be ignored.  Yet, the people were happy, for the most part.  The L1Z1X were neither loved nor hated and had come to be accepted as a part of life. Nevertheless, they could see the bustle of activity in space often.  Fighters performing drills and maneuvers, Ground Forces marching in formation in their highly efficient wargames, and even the occasional capital ship.  The people noticed much activity going on near neighboring Tequ'ran, though the area was strictly forbidden to travel to except on specific invitation from the Mindnet. Soon, on the darkest of nights, sometimes the occasional observer on Torkan would look to the sky and see strange lights eminating from Tequ'ran.  Yet not even the most daring would dare ask what those meant.  They hoped to keep a low profile, lest the Mindnet change their mind and begin conscripting them into their service forcibly.  Already some, mostly youth finishing their schooling, had signed up for service.  Some had not been seen since, though some had returned on occasion, seemingly no worse for wear. What were the L1Z1X up to, they wondered?  They were still unsure whether these former emperors were to be trusted ... or dreaded. Moll Primus - Mentak Main Research Facililty, a.k.a. "The Junkyard": The Chief Scientist looked at Captain Blake Carrington with pride.  "Now watch the target drone closely," he said as he pushed the fire button. The torpedo seemed to come from nowhere and hit the drone dead on.  There was a cloud of dust and when it cleared ... surprise, the drone appeared unharmed. "This is crap," said Blake. "It didn't even damage the drone." "Oh, but wait, my friend, wait.  You'll see!"  The drone landed outside the lab and the chief scientist brought Blake inside.  "See?" he said expectantly. "All I see are dead monkeys," answered an increasingly-impatient Blake. "Precisely, precisely, and a ship cannot run if all its monkeys are dead, can it now? Blake was beginning to understand.  "What do you call this weapon?" "The Neutron Torpedo," answered the Chief Scientist. Blake was looking at him with with newfound respect.  He himself was not a scientist but he had secured a budget from the Table of Captains for an innovative project.  Quite simple it was. It was based on the concept that you don't need to invent something new. You just have to get really good at what you're already good at!  Blake was a master at diagnostics and improving operations.  He had set up an annex to the Main Research Facility and had trained a hand-picked crew relentlessly.  They practiced boarding ships and stripping them of everything valuable in record time.  Now he could see the potential of his idea increasing tremendously with this new weapon.   Moll Primus - Table of Captains 3 weeks later Blake was finishing his exposé to his fellow Captains.  "First, there is the neutron-torpedo, which penetrates a ship's armor, goes off inside, and fries the crew without harming (too much) the ship itself.  Then, there is the self-propelled, directional spacesuits for the boarding parties.  And then, something called "the Tool." The Tool is a clever device that bypasses the security software of most types of ships so we can control them.  With these tools we can now defeat a ship in a space battle and then our salvaging crews can take it over. What we do with it after? Well, fight with it or junk it.  But that will depend, won't it?" The shuttle craft glided silently through space.  Its lone occupant studied the holoprojector in front of him with great interest.  A holographic projection of an Ember suit with some unusual modifications rotated on the holopad.  The ship's pilot was so engrossed with the projection that he made no effort to scan the area.  The shuttle ran automated scans of the ships patroling the system, displaying the data on a smaller viewscreen off to the side of the holoprojector.  The pilot was alerted to their presence by the computer, which broke his concentration. The High Fire Warden is getting paranoid, thought Emnor.  The ships on the viewer were just recently commisioned, most likely due to the Fire Warden's suspicion of an attack on Muaat.  The Scientist pondered his purpose on this covert mission.  Officially he was still on Bereg at the weapons research lab,  but he had been ordered to make this discreet trip to the Homeworld to perform a procedure that required his skills.  As the primary designer of the Gashlai's Ember suits, Emnor was the perfect candidate for what the High Fire Warden had planned. Turning his attention back to the hologram, Emnor pondered what the effects of the merger of the High Fire Warden and the solarius stone would be.  Emnor believed he now knew what the stone actually was.  He believed it was some sort of byproduct of the ancient experiments the accursed Hylar had subjected his people to.  They had attemtped many times to uncover the secret of the Gashlai energy-to-matter conversion whch took place in the cocoon before birth; perhaps the Laasha Volcano itself was a remnant of those dark times..  All this, of course, still did nothing to answer the question on the stone's purpose. The defense forces were running scans of the shuttle, but as expected did nothing to impede it's progress.  The operation should not take that long to complete, even with Emnor's severe misgivings.  He would be back on Bereg soon, and no one would have even suspected he was ever gone.

:: PART 1 :: PART 2 :: PART 3 :: PART 4 ::

Admiral Sskyrll looked at the intel report with disdain. History was repeating itself.  The New Twilight Wars are upon us. The Barony of Letnev have amassed a huge fleet at Garbozia. Furthermore, they have built a starship factory there. This system is close enough to attack Mecatol Rex. Yssaril Intel has also stated that the Barony has all its top leaders present at this one system. Surely something big is afoot! And if that wasn't enough: they have discovered a Precursor fossil. Who knows what power that holds? Furthermore, the Federation of Sol has amassed a huge fleet at Mirage. They too have their top leaders present. Surely the Federation and the Barony have competing interests... And what's more: the Mindnet have amassed a huge fleet next to the Federation at Perimeter. And they too have brought their top leaders!  And to top it off: the Embers have brought their mighty War Sun into the fray. They have their top leader present.  It seems that the rest of the galaxy is poised to attack each other and/or attack Mecatol Rex. Peace is out of the question. Admiral Sskryll has decided it is time to bolster Yssaril's defences along the Barony border.   Umbat glanced over the technical readout with a smile burnt onto his face.  The War Sun orbiting Primor had always been a symbol of power, but the extra fighter construction bays were only implemented at the sacrifice of speed.  The extra energy diverted to the bays caused too much heat for the engined to operate at full capacity.  The ship was indeed formidable, but lumbering.  All of that was about to change. With the new advances in Deep Space Cannon technology, Gashlai engineers developed a way to divert the extra heat into the weapon systems themselves, allowing the engines to work at full capacity. Umbat wondered if the galaxy was ready to deal with this newly-manueverable weapon of war...

:: END OF CHAPTER 3 ::
:: PROLOGUE :: CHAPTER 1 :: CHAPTER 2 :: CHAPTER 3 :: CHAPTER 4 ::