as written by Absenthia and Ottoman
"Entering Sol System, deceleration burn in 10 mistress." The AI chirped as it signaled the exit from slip-space into the cold dark void just outside of the Sol system. "Understood. Resume normal gravity once in system, Specter." Claire replied groggily as she reached over to unfasten the straps that held her to the couch in the quarters of the small merchant ship. For the crossing through slip-space it had been easier to allow for an auto pilot, and to simply enter a drug induced sleep that was designed to last the length of the journey. While Claire wouldn't ever admit to anyone, but it felt good to detach herself from being dirtside for awhile.
Pushing herself up and out of the room, she headed for the bridge. The ship was easily enough to command with a skeleton crew or even one person and an AI; after all it was an alpha level sim, and could take the brunt of the work. "Prepare for deceleration burn." The AI chirped again, it's voice echoing throughout the bridge of the ship.
With a jolt and a shudder, the sleek black ship exited into normal space; shedding it's slip-space velocity rapidly. "Okay Specter, tell me what we've got." Claire said quickly checking the command board as she waited for the artificial gravity to come back on. Nothing was ever certain after one exited slip-space, especially in a ship this old. Hopefully your coordinates were right and you didn't end up placing yourself in a black hole's event horizon or in the middle of a star. "It appears that there is a blockade in place, Mistress." Specter chirped, causing Claire to frown.
So this was why they had requested that she specifically pilot a ship in, especially one with such an old hull registration. "Well.. we'll just have to find a way around that won't we?" She muttered to herself. Claire suspected she could always enter slip-space again and jump past the blockade, but that seemed almost too easy. For now she'd have to play it by ear, and hopefully be able to bluff her way through anything too terribly serious.
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The crew of the SNV Duranus, like much of the Cordon's composite forces, viewed this assignment as a virtual cakewalk. Simply stop anyone going into the system and do a routine search to make certain they carried nothing that could destabilize the already-torn fabric of this patch of space, and if everything cleared then send them on their way. They had yet to encounter anyone who possessed anything on their ships that could worsen the situation, at least to their knowledge. Given, they couldn't stop any ships that jumped beyond their checkpoint - but then they would have to deal with the anomalies themselves, and that seemed to be incentive enough to drop out of FTL early.
When the lone contact appeared on their scopes, the bridge crew of the battlecruiser regarded it like they had every other vessel that had come through their little corner of the cordon - waited until it made definite motions towards the cordoned area to hail them and inform them of the Cordon's mission. Broadcasted simultaneously in Austran, Aenglis and Trade, the communication was on an unencrypted band, meant to be heard by anyone and everyone.
"Attention unidentified vessel, this is ensign Williams of the Syndicate Naval Vessel Duranus. If you seek to enter the Valoran sector we ask that you please identify yourself and submit to a search for weapons of mass destruction - noncompliance will not result in a confrontation unless the Cordon is thereafter violated.
Please respond."
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"A message for you mistress!" Specter chirped again, happily almost, throughout the bridge and the small ear piece Claire had just tucked inside her left ear once settled. The AI’s personality was a small price to pay for what had been at one time a top of the line alpha sim. “Play it through.” She said with a wave of her hand, the sensors on the bridge catching the motion and relaying it to the sim controlling the ships electronics.
“Beginning message,” The AI said as began to play the recording back for Claire. It came through the speakers and her ear piece as tinny, distant, and almost incomprehensible. However after a few tweaks and passes with the AI it was easily understood again.
Quote:
"Attention unidentified vessel, this is ensign Williams of the Syndicate Naval Vessel Duranus. If you seek to enter the Valoran sector we ask that you please identify yourself and submit to a search for weapons of mass destruction - noncompliance will not result in a confrontation unless the Cordon is thereafter violated.
Please respond." "Well, I guess we'll just have to follow instructions then, won't we?" She said to herself after having listened to the message.
Taking a quick glance at the readouts from electronics on the control board, she noticed that it was taking longer than usual for the gravity to reactivate after a slip-space trip. “Specter… why is the gravity still off?” She asked suspiciously, still floating in the zero-g environment that currently was the bridge. The last thing Claire wanted to do was fix something when she was halfway across the galaxy. “It appears that some circuits were damaged during our jump, shall I reroute to another board mistress?” Specter replied cheerily. Inwardly Claire groaned and then audibly cursed, knowing full well that she probably should have checked the circuits, boards, and a few other things before the left the Epsilon System. “Reroute to… the third beta panel. It should be fully operational. If that doesn’t work try panels gamma through delta.” She said quickly as she worked to send a message back to the other ship.
“Syndicate Naval Vessel Duranus, this is Claire Angelique of the Ghost Dance. I am acknowledging your transmission and consenting to your boarding search.” It wasn’t like they’d find anything on the ship, it was so out modded and dated that finding anything without an expert in the particular ship, light huggers, would be difficult. Not that there was really anything to hide. The ugly piece of jewelry she’d been given on Langara was safely secured on her person, it stood less of a chance of getting lost that way.
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The dark-haired ensign craned her eyes back to glance at the captain, who hadn't been paying a lick of attention to the new sensor contact yet, and instead sat sipping coffee in his seat but a meter or two away. "Captain Vogel, we've made contact." She called to her superior, the Austran leaning up out of his seat with a sigh as he gave one final glance over the command and control center before moving off to its flank, to join his communications officer. His nose was stuffed into his mug far more than propriety would've allowed in the genuine starfleet, but that was part of the reason why he was here and not back in the black uniform.
"What's the low-down, Williams?" He asked, voice curling out of the cup. The Azrican woman's fingers returned to her console, drawing holographic menus to and fro to clear a space for her captain to see just what it was she was talking about. Already the communications from this vessel were being run through LEGION, processing for an analysis of accent, dialect, emotional disposition, and the etymology of the name given. The sun-kissed woman gave a shrug in the seat underneath Phineas.
"Claire Angelique, of the Ghost Dance. LEGION's saying exogarden, beyond the Veil in origin. Suspects Aschen origin though it... claims not to have enough information to make a dedicated statement."
"Fhionnlaigh!" The captain called the name out across the bridge, meaning to get the input of another ensign, this time a young Helvett man sitting some five or six seats down. The grey-clad automaton leaned back, his ruddy face looking to his captain.
"Yeah?"
"What have you got for me?"
The man turned back to his console as he reviewed everything that the intelligence had given him on this as-of-yet unidentified vessel. "Not much, and neither does LEGION." Quick, gloved fingerstrokes rung out across the Helvett's boards, drawing up rudimentary scans of the vessel taken at range. "Unknown class, it says, though it, ah-" The celtic man shrugged, a smile present on his face, even if only the screens in front of him could see it. "It doesn't present that much of a threat. To us."
An audible 'Hmm.' came of captain Vogel as he turned back to his communications officer, his forearm coming to rest on the peak of her headrest. "Let the Ghost Dance know to prepare for boarding, nothing hostile, just a search."
"Aye, sir."
A single Nidhoggr slipped from one of the hangar bays of the Duranus, flanked by its twin Valkyrie escorts, and started on its way to the Ghost Dance, crossing the gulf of space between the two vessels slowly but surely.
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Frowning, Claire just hoped the artificial gravity generators would come back online soon enough. Boarding and creating a docking seal against the hard vacuum of space wasn't an issue, it was an issue of it being an older ship with finicky tech. "Anytime now Specter!" She said with urgency in her voice as she quickly pushed off the console towards the door heading out.
Grabbing hold of a set of bars on either side of the door, Claire propelled herself further through the corridor, towards the docking bay. Things needed to go smoothly, and anything that was malfunctioning could be taken care of later; as soon as she found the parts and the time that was.
"Gravity controls have been rerouted to Beta 3 panel." The AI said in it's same chirpy, song like, happy voice. "Normal gravity will resume in t-minus ten seconds. Please refrain from all travel and movement until then." It added before beginning the count down. There was no time to heed the warning, she needed to be present when the other ship docked and the airlocks cycled through. "10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1... All gravity systems are functioning normally at this time mistress!" Specter chirped cheerfully.
Unfortunately as soon as the gravity turned itself back on Claire came to an unceremonious and ungraceful crash down to the floor in the corridor, sliding some length before hitting her head against a wall. "Thanks, Specter.." She groaned after a minute. Pushing herself up slowly and carefully from the floor, she briefly inspected the damage. A few bruises here or there, and a nasty headache, but nothing terribly severe.
“What’s the status on our soon to be guests?” Claire asked as she turned down another corridor, and headed for the lift. The ship was considered small when compared to some newer ships, but in it’s prime it had been still fairly large for a merchant’s ship. ”It appears that there are three ships, one larger with two small escorts.” The sim informed. The woman just sighed, playing nice would get her further, but it felt as if these people were expecting some sort of crazy stunt.
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The two fighters moved to spread themselves out from the vessel, one keeping it in its sights constantly while the other stayed the course for a small patrol route, keeping a perimeter. The Nidhoggr itself was tracking the Ghost Dance with its weapons as soon as it was within range, though it made no move to use them. Inside of its belly was a small squad of Syndicate marines, men and women who weren't as wholly sordid as the regular rank and file troops of the Supremacy's naval infantry, but were still essentially mercenaries, commanded by two individuals. The first was simply the CO, while the other was the closest thing they had to a customs agent.
But it wasn't until the dropship itself docked with the Ghost Dance that any of them would be seen, stepping into the airlock once a proper seal had been established with the other, moving into the Ghost Dance once the outer doors opened. There were six riflemen, though it was three individuals that would approach Claire - the commander, the customs agent, and another, seemingly unimportant man. The first to speak was the customs agent, a Soruk man with a wide nose, in his native tongue, only for the translator alongside to begin once the other had finished, speaking in trade - something that Claire hopefully understood.
"Good morning, ma'am. This is simply a routine search, nothing to be worried about - what we're looking for we're sure you haven't got, it's just formality. This is lieutenant Ivanjicki," A momentary finger pointed to the severe looking Vitestovak woman who stood on the other side of the customs officer, "Captain Ibiz, and I am warrant officer Murdock." The Azrican ended that small introductory statement with a smile. Ibiz stated something else in his rolling, semitic tongue which Murdock quickly translated once more. "Two of our troops will begin a proper scan of the vessel while the others embark on a cursory search - do you mind answering some questions for us while they do?"
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Claire looked at the agent and the translator strangely for a moment as they stood in the docking bay of her ship. It seemed strange to have people standing there amongst the cargo; but then again that was how the ship had been designed. Minimalist, and multifunctional. Thinking for a moment before finally speaking, “Of course, a pleasure to meet you.” She said nodding at each. “No, I don’t mind answering a few questions. Sooner this is done, the sooner you can go back to more important things.” Like letting her go on about her business in a timely matter.
While she was obviously fairly rusty at the trade language, it was something she had encountered, and had at least learned enough to make useful conversation; but that was about it. But in the mean time, while these customs officials as they claimed to be, were on her ship she’d have to struggle through. Specter wasn’t any help either, he claimed to have no knowledge of “trade” in his database.
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"The pleasure is ours, miss Angelique," The translator nodded, speaking for all three in that moment, the Azrican man giving the Soruk the room to speak once more. The Sorukan offered another harried statement in his native tongue, gesturing to the corridor that lay beyond them, nodding over his shoulder to the men who flanked them as well. The marines began to disperse, some slinging their weapons over their shoulders as they saw to beginning the search that they were bidden to carry out, though their commander hovered over Ibiz' shoulder while he continued to interact with Claire, obviously not too keen on her command answering to a bureaucrat.
Murdock continued to offer his usual, diplomatic smile. "The marines will begin their search, if you don't mind providing your registration and paperwork regarding the vessel, miss Angelique?"
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Captain Margarette Anterrinaus, senior and commanding officer of the Esrayat-class cruiser CNS Dioclese, watched thousands of soft, blinking images in an inky blackness as the cruiser and two Vindex-class Destroyers Escorts steamed through the inner belt. Several hours ago numerous contacts had been registered and classified into potential targets, of a yet-to-be-determined origin, within the system. Telemetry and analysis corresponded from the CNS Herodion in stationary orbit around Valore at L2, one and a half million kilometers from the planet had detected the starlane jumps, and impending disaster, before the smaller craft of the Valoran Squadron were able to glean a clearer picture.
Bypassing the cordon, which the Exogarden and Imperial elements in the Local Region had deemed a necessary, if prompt and imposing, action after the Starfleet vessels completed their rudimentary ‘inspection’ of the system was cause for immediate termination as far as ROE was concerned. Outside of the sole inhabited body in the system, authoritative control was effectively in the hands of these mysterious and silent new arrivals. It was in a heightened state of alert that the Starfleet was deciding to handle the various wreckages and contacts scattered between Valore and the inner belt: well within the abrupt lines of jurisdiction and operation the Garden powers had decided, the time was quickly coming where the Valoran Squadron either engaged these unknown targets or informed the Syndicate of their true intentions.
When a short klaxon rang, the navigations Ensign standing at the podium of the large pit he oversaw in front of the main airscreen read from a tablet device. “We have a signal from the CNS Paxton Star, weaponry is online and ready to fire but there’s no friendly/enemy distinction yet.” The Ensign replied with a dismissive shrug before instructing one of the nav-techs to update the information pouring onto the main airscreen. “Commander Pollant is on the TETHER, Cap’n.”
The image of a grizzly Amerian flashed to life over a holo-tank to the Captain’s left, and as she turned to salute the Commander the ship AI began cataloguing and storing every piece of information as a blurry train of images and video ran. “Captain Ante, we still haven’t broken the silhouettes we got from the escort carrier. Looks like these ships are coming from pretty far away -- farther than the Veil.” He began.
“Someone didn’t want to look at the travel announcements, then.” She said, crossing her arms and studying the oblique, dislocated images on the large holographic screen at the front of the sleek bridge. With the three vessels in almost constant communication the sensor envelopes of the Dioclese and her escorts were rather limited, and would not provide a suitable resolution of what had exactly transpired until they neared. Communication was far more important considering the unstable nature of the system however, and the Dioclese was wise to keep her two destroyer-escorts at a modest distance.
“Or you’re too busy in an FTL jump to realize the system’s taken a bad turn.” Pollant remarked, pointing at some of the long, sharp purple lines that signified suspected Starlane paths that the shipboard AIs and capsuleer pilots of the Starfleet ships developed from analysis of the stricken vessels’ locality. "My JCO estimates if there is an impending attack in our AO it will be from someone that's been watching the system longer than us."
"A good point, Commander. What have the Intel spooks on the Herodion given us about any possible contacts?" She inquired, splitting her attention between Commander Pollant and the digital relay of a Mk-236 missile launcher. Cycling to ASM-421 Highshot anti-ship missiles, much of the crew of the Dioclese were busy battening down the ship and loading weaponry, in case suspicions of these new arrivals were true.
"The marines are drinking straight from that faucet for now, with civilian traffic and movement on/off the planet being frozen considering this most recent development."
As Margarette issued her orders for the intercept and detainment, though some may call it rescue, of the vessels derelict and damaged within the inner belt the CNS Dioclese changed formation and led the two destroyer-escorts from the front. By the time the three ships had cautiously stalked into weapon's range of the floundering fleet, several corvettes of the CNS Herodion's patrol around Valore were approaching from the opposite direction.
This is the CNS Dioclese inbound, if there are any that can respond do so immediately -- this sector of space is quarantined under a joint Scatterran effort.
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Registration and papers were always a tricky thing to produce on a ship that old and that far out of it's home system. Things could get lost in the journey, and sometimes customs officials didn't return certain pieces of paperwork. However this time everything was intact, or at least that's what Claire hoped as she produced the items in question. She guessed and assumed that they were requesting physical copies, some times they were needed, but most of the time digital approximations seemed to satisfy most officials in other areas of space.
"Papers and registration, Officer." She said carefully choosing her words, trade and common main seemed to be similar but different somehow to her ears. Since she'd returned to spending most of her time on Yellowstone, most if not all of her daily activities were conducted in Canasian. The Aschen's preference for Anquietas for everything had never been something she'd cared for, so she was thankful that they hadn't tried that route with her. It had happened before, and it had been a disaster. "I assume you were wanting physical copies? If not I can have my AI, Specter, transfer all the information to whatever device you use Officer." Claire added, trying to get everything over with.
These inspections took too much time out of valuable transit time, and sometimes resulted in angry clients.
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Ibiz took the papers in hand as Murdock offered the woman another nod, that practiced smile still quite present on his face. "Physical copies work just fine, ma'am. No need to worry." The Soruk looked over the registration, his brown eyes dancing across the script as he tried to make out common points, hoping - or perhaps simply faking - that he understood what it was that he was reading. It was a gesture of authority, considering that he was the one trusted by the Syndicate, by his superiors, to not allow anything through this cordon that could endanger their efforts on Valore, no matter what tools he used. The darksome man flipped through the papers, keeping up the facade as a newcomer soon moved to loom over his shoulder, taking far less interest in the papers as it did the foreigner standing opposite the small group.
The orange glow from beneath its hood seemed to move to and fro, taking in both Angelique and the ship she piloted, though it seemed to linger on Claire. The woman held some sort of fascination for this dreary figure, one that lingered until Murdock spoke up, hoping to assuage any concerns that might have arisen from its fixation. "Constanze, please, no need to be rude." He murmured, the Azrican glancing to the creature on his flank. The automaton blinked once in response, the light having a momentary break in it, the space underneath the figure's hood bathed in darkness as the figure acknowledged the translator's words. Gloved hands reached to pull back the cloak's hood, revealing a woman whose pallorous visage was perhaps best kept away from prying eyes, the cyborg's gaze still lingering on Claire.
"Of course, warrant officer." Her words lacked the practiced edge of Murdock or the worried undertone of Ibiz' Soruk mutterings, for lack of a better term they were simply mechanical. "I understand that I am needed for translation?" The Azrican nodded, pointing towards the documents held in the captain's hands, something Ibiz was reluctant to hand over when Constanze offered to take them. The Austran woman would've been a hallmark of her race, were it not for the various augmentations she now wore, the cybernetic 'enhancements' marking her as one of Hrethgir's many subordinates - a Legionnaire. But soon enough she held Claire's registration in hand, cross-checking the documents with what regulations were set in place by the Cordon in seconds, making the show of taking a moment or two longer, if only to safeguard the pride of the pitiable beings that surrounded her.
The machine's ocher eyes darted up from the papers and back to the woman once Constanze felt that her placation had gone on long enough, boring into Claire as she spoke. "Does this vessel carry any material or weapons that may be used to further destabilize the local world known as Valore?"
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“Good to hear.” Claire said giving a slight nod of her own before she noticed the automaton creeping in. The thing was unnerving to say the least, and she wondered was it really even human? Although what passed for human these days was difficult to tell; the last bar she’d been in had had giant humanoid reptiles.
Why was the thing so curious about her anyway? It wasn’t as if she had any secrets to hide that weren’t more than likely already public in some way shape or form. “Is there a problem?” She asked slightly puzzled when they asked for a translation. All of the documentation was current, but she did wonder if she had forgotten to provide a Common Main or Trade copy instead of the Canasian copies she was so used to providing back home.
Crossing her arms she waited for an answer from any one of the party that stood in front of her. “No. The ship carries basic cargo stuffs, you can verify it on the manifest.” Claire said seeing she wasn’t going to get an answer anytime soon from these goons and their robot. ’Customs… I bloody hate customs…’ She thought irately to herself. The sooner this was over, the better for all parties involved; as Claire was beginning to loose what little patience she had left.
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"None, according to the manifest." The creature spoke, a former soprano voice tinged heavily with whatever augmentation kept that part of her body alive, answering for her colleagues. It was as much there for translation as efficiency, even as much as it perturbed Ibiz, the machine holding the documents for only a few moments longer before offering them back to the foreigner. "What are your intentions in this system?" The being seemed to think little of the questions it asked, refusing to take its eyes off of Claire even as the captain glared as the warrant officer smiled meekly - a small attempt to show they were in control.
The marines continued their search, finding just what the woman said they would.
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Taking the papers back, she tucked them safely into the inside of her jacket. They were going to make this hard weren't they? And the construct, machine, or mechanical woman; whatever they were calling it, wasn't making things any better. Scowling at the warrant officer, Claire prepared to answer the machine. "I'm just taking in a shipment of goods, trade in to the system. Then I'm going home." She stated slightly tersely. They were looking for something, anything to pin on her it seemed. Customs when dealing with any sort of foreigner was always overly paranoid and under prepared for the trouble they went looking for.
"Anything else?" She asked trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. It wasn't like transporting goods across the system was illegal anyway. The sooner she got this run over with, the sooner she could go back home. But then she'd have to deal with the customs prefects and their ideas.
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The Legionnaire blinked once, not long after she had finished speaking, and spoke herself without glancing to any of the officers gathered. "No." Ibiz scowled nearby while Murdock did his best to look diplomatic, moving to say something before the cyborg interrupted him without a second thought. "You are clear to proceed, miss Angelique." The Azrican looked to the automaton for a moment before glancing back quickly to Claire as the machine spun on its heels, moving back to the docked dropship, followed by Ibiz. He was slightly shaken, though he didn't look too surprised by what had transpired.
"... my apologies, ma'am. I hope you'll forgive us for the delay." The marine officer barked some order or another in her rolling, slavic tongue and the marines soon formed up behind her, following the other two figures back into the dropship. A weak smile was worn by the last to depart. "Have a pleasant day, miss Angelique."
Shortly enough the dropship would detach itself from the Ghost Dance and begin its trip back to the Duranus.
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Breathing a sigh of relief, Claire was grateful to be rid of the goons crawling about her ship. "Onwards Specter." She said, finding only mild if little amusement in the ease of which she'd slipped through the customs block. "We've got a deadline to hit and little time to do it." Claire added to the AI as it chirped a response in her ear.
Settling back onto the bridge, she deftly entered commands into the system to begin spinning propulsion systems back up, which would allow the ship to slip neatly away from where it had met the Duranus' drop ship and on towards it's destination. "Strange people." She muttered to herself, shuddering slightly as she remembered the creature or thing that they had had in tow with them. Why had it been so terribly interested in her? She kept mostly to herself, and usually didn't travel.