Amidst the clutter of ships coming and going, a single cruiser seemed to linger in the travel lanes of Bastion IV, holding a distant orbit above the planet. The TVSV Erikoure was rather large for a science vessel, though from its hull and structure the assumption that it had once been a military vessel wouldn’t have been hard to make. At nearly three hundred and thirty meters from bow to stern, she dwarfed some of the smaller freights and lighters that came to and from Paguarano, and due to her size those aboard had opted to keep the vessel in orbit rather than boldly attempt an atmospheric entry so early.

In her bridge, a man stood with two hands gripping at the rails of the captain’s deck before him. His drab jumpsuit bore two identifiers, on his left breast on shoulder, of the Xamoyos expedition. Studying a display, Doctor Paul Walton clicked his tongue as a fellow researcher beside him spoke.

“Welcome to Bastion IV, Doctor.” The scientist remarked dryly, leaning over the shoulder of one of the Erikoure’s pilots and studying his nav-display. “We’ll be launching stratolitte after sending a dropship down to the spaceport, I’ll be sure to feed you all the diagnostics from the passes.” He offered, finally stepping away from the pilot’s chair and holding a small tablet of his own.

“Won’t really tell us much we don’t already know. Model-Terran, rich atmosphere, reports of the megafauna have been more … interesting, though.” Walton said, his eyes focused on a readout of the planet’s cursory scan by the Erikoure’s quantum tunnel telescopes and RAILS sensors.

“Yeah, I wonder what all’s really down there … “ The young researcher began quietly, his eyes settling on the holographic display of the rotating world some thousands of kilometers below. Walton noticed that sparkle in the young man’s eye, curiosity of the unknown dribbling into the man’s mind.

“You ever been to a planet with megafauna, Mister Dralland?” Walton inquired, promptly turning away from his readout to address the young scientist. “It looks beautiful from up here, peaceful even,” He continued, stepping around to then stand beside the young man.





Maksim Vytalion stifled a short cough as he finished the final disinfection of the Winstohl dropship’s main compartment. Stretching nearly 39 meters from nose to tail, the single Winstohl airjet was by far the largest vehicle held neatly in the Erikoure’s bays. They needed two whole bays to hold the expedition’s complement of airjets: four small Vultures, two old, medium Arukas and the larger Winstohl dropship. Holding up the spray wand, Vytalion heard the soft chirp of his comm-bead and flicked his finger across a haptic display in the corner of his vision. With a quick screech, the comm-line was opened and Vytalion was greeted with the voice of the expedition’s illusive director, Professor Willart Sigismund.

“Mister Vytalion, is our dropship ready for her first voyage planetside?” The cold voice inquired, and Maksim slowly turned to trot back out of the Winstohl’s large bay and into the cacophony of preparations that were taking place in Bay No. 2.

“Ah, I believe so - hull disinfection was completed three hours ago, and just finished on the insides.” Vytalion replied, stepping off the rear ramp of the Winstohl and making room for the pair of pilots that were soon boarding the dropship.

“Very good Mister Vytalion. I believe Doctors Walton and Adalet will be joining you and the first away team.”

Maksim gave a soft huff as he laid the disinfecting wand against a stack of crates and then seated himself atop one. Producing a pack of cigarettes, he’d take the time to enjoy one last break before the venture planetside. He scoffed at the mention of the scientists. While the pay was good, they hadn’t paid him nearly enough to simply babysit scientists and researchers.

As he lit the end of a cigarette and took a short pull, his comm-bead squawked once more, this time a call from the head of security - Valera Stashalenko was a retired Home Guard captain, and normally the two would be despised enemies. Funny how money changed that.

“Vytalion, this is Stashalenko. We’re in communication with the uhh … Pagaurano Traffic Control. Patching you in now.”

Leaning back, Vytalion took another long drag as the call connected with his haptic Focus, the lines giving brief bursts of static. While time delay was a factor, Vytalion estimated it was negligible however. Perhaps only a few seconds, at worst.

“This is Traffic Control to the TVSV Erikoure, we have authorized your landing at Dock 11. Welcome to Bastion IV and Pagaurano. You are green to approach.”

Maksim steadied a hand on his ear, pressing a delicate finger to the comm-bead. “This is Erikoure Lander 1-1, we read you loud and clear. We estimate uuuh, a two hour flight and then a 40 minute entry.” He spoke, soon nubbing the cigarette out and promptly dropping it into a refuse bin and standing up. “We’ll be relaying flight telemetry and underway soon.” With that, the connection was severed to the planet, leaving just Stashalenko and Vytalion on the channel.

“Mister Vytalion.” Stashalenko then said quietly, Maksim’s boots thudding against the ramp of the Winstohl as he then stopped in his tracks. “The Director said no weapons planetside yet but, we’ll keep that to ourselves. Don’t let the eggheads know but … keep a strap, for insurance.”

Vytalion chewed on the inside of his cheek as he listened, first taking a cautious glance around before adjusting the breast of his jacket, and checking the grip of the heavy blaster pistol strapped beneath his shoulder. “One step ahead of you, Stashalenko. Maksim out.” He remarked dryly, then severing the comms-link and obscuring the blaster with his jacket once more.

A slow, dull humming cascaded throughout the inky darkness of the relay chamber while the last audio of the broadcast drew to a close. Stilhneer’s Ascension March, a solemn, quiet piece of a piano and violin died out while flickering lights materialized into a circle of uniformed figures. All surrounding a central node spewing forth a holograph of the galaxy, one of them reached a finger out to a glimmering icon and tapped it once.

“What … exactly does this mean?” A woman’s voice inquired, sharpened yet cool as she drew her hand back down to the great coat stretched across thin shoulders. The figure across from her, a swarthy man draped in a peacoat, answered bluntly.

“It means we’re on our own. Stuck across the Veil. Marooned.” He almost spat, drawing a gloved hand to his mouth to hide a quiet curse. “They’ve left us in the lurch, chasing ghosts all around the Deep Stars, while they’re choking to death on toxic atmospheres or burning up in renegaded stars.”

“We don’t know that.” Another voice chimed in, this one pressing a hand down against his starched uniform, a naval insignia pinned against his chest while he craned his chin towards the eight other officers standing before him. “We don’t know whether they completed Guarding Night and initiated Striking Dawn - “

The man in the peacoat let out a short chortle, looking to the naval officer. “If the Dawn had come we wouldn’t be hearing this. Are you listening to yourself? We knew this was coming when the Tenth Front reached Karelia. What we need to understand is that the Veil is sealed now, and that’s a good thing.”

A fourth man spoke up, adjusting the brim of the helmet draped across his head. He seemed to be sitting at a desk, legs bent and feet propped against a board of furniture. “A good thing? Are you serious? That was our way back home, now we’re stuck on the other side with god-knows what managed to slip through before we put the Cordons in place. You’re saying that’s a good thing?”

The other officer stiffened, adjusting one of the breasts of his peacoat to settle it on his broad shoulders. “What’s happened in the Garden has happened, it was not our mission to fight that war. We’ve succeeded in preventing the worst from trickling through the Veil and -

“Succeeded?! We’ve barely scratched the surface of it! Have you been groundside to the Shore Planets? I’ve lost whole colonies to Rogues - landers full of civilians butchered and eaten, picked apart like they were thrown into the jaws of a, a - Christ, I don’t even know how to describe it. And now, we’re stuck outside the walls!” The man at the desk suddenly rose himself up, practically knocking it away. Suddenly, another figure across the chamber spoke up.

“The Colonel is right, Commander.” The form spoke, an officer’s cap pulled tight across the brow as a white-gloved hand rose up to silence the dissent. “We can not derail the operation, contingencies were in place for losing contact with ISAAC and the Garden.” The stern words appeared to defuse the quarreling officer’s … for now, at least. As the figure lowered that hand though, a visible tension returned to the officer’s faces.

“That being said, it is clear the parameters of our mission have become broader than the scope of our abilities. We may need to discuss the option of altering our protocols.” The figure informed, while a few cautious glances were exchanged amongst the officers. The woman spoke again, turning to the obscured figure across from her.

“What do you mean, ‘altering the protocols’ … we’ve operated with strict instructions to stay away from other organizations and keep access to the Shore Planets as limited as possi - “

“I mean exactly what I said.”

Those short words drew wide eyes, and perhaps a gasp or two. The man in the peacoat clutched at the hem of his clothing, while his meaty face turned into a scowl. “You want to bring outsiders into this? I don’t believe that is a sound plan, Colonel.” He reported shortly, turning his head away. The figure didn’t seem to stall however, instead raising another hand as the command flowed.

“We have only so much time before our force concentration in the Shore Planets is overwhelmed … and there are still forces across the Local Region - the Apparatus stay-behind - that we must assume command of before approaching other states about this. There was a garrison force on Terra, the 666th, a static division. Part of the Shadow Authority. We will need them. And I need all of you to prepare yourselves.” The officers gave a cautious glance amongst one another, as if the ante of a game had just been raised drastically, while the figure gave a slow, parting word that would seep through the emptiness of space with the end of that mysterious broadcast.

; The furnishings of the dorm, while purchased by Scatterrans, was reflective of the student’s current country of residence. Holding ten separate rooms, some of the Scatterrans from more prominent aspects of Coalition society found their residences honestly lacking. For the majority of the students however, a mixture of Soruk and Azrican young adults, the chances to study in another country greatly outweighed the lackluster residence.

“Hey, the fuck’re you watching?” Joris said as he entered the living room, for once hearing Scatterran Aenlis rather than the native language of the country. In a cooperation between the Chagos University and another Taiyou institute, an exchange of programs between the Chagos’ Institute of Astrological Sciences. A number of the other students here with Joris were Astrology majors.

“Huh? Nothin’, just Brittlewood.” Another student remarked, looking over the couch for a moment and then turning back to the television screen. Joris narrowed his eyes at the screen and then clapped his hands together.

“Oh man, did you get to the part where the Commander throws a kid into the ion jet?”

“Hey, hey guys! You gotta’ see this, there’s a bunch a fuckin’ gangbangers in the street! It’s like that one movie ... what’d they call it ... “

Task Force 62

Master Sergeant Jacob A. Osmos leaned into the seat of the Aruka, looking out of the open bay doors and out into the picaresque landscape of the Sagitarron foothills. The Coalition vehicle flew in a tight vee formation of three other M88 VTOLs, looming over the prepared battlefield in the early dawn hours as the sun began to climb over the mountains, bathing the approach to the Zeus range in the warm glow of a star.

“UCON’s dealt with all of this shit before, a long time ago to be exact. It started in 2570 with Keagan; setting up the ground work for the Scatterran Intervention of Foreign Races Bill, allowing the Prime Minister and the Military complete legal course to intervene in any foreign national event deemed valuable to the Coalition – “ A young Corporal seated two marines down from him laid his hands out over the mechanism of the MR-18H, scratching at the underside of his chin and leaning forward onto his elbows.

“So what does that mean? The government says ‘It’s time to pick up and clean bitches out!’? Ten years later in 2580 there were a trillion Oriyaks in the OE with nothing but clothes on their backs – the UC paid more attention foreigners than the Empire?” He inquired, having to shout over the roar of the engines to make his inquiry to the Master Sergeant.

Jacob crossed an arm over his shoulder and nestled into the dropseat of the Aruka’s transport bay; the rolling hills of Sagitarron were quickly beginning to burn away into the graceful slope of a mountain hill, allowing the Aruka to flex it’s altitude at the current distance from the Coalition FOB.

“The whole system went to shit in the 80’s with the Reds. In late ’88, at the height of it all is none other than Ludvik-fuckin’-Regievko.” The Captain remarked, a slight grimace forming on his face.
“Regievko manages to repurpose the Colonial Military, partly by pouring money into it, and declares the foreign international territories under Coalition authority; Cosmics send a fleet into the Local Region and we get the Terran Conflict.”

A Private raised a hand, waving it slightly before returning it to the foreguard of the MR-18G. Adjusting the chest plate of the armor, the Private leaned onto one knee while he turned his chin up to the Master Sergeant.
“Naval warfare in it’s definition comes to being at the Terran Conflict – the Marines deposited an occupation force of twenty five million on that dirtball. That planet was ours.”

Jacob nodded over to the marine; a sign of pride amongst the marines was the operation claiming and the subsequent occupation of Terra. The Terran Authority was staffed and administrated by an excellently trained group of forces during the Coalition period of maintaining the Terran infrastructure.

“The 90’s roll around, the Reds light up the Outer Empire, and the house of cards comes falling down on Regievko. Deposed, Regievko dropped the whole government and made off with the Military Apparatus right behind him. Rohnfeld came into office and things kind of improved; ten more years of insurgencies and separatism and we have the current disposition of Scatterran forces across this galaxy … The Soviet Republics are built up to fight a small Belkan force, there are numerous stirrings in the wasp nest of New Hadden; the Reds never go away, they just get worse. There’s now an Azrican Stellar Territories on the brink of the Local Region, one trillion Scatterrans convoyed in on military vehicles, something is definitely ready to go down there. And then that brings us here, Langara; with Regievko’s son, Josef, in office the Coalition Apparatus is deploying to conflict zones across the entire galaxy using SIFR bill whether they like it or not. Fortunately, the Aschen need the help the Coalition is offering.”

The Corporal shrugged his shoulders and looked up to the cockpit of the Aruka, where the crew master and co-pilot were monitoring a bank of computer displays hardwired into the flight systems of the VTOL.

“The Terran Conflict ended with a ceasefire, but not before the Coalition began to flood the Local Region with enough marines to make even a Taiyou assault suicide. Josef Regievko rings true to his father’s intentions, with a much heavier focus of the Coalition military abroad. We’re in a new age, marines.”


“Twenty seconds!”


The co-pilot shouted from his terminal interface, alerting the Master Sergeant who rocked himself onto his feet and prepared to brief the marines of their deployment into the Zeus Mountains. Peering out the open left bay door, Jacob reached a hand to cling to a guide rail as a flight of four F/V-82 Reapers zoomed across the horizon; the ultra-light, maneuverable VTOLs were the primary Air Cavalry interceptor. Turning his eyes below, the outline of two M90 Annihilator gunships following the contours of the mountains; Jacob held on to the guide rail and turned to survey the squad of marines.

“Alright marines, listen up. We’ll be running escort for an SRI team sweeping through the mountains pre-assault – we will be the first Coalition military unit in the AO, and we will be the most effective.” He said, taking a step toward the back ramp, which was down and showed the passing scenery of the Sagittaron landscape; slowly, the Aruka began to descend with the rest of the formation, and a large patch of open grassland began to rise up toward Jacob and the VTOL.

“We are weapons red on all targets, RoE is armed and identified or suspicious; we are to provide escort duties alongside an armored unit, designation Cutter at team strength. Say hello to your mobile unit. Get ready to load up.” Jacob said, stopping at the rear bay of the Aruka and pointing to the Leopard APC slung to the rear boom of the Coalition VTOL. As the formation descended to land at the DZ, Jacob and the marines identified a two pairs of Warrior and Pathfinder armored vehicles, forming a heavy armor team capable of bringing Coalition firepower to the point of a sword. As the Aruka’s hull slowly braced against the ground, the wench clamp holding the Leopard activated from its locked position, and lowered the IFV onto the soft Sagitarron flatland. As Jacob waved the marines out of the Aruka, the crew master disembarked the VTOL to inspect the Leopard.

“Let’s get moving, mount up!” Jacob yelled as he jumped out of the rear bay of the Aruka, his hand quickly reaching out for the grip of the APC and finding it as the Aruka began to slowly pulse its engines to maneuver away from the landing zone. Jacob’s neural HUD activated as he exited the Aruka, bringing the forward-command interface to the front of the optical display.

As a marine clambered on top of the hull of the Leopard, Jacob positioned himself at the door of the Leopard as the squad of 16 marines loaded onto the IFV. The marine on the main 40mm cannon of the Leopard activated the weapon and shouted his confirmation to the Master Sergeant, who designated the other friendly vehicles as they too activated their transport and combat vehicles. Two Saber M22TB Troop Carriers and one other Leopard GV-70 IFVs formed the infantry counterpart of the four main armor forces; a single Warrior FSV peeled away from the road leading off into the mountains, breaking across the floodplain before stopping at the far distance of the drop zone.

“Woo-hoo! Thank the lord for the Heavy Ordinance Suppliers! We have HM-Five's locked and cocked!" Corporal Edit Kore shouted into his communication bead, lifting open the bay hood of the Leopard and hefting the 14.7mm HAW onto a magnetic clamp. The average Leopard was capable of carrying the weapons of the squad riding it, along with a supplement of firepower such as heavy assault weapons or launchers.

"Check for any Sackers. Alpha-1, you're providing crew. Get behind the wheel." Jacob pointed into the bay of the Leopard, identifying a Corporal and three of his subsequent fireteam members. The Corporal nodded before sliding his way through the bay of the APC and toward the drivers compound; his other marines filled the other stations of the Leopard, weaponry and navigation, and assistant gunner, while a marine manned the tandem 12.7/40mm HAW, with an attached SM-10 Striker launcher mounted beside the firing house. As the marine modified the aiming of the turret module, the optical and IR scopes of the cannons activated.

"We're eyes open, Master Sergeant. Cutter in-sight." The Private relayed, disengaging the 40mm railcaster and aiming it toward the mountains as the onboard radio of the Claymore opened with a low growl. The Coalition armored group was deposited alongside a flanking force of Aschen forces nearly 30km east; the Marine-Armored Task Force was operating within communications range of many of the forces on the continent, using reconnaissance drones to identify a tactical roadway through a crested valley of the mountains. The route was a rough estimation, but skirted across a slanting river at a small crossroads town before climbing into the mountains.

"This is Wheelspinner to all Coalition forces; allied proximity confirmed. Marine-Armor is operating west of your position, Aschen personnel. Identify for support." The signal was broadcast by the platoon Lieutenant, operating from an open-top M22TB troop carrier; his squad and attached marksman team were positioned on the road with their vehicle. As the Leopard began to roll towards the street with the remaining vehicles, it was passed by the other Leopard IFV of Bravo platoon; the GV-70 was outfitted in the SA7AT format, sporting an 125mm anti-tank cannon along the firing turret. The pair of Leopard's climbed up the hill as Jacob reached out and pulled the door closed, watching the ground move by under the wheels of the Leopard.

As the broadcasts streamed to and fro the Scourgebane and the Void Station, the Rocheaux remained still, using its own powerful arrays to boost the transmission speed and up/down rate to streamline the effort. As the Aschen request for diplomatic channels were received, a tight-beam link was established with the ship as the automated systems of the Void Station went into action.

The custodian AI of the Void Station displayed a series of visiting identificators, as well as a special broadcast IFF-tagging the Scourgebane as a friendly, diplomatic vessel. The identifiers could be printed by even the most rudimentary of a molecular printing drive, while the IFF-tags soon ‘auto-dated’ to update the positions of almost five other Exogarden ships in the near AU.



The Rocheaux and another manned destroyer, the Lombardia, were then to give a wide berth to the Scourgebane on its approach to the Deep Void Station, which itself had become a hive of activity as the umbilical was prepared for the Scourgebane.

The Deep Void Stations were constructed in a similar manner to the millions of other void stations that dotted the Garden and some parts of the Local Region. Composed of a main, six hundred meter habitat module that was ringed with a rotating drive that provided the station with both power and artificial gravity, a few transiting ships were passing by a large, separate transmitting buoy as they made room for the Scourgebane.

Onboard the station, Chief Artifex Behar Dimiter stood in his office, watching an airscreen display of the approaching imperial ship. He drew a cautious hand up to his bearded chin, while the other held a rocks glass with a brown, honeyish liquid. Raising the glass of scotch to his mouth, he took a slow drink, before turning back to his desk and setting the glass down.

“Virgil, can I get an ETA on their arrival?” He asked, a soft chime coming from the ceiling as the hologram of a man draped in ancient robes materialized in the center of the room.

“I estimate within the hour, Artifex. I have taken the liberty of scheduling the summit in an observation deck of Section A, not far from their umbilical.”

The custodian remarked, adjusting his tunic only briefly as Behar ran a hand down his chin to straight out the well groomed beard he sported. “Thank you Virgil - uh, make sure the marines stay back, I don’t intend to give them an opportunity to muscle.”

“Very well sir, I will inform Lieutenant Colonel Dalton of his parameters.” With that, the Artifex pulled his coat jacket from the back of his chair and soon tossed it over his broad shoulders. Looking to a holo mirror, he made sure to adjust the tie sitting draped down his blouse before then readying the left down to Section Alpha.

While the Scourgebane docked, the first thing they’d see entering the umbilical wasn’t another human being, but a pair of automatons. One of them stood slightly taller than the other, mechanical limbs draped over what appeared to be an energy rifle. The second, smaller one was unarmed, and its head shaped to be more humanoid than the blocky optical module atop the armed droid.

“Greetings, I am Plato-473, a protocol droid in service of the Aschen Local International Regional Bureau, and this is Deep Void Bureau Station 1-1-7.” The droid’s automated voice informed, before offering a three-fingered hand back towards the bulkhead of the airlock. “The Chief Artifex will host you in a chamber on this very same deck, please follow me.”

Behar quietly set his glass down beside a tall, and most importantly unopened, bottle of bourbon as he followed in a pair of protocol droids that were busy putting the final touches on catering. With a soft snap of his fingers, he pointed one of the droids to place a platter of minor foodstuffs on the table. The droid promptly set the plate down at the far end of the table prepared for the Confessor and his entourage, but Behar was left to gawk a moment as another droid entered, this time carrying a plate of what appeared to be an entire, cooked hog.

"Virgil, I'll be sure to call the kitchen if they want a four course fucking meal." The Artifex remarked, promptly unscrewing the lid of his bottle. "What you could do, is get me some more glasses though." He requested, waiting until a small set had been delivered before setting a gracious amount of the bourbon in each. With that, he treated himself to a deep drink of his own before all the protocol droids but one left, which took place standing silently in the corner as the Aschen were escorted to the chamber. Behar stood with his feet together, hands at his side at the head of the table and ushered the imperials in with a single wave of his hand.