[Nuclear1]

title pending... probably going to stay "Cataclysm" or something along those lines.

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Rumble.

There was a slight rumbling noise coming from the rear of Jeil’s fighter. He had heard the damn vibrating ever since this morning, when he had started this sleepless patrol duty. Actually, it wasn’t really patrol either.

It was baby-sitting. Baby-sitting in a piece of Republican junk that couldn’t stay together for more than a few hours. And that was the primary reason he was out there. It was supposed to be some effort to boost Hiigaran-Republican relations through pilot trade-offs. The fact that Jeil had been near the top of the list made the matter even worse: Being at the top of any transfer list meant that you would be the first to go. And that’s the way it was.

“Another breezy day,” Jeil moaned into the comm system. “Tell me again why we’re out here.” The transmission was sent to another Republican fighter close-by him, another Republican fighter also piloted by a Hiigaran.

“Cut the sarcasm, pilot,” A female pilot began criticizing Jeil. “If you really want to know, just look down there.” The pilot moved her fighter into position as to point Jeil in the direction she wanted him to look. When Jeil did look down, he saw the baby: A Qwaar-Jet class Republican cruiser. He still didn’t understand what they were doing out here in the middle of nowhere. Every Hiigaran and Republican fleet commander knew that the new Qwaar-Jets  had the newest plasma weaponry implicated in its once mass-driver turrets, making it impenetrable to fighter attacks.

So why?

Most likely it was because that the cruiser, the Shun-Tahk, a Kharakian phrase that translated roughly into “Raging Storm”, was lying disabled in the field after what appears to have been a hyperdrive malfunction. There was no visible damage to the outer hull, apart from a small dent where a tiny asteroid had impacted the cruiser.

“And when is that repair craft going to get here?” Jeil said impatiently. “We’ve been out here for a couple of hours now with no recovery in sight.” He couldn’t see it, but Jeil assumed that the female pilot in the Interceptor in formation with him was sighed deeply.

“You really want to know?” She shot at Jeil. “I’ll open a channel to the carrier if you want to find out. Go ahead and let Commander Terrs scream through the comm system. It’s funny listening to that stupid, garbled Taiidan yell at us.” Commander Terrs was the commanding officer of the Republican carrier that the two pilots were based on: the Pride of Sajuuk.

“Ah, can it, Jerril,” Jeil shot back. The pilot then tried something that he had tried to do for the past hour. “Raging Storm, this is Republican Dispatchment 00092, Pride of Sajuuk. Do you copy? Repeat, this is Dispatchment 00092 to Raging Storm...” He repeated this over and over, but had no answer. The Raging Storm’s power supply had pretty much been knocked out, as there was obviously no response to the transmission. Either that or the crew was incapable of responding. The cruiser just sat in space like a piece of scrap heap.

Speaking of scrap heap, Jeil was flying one himself, this one in the form of a Taiidan “Triikor” interceptor.  If he remembered correctly, he was flying one of the most nimble and deadliest ships in the Republican fleet. This fighter was capable of performing high-speed maneuvers, reverse itself, then use its forward turrets to punch a hole in any other fighter in a matter of seconds. Being the most nimble also meant that it was the most lightly armored too. The small fighter would barely be able to withstand a direct hit from a Destroyer’s mass drivers, and now that the weapon systems had been upgraded to plasma weapons, the little fighter was probably the most vulnerable target on any battlefield. Still,  Republicans and Imperials alike continue to push this fighter into production as the second most-produced ship in the Taiidan and Hiigaran fleets combined. The Triikor carried a mass driver ammo reserve of about nine hundred rounds, rearmed by resupply vessels such as the “Heesk” Support Frigate. It was enough to take out an entire squadron of enemy fighters if used wisely.

“All right, pilots,” the Republican wing leader called out. “Don’t get lazy. Stay on your feet. The Imperials have been stepping up their presence around here lately.” So that’s why they were out there. If the Imperial fleet led a strike on the Raging Storm, the cruiser wouldn’t be able to defend itself well with the power malfunction it had suffered. Jeil had never anticipated an Imperial strike out here near Republican space. They weren’t that stupid or suicidal, though they had in past few years launched several carrier groups into the Republic’s 5 light-year buffer zone. A combined Hiigaran-Taiidan defensive force had pushed back at least three invasions so far.

Just as Jeil started to get comfortable, an anomalous blare began to whine in his cockpit, alerting him to the detection of hostile vessels.

“Hold on, wait!” Jerril shouted through over the channel. “We’ve got an incoming battle group... Imperial configuration! Repeat, two Imperial Frigates and a wave of fighters are inbound!” Jeil rushed to his controls and, pressing a small blue button, powered the fighter up. He immediately took the joystick and slammed it downwards, sending his fighter into a steep climb, up and away from the Raging Storm. He saw his first target easily: a “Kaark” class bomber was inbound for the cruiser and had foolishly split formation from the other ships. Jeil’s targeting control systems determined the bomber as a threat, and thus showed a flashing red blip on the radar screen of the fighter’s Heads Up Display. Jeil set his fighter up for an attack run, aiming for the primarily sensitive spot in the Kaark’s plating: the plasma conducts for the bomber’s plasma warheads. A detonation there would send the small ship into a fireball the size of a quarter of a frigate. When Jeil closed to 30 meters of the bomber, a female voice echoed through the cockpit: “Target in range. Accuracy: 50%.” So, he had half a chance of hitting the ship and half a chance of not. I’d prefer hitting this slippery bastard before he gets to the cruiser. Jeil pressed down on the trigger on his joystick, sending dozens of mass driver rounds screaming at the bomber within milliseconds. The pilot of the Kaark responded by sending his bomber into a tight spin downward, a dangerous maneuver in a ship like that. The stress from the movement would tear the ship apart.

As usual, an impatient Jeil didn’t wait as he began his pursuit. Immediately diving and closing in on the bomber, he reopened fire, this time hitting the delicate engines. Situated right there was the volatile reactor core of any fighter or corvette, and even though the armor would generally repel most incoming fire, a direct hit in the reactor would cause an instant power spike that would overload the fusion systems and send a pilot to his next life. Which it did. Jeil had hit right on the mark, and the next thing he did was fly right through the fireball left behind by the exploding bomber. “I got ‘em! I got ‘em!” He cheered through the comm system. “Bandit down!”

“Beautiful kill, sir!” One of the other pilots in Jeil’s squad congratulated him. After spinning his fighter around in a victory dance, Jeil identified his next target: a Triikor interceptor, the same class as his ship. However, the pilot had already identified Jeil as an eligible target and was closing just as fast. The Imperial fighter opened fire, landing a few critical shots on Jeil’s fighter. “Warning! Warning! Incoming projectile fire! Warning!” The computer informed Jeil in harmony with the alarms. Jeil immediately returned fire, impacting the Triikor in the cockpit area. The Imperial fighter was still closing with weapons hot, firing even more furiously. Jeil immediately sent his fighter into evasive maneuvers, spinning around and banking left and right, not turning around or curving, however. “7 meters from object.” The computer reported. “6...5...4..3...” As soon as the alarm sounded, Jeil dived sharply and attempted a high-risk maneuver that few other pilots would attempt. The very second after he dived, he immediately turned his fighter around, located the Imperial Triikor in a millisecond, and fired. The mass driver rounds pierced the interceptor’s light armor, and sent the fighter into a violent spin. The force of the spin and shaking split the Triikor in two, the cockpit half exploding in a small burst of fire, the other half leaving a fireball much like the bomber’s fuselage left behind.

Jeil felt proud of himself. Two Imperials down in a matter of minutes. I’m on a roll here. Before he could engage another target, a distress call roared over the comm system: “Can one of you flyboys gimme some cover!?” It was Jerril. He had left her at the hands of an Imperial fighter, closing fast and staying tightly on her tail. Jeil immediately located both Jerril’s ship, then the fighter attacking her. On my way. He put on a burst of engines, igniting a small reserve of plasma in his conduits and sending his fighter into incredible speeds. When the force of the ignition died down, he found himself within firing range of the interceptor, but developed a different tactic. If I could just get Jerril in front of me. He hit his engines and soared upwards, far past Jerril and the Imperial interceptor, then spun around, positioning himself directly in front of his ally’s fighter at a 21 meter distance. Jeil targeted the pursuing Triikor, and, rolling as Jerril went by, pressed his trigger down hard. The resulting burst of mass driver sound impacted the fighter right in the cockpit. The kinetic armor of even the interceptor couldn’t repel the dozens of round impacting at the single point that it did. The enemy fighter went up in a roar of flames and finally burst apart.

“Good work, pilot,” Jerril thanked Jeil indirectly. “Nice shot.” Jeil had no time to pay attention, as he had already locked on to the nearest frigate. It was Sajuuk-Cor  class, which translates into “God’s Wrath”. Because this vessel was Imperial, it was missing a Hiigaran translation of the ship’s name, leaving it unidentifiable to Hiigaran crews and pilots, even though the Republicans could probably translate it. It was written in Taiidani, after all.

Idiot. There are more important things then the name right now. The pressing concern at the moment was that Jeil had to find a way to destroy the frigate both without the cruiser’s ion cannon support and the fact that a fighter has a pretty minimal chance of taking out a frigate on its own, especially an interceptor. Speaking of interceptors, Jeil’s ammunition supply had just dropped to 672 after the three previous engagements. If he had any slight chance of taking that ship out, he would either need capital ship support, bomber support, or a full load of ammo. And he didn’t have any of them. The other pressing matter was that the two frigates were nearly in range of the Raging Storm, and once they fired their ion cannons, the force would rip the ship apart after a few critical hits. And Jeil certainly didn’t want that to happen, now did he?

Jeil quickly devised a solution in his head. Suicide... He thought of the next easiest way to gut a frigate: full ramming speed! At the very same moment, another Taiidan Triikor closed in on his tail, firing rapidly but aimlessly at the young Hiigaran pilot. Just what I need. Jeil sent his fighter up into an upwards climb away and above the frigate he had targeted. Lesse if you’re as stupid as I hope you are. Making a few slight adjustments, Jeil sent his fighter straight into the light of the nearby sun, nearly blinding himself and the pursuing pilot. The Hiigaran pilot quickly shut down all of his power systems, leaving him vulnerable to only heat-seeking trackers. The sun was the second defense. With the Imperial fighter both blinded and unable to locate the Triikor by sight or radar, he would have no choice but to break off. Jeil positioned himself just to make himself above and behind the Imperial fighter at a sort of a 6 o’ clock position, the optimum attack position for any fighter. Except Jeil didn’t want to kill that fighter just yet. Live my little fighter... live! He repowered up his ship, hearing the same clutter and rumble from the back again. After a swift elbow butt near the rear of the cockpit, his ship sprung to life and Jeil immediately put himself in pursue of the Imperial fighter. He let out a few rounds from his gun, hoping to hit the Triikor in the stabilizers.

Which he did. Very efficiently. The wounded fighter spun out of control and straight towards a certain target: the Sajuuk-Cor that Jeil had targeted. Comon... comon... The fighter impacted in just the right place: the bridge of the frigate. Hopefully, the resulting crash and explosion would shut the frigate down for good, even if it didn’t destroy it completely. Jeil’s plan went accordingly, as the Triikor exploded, more than likely vaporizing the instruments on the bridge and the crew at the same time. As if in a death throe, the frigate twisted to its starboard, fire pouring out of its bridge. The explosion had also changed another factor. The Sajuuk-Cor began to shift off-course from the cruiser and into the blackness of space surrounding them. That’s the way to skin a cat. One frigate down, one to go. The other frigate was now dangerously close to the Raging Storm, almost within firing range, perhaps. Desperately thinking of a plan,  one of the lessons from the Academy popped into his head. He remembered being in a classroom with a retired Manaani pilot giving them lessons on the parts of a standard Hiigaran and Taiidan fighter. There he had recalled the tertiary fuel pods being mentioned, and that there was always a way to jettison them to a Support Frigate for refueling.

Sure hope this works. Jeil waited for a moment as the frigate fired its primary beam weapon at the cruiser, the deadly blue beam impacting the cruiser on its port side. When he saw the beam power down, he pulled right in front of the appendage that sent the weapon in its designated direction. He quickly located the green button with TERTIARY FUEL POD JETTISON, mumbled a few quick words in his native language, then pressed it. He could feel the bump as two fuel pods were ejected from the rear, and straight into the frigates main cannon.

“Pilot, what in Sajuuk’s name are you doing?” Jerril called from her cockpit. “Get away from there!”

I’m getting there Jeil said to himself. He immediately flew his fighter out of the beam’s path. 30 meters... 40 meters... 45! He was 45 meters away from the frigate, the safest distance from the blast. The familiar hum of the particle accelerator roared through space. This’ll be your last. The blue beam fired at the Raging Storm, the captain too late to realize what Jeil had done. The fuel pods had parked themselves right in front of the exit point for the beam, and the weapon’s force broke the pods apart and ignited the delicate fuel. The blast initially only cut the beam’s focus arms off, then about ten seconds later, ruptured the particle accelerator, vaporizing the frigate in a matter of seconds. “Eat that, you slimy...” Jeil’s own words were cut off by the rousing cheers from his Hiigaran and Republican wingmates.            

The victory cries carried on as Jeil watched what remained of the frigate float through space.

There was another familiar sight in the immediate vicinity, this time a hyperspace signature. As the vessel emerged, the configuration of a Saarkin-Cho class carrier slipped out. There was a Hiigaran translation on the starboard side of the vessel: Pride of Sajuuk. So this was the recovery ship Jeil had been waiting for.

“Pride of Sajuuk to Dispatchment 10092. Repeat, Pride of Sajuuk to Dispatch...” Jeil shut off the comm system and merely set his ship on auto pilot for the docking bay. Mission accomplished.


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[elorran]

Nay bad.

Now go and post this up on the relic and sierra homeworld boards

[Nuclear1]

must.... keep..... thread.... alive....

Chaps 2 and 3.

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                      Chapter 2: Pandora's Box[/size]

Kashka read the number on the door: 112. This is it she told herself. Opening the door, she saw a dark patch of hair with a pair of hands sliding through the greasy weeds.
   
“Commander?” She started up. The man at the desk raised his head up slowly, like he was expecting the young officer.
   
“What is it,” he groaned out “Lieutenant?” Kashka pulled up one of the small brown chairs situated in front of the desk. Taking a deep breath, she reported the news.
   
“Commander,” She sped up to tell the rest. “We’re in position at the edge of Hiigaran space. Should I-” The commander cut her off before she could answer.
   
“Deploy fighter wings Zeta and Upsilon,” He ordered her. “Then scan the belts for any Hiigaran warships. We don’t want to be caught off guard.” Kashka replied to her senior officer with a slower tone.
   
“With all due respect, Commander,” she said self-confidently, “we are ourselves hidden in this field. We would be impenetrable to all scanning.”
   
“If you’re requesting permission for a flight,” he said, much to her liking, “then you got it. Get in your ship ASAP and head out with Upsilon.” Kashka stood up from the chair, saluted the commander, then left the room with a grin.
   
“Yes, sir!” She said, closing the door behind her. In a few minutes, she was down at the launch bay of the Imperial Wrath and staring at the sleek demon that she had grown accompanied to: the Triikor Interceptor. It was a rather odd design, boasting two cannons, one mounted under the cockpit and the other mounted next to the fuselage. The pair of strange “wings” on the rear had folded up before her previous landing, but when extended, gave the Triikor a fearful look. Taking her mind off her ship, she turned her attention to the pilots and crew that were wandering about in the hangar. Let’s do this.
   
“All right everyone!” Kashka hollered, her voice echoing. “Zeta and Upsilon squadrons, get over here ASAP.” She grinned and said, “We’re movin’ out!”

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                   Chapter 3: Liberty Shattered[/size]
Whoooooosh...
   
A pair of fighters had just flown past the bridge on Adam Terramin’s vessel. He felt rather relaxed at the soft yet powerful sound of a fighter’s engine hum. Perhaps it was the loneliness of the Hiigaran borderline that the sound had relieved, or the sleepiness that had swept over the officer during the past hour. The deck of the Freedom had become very quiet over the course of the day; half of the ninety officers were either resting in the barracks or residing in the galley in the ship’s lower decks. The rest of them were sitting at their controls and gunning posts, remaining vigilant. Vigilant for what, he didn’t know. He was their captain, but he still didn’t know them that well.
   
“Dester, give me a sensor readout of this area,” he ordered a young, black-haired officer in front of one of the computer screens. Lieutenant Dester looked up from his post and groaned.
   
“Again, Captain?” He whined. “We’ve done about thirty already. There’s nothing here!” Terramin cut him off instantly.
   
“Just do it! Things can probably change. If there’s even a small signature that doesn’t look, sound, smell, speak, or taste like us, tell me.”
   
“All right...” Jeraf Dester answered, groaning as usual. He punched in a few keys on the board and looked at the data given to him. In a few seconds, he had it all interpreted. “Nothing, sir. Dead out. Only us, the Liberty, the Caruuk, and a few fighters.” That was it. And that’s all there had been for six hours. The three vessels on duty, the Freedom, a Hiigaran Avatar cruiser, the Liberty, another Hiigaran vessel, this one a Revelation-class destroyer, and the Caruuk, a Republican Saarkin-Cho carrier. The three vessels made an excellent team, as they had in the past. Adam could remember all the way back to the Homeworld War where the three vessels had assisted in the ambush at the one hyperspace gate guarding Hiigara, taking a major portion of the Imperial Guard by surprise. The most recent engagement they had fought in together was the Engagement at Coruc-Far, where a joint Imperial-Turanic Raider fleet was pushed back by the excellent teamwork and coordination by the three vessels. Now, here they were at the outskirts of Hiigara, standing a boring guard duty for another hour.
   
Just one more hour Adam told himself. Then they’ll be here. “They” referring to their relief: the Kiith Nabaal Command Fleet.
   
“Wait... Captain!” Dester sputtered out as the radar screen started flashing. Alarms started wailing throughout the ship, waking sleeping crewmen up and getting them into uniform. “I’m detecting incoming jump signatures!” The Captain quickly turned to face Dester, anticipating some minor Turanic Raider battle group.
   
“What are they? Can you identify?” Dester pushed buttons on the keyboard in front of him and displayed a full-sized view of the vessels.
   
“They look Imperial to me, sir,” Pushing more buttons, he identified the specific vessels. “Looks like a nice-sized battle group. Four to five frigates, Kudaark and Sajuuk-Cor, a pair of Skaal-Tels, and a Qwaar-Jet backing it all up. Looks like we have our hands full, Captain.” Adam looked out the forward observation deck at the approaching armada and grimaced.
   
“Right,” he said to the officers on the bridge. “Battle stations! Get me the Liberty and Caruuk on screen with their C.Os immediately!” A different officer in a white-blue uniform pressed a few buttons next to the giant screen on the bridge. In a few moments, two screens popped up and showed two officers, James Besset on the left and Feral Tiirshak on the right. The former’s white hair curved neatly backward to his neck, leaving a tanned, bright face showing with a grin. Tiirshak, on the other hand, was a giant for his race, and was a well-built officer, having been through his own routine of exercises for fifteen years now. “
   
“Besset here,” the Liberty’s captain acknowledged. “What’s going on?” Besset almost seemed surprised that they were about to fall into a fight. After all, Coruc-Far had been two years ago.
   
“We’ve got a class-three situation on our hands here,” Terramin answered quickly. “Seems like the Imperials want to drop in for tea.” Besset nervously ran his hand through his hair.
   
“How many of them?”
   
“A small group of frigates,” Terramin answered Besset. Just as the Liberty’s captain became relaxed, Terramin gave the bad news. “Backed up by a pair of Skaal-Tels and a Qwaar-Jet.” After taking a deep breath, the captain of the Liberty asked one question.
   
“What’s the plan?” Terramin smiled. If there was one person he could always depend on, it was Besset.
   
“Tiirshak, launch three squadrons of fighters and one of bombers,” Terramin told the Republican officer in the left-hand screen. “Besset, let’s keep those destroyers and cruiser busy and give the fighters time to destroy the frigates.” Tiirshak nodded in agreement, as did a rather nervous Besset.
   
“Roger that, Terramin,” Tiirshak answered as he cut the comm channel. Besset’s face disappeared shortly after. Here we go. Again. Turning to the bridge, Terramin eyed his crewmen.
   
“All hands, battle stations!” Merely seconds later, klaxons started wailing across the ship and red lights began to glow and flash, bringing more than a few officers to the bridge.
   
“Alert!” The computer warned. “Alert! Hostile signatures inbound.” As if I don’t know that already. Terramin himself stood near the front of the room, closest to the observation window. From there, he could see four to five frigates on approach vector. The familiar, spikey configuration of the Kudaark frigate came into view along with three other ships, all Sajuuk-Cor.
   
“Liberty, you with me?” Terramin spoke into the nearest comm channel. A few seconds passed before the familiar sound of Besset’s voice answered.
   
“Liberty here. Orders?” Terramin took a quick look at the approaching frigates, drew up a quick analysis in his head, then replied.
   
“Besset, let’s blast our way through those frigates,” The cruiser suddenly shuddered. They were being hit, and from the high-pitched screech coming from outside the ship, he could tell they were the plasma bomb weapons on the Kudaarks. “We need to get in range of those supercaps.” More time passed, and more plasma warheads hit the cruiser.
   
“Roger that. Powering up weapons.” Terramin stared out the viewport and at the nearest approaching frigate, a Kudaark.
   
“Power up the forward cannons,” he ordered, returning to the center of the room. “Full speed ahead!” As he gave the order, the roar of the Avatar’s colossal engines echoed through the ship. At nearly the same time, a hum originated from the bow of the ship.
   
“Target, sir?” One of the officers asked the Admiral.
   
“Open fire on that approaching frigate,” he ordered. From the bow of the ship, four massive ion cannons propelled themselves at lightspeed toward the Kudaark. At nearly the same moment, two smaller ion cannons pierced the same frigate. The Liberty had opened fire, and, judging by the origin of the beams, was forming up on the starboard side of the Freedom. As both warships’ beams powered down, the Kudaark came back into view. The entire lower half of the frigate had been severed, and the upper levels showed scars from the Liberty’s cannons as well.
   
“Commander,” Dester spoke up from his screen. It was blaring loudly, and that was never good. “I’m picking up an energy spike off one of those Skaal-Tels.” Terramin realized what the officer was talking about right off the bat. Turning to the crew on the bridge, he opened a channel to the interior of the ship.
   
“All hands, brace for impa-” He was cut off by a violent rumble. The Skaal-Tel had opened fire on the Freedom. Terramin felt the cold deck as the impact knocked him over, losing his wind from the land. When he had recovered himself, he stood up and looked out the viewport. The Taiidan Destroyer was nearly upon their ship, staring almost defiantly into the Freedom’s bow. “Open a channel with the Liberty.” A matter of seconds later, Besset’s face appeared on the right-hand screen on the viewport.
   
“Besset here,” he opened. “You got orders for us?” Terramin nodded.
   
“Liberty, try to get above and behind that Destroyer,” he said confidently. “Keep its main guns busy while we charge up the cannons.” Besset, understanding, nodded and cut the channel. “Weapons crew, power up the main cannons,” he ordered. “Prepare to fire on my mark.” As he gave the order, a loud rumble ran through the Freedom. Just outside the ship, the Liberty had engaged its main engines and was on course for the Skaal-Tel. As the Liberty came into the viewport of the Freedom, another blast of red ion cannons hit the cruiser. Klaxons began wailing as the ion stream carved across the ship.
   
“Damage report!” Terramin shouted, steadying himself from the impact. Dester was on it immediately.
   
“Deck M reporting casualties,” he answered. “Deck D through F reporting hull breach. Engineering level reporting moderate fires.”
   
“Get a damage control team to Deck E, ASAP,” Terramin ordered. “Get Med Team Zulu to Deck M.” Meanwhile, outside the ship, the Liberty had pierced a pair on ion cannons into the front of the Skaal-Tel. Targeting its new enemy, the Destroyer began maneuvering to intercept the Revelation. A pair of beams shot out from the Skaal-Tel and missed the Liberty by a matter of meters.
   
“Targeting controls, activate subsystem targeting mode,” ordered the commander. “Lock onto that ship’s reactor core.” A pair of officers pressed buttons madly until a loud blare indicated lock.
   
“We’re locked, sir,” one of them reported.
   
“Good,” Terramin responded. “Weapons crew, are the beams ready to fire?” A short garbled transmission came through to the bridge.
   
“Roger that, Captain.”
   
“Full power to the main cannons,” As the order was given, a soft hum rushed to the bow of the ship. The Skaal-Tel now had its belly facing the Freedom. “Open fire!” The same massive cannons that had ripped the Kudaark open now focused their energies in the dead center of the enemy Destroyer, ripping through the hull in a matter of seconds. The beams pierced the reactor core, sending a massive shockwave out from the Skaal-Tel that shook both the Liberty and the Freedom. As the crews of both ships steadied themselves from the explosion, the Qwaar-Jet cruiser pushed itself through the wreckage of the destroyer. The menacing vessel was on course to attack the Liberty.
   
“This is Besset,” the captain of the Liberty reported. “We’re reading a power spike off that cruiser. Capta–” Besset’s words were cut off as the cruiser’s forward cannons sliced through the hull of the Liberty. Instantly, fires starting erupting out of the destroyer’s belly and port side, and the ship began tilting from the impact.
   
“Besset, do you copy?” Terramin shouted into his comm channel. “Repeat, Liberty, you there?” All that came back through the transmitters were screams and death throes of hundreds of men. A tear ran down Terramin’s cheek as he realized what had happened. The Liberty had been destroyed.
   

Besset was dead.

[Stryke 9]

Originally posted by nuclear1 Every Hiigaran and Republican fleet commander knew that the new Qwaar-Jets  had the newest plasma weaponry implicated in its once mass-driver turrets, making it impenetrable to fighter attacks.

If that isn't graceful exposition, I don't know what is. Oh, wait, I do, and that ain't it.

Sorry, I'm still in an asshole mood from... well, never mind. Anyway, a lot of the dialogue and exposition is along these lines, and it doesn't make for good reading.

[Nuclear1]

so i'm bored.... chapter 4.

major expository chapter here *runs before flamers arrive*
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                     Fortune Amongst the Stars

Commander Jack Tanen’s viewport was clear, like it always was. Today was a quiet day, and, not expecting anything to happen, Tanen had sent most of the crew below decks to relax. They had all been working back-breaking shifts since dawn of last week, and needed more rest than they could get. Their work hadn’t been in vain either; for once this year, the Kunn-Lann would actually make quota with the Soomtaw refineries. Despite Tanen’s continued explanations to the CEOs of the refineries about pirate raids on collection posts and the Fal-Corum being away on a deep survey mission, the blood-sucking lawyers back at Hiigara ever tightened their grip on the throats of the Kunn-Lann’s crew.
   
And he never complained once about his job out here. The Kunn-Lann, or “Purifying Flame” in Hiigaran tongue, was the first of Kiith Soomtaw’s forays into space exploration since the Providence resource collectors and Redemption controllers in the Homeworld War. Back on the Hiigaran’s former home of Kharak, Kiith Soomtaw had gained a reputation for mining due to their findings in Kharak’s central mountain chains. The title still held, and Kiith Soomtaw sold their ore and harvested minerals to more than thirty-five clients, including the enigmatic Bentusi and the new Taiidani Republic.
   
Unfortunately, the way to their prosperity wasn’t easy. When the industrial powerhouse Kiith Nabaal came to take in Soomtaw as a vassal clan, gruesome political battles began. Though Nabaal was supported by the powerful Kiith LiirHra, Kiith Soomtaw won the debates and struggles, thanks mainly to their supporters in Kiiths Paktu and Maanan. To prove themselves in the business of mining, Soomtaw was allowed to access the Mothership’s construction bays for barely two months, in which time engineers produced three vessels. The first, designated Fal-Corum, or “Silent Wayfarer”, was launched on day twenty, with the Kunn-Lann shortly behind on day thirty-five. A week or so later, a small science vessel cleared docks, the Clee-San, or “Truth-Seeker”.
   
Now, assisted primarily by the noble and knowledgeable Bentusi, Soomtaw had developed an advanced fighter platform in the form of the “Acolyte” heavy fighter. A smaller recon vessel, aptly designated “Seeker”, carried the most advanced sensors of its time and was primarily used by the Soomtaw to scan for radioactive belts and mineral deposits deep in space.

Even more common in the Soomtaw fleet was the “Worker” class of resource collector. It was an old design originating from the construction of the Mothership, and the re-entry abilities of the vessel were no longer useful. The blunt-shaped body of the ship allowed it focus on a specific center of gravity, thus standing still in the center of an asteroid field where the standard Providence classof collector would be destroyed quickly. Fortunately, the compact interior allowed the vessel to carry just as much cargo as the other collectors.
   
Tanen also occasionally saw a "Chieftain" class of vessel come along. The Chieftain was one of Soomtaw’s original designs, and it served its purpose well. The ship was a remote drop-off site for the Workers with four high-speed transfer docking clamps to get the Worker docked and released quickly. More interesting was the amount of change the ship had gone over in the past two years. It’s Mark Two version had hardened the armor of the already stable ship, while the Mark Three, its current stage, boasted four medium turrets to defend against pirate attacks. There was one characteristic of the vessel that made it stand apart from any other. The Chieftain was the only ship in the entire Soomtaw fleet never to be commanded or crewed by any military personnel. Every single Chieftain in service has been manned by the true soul of Kiith Soomtaw: the miners.
   
Tanen never complained about being on this ship out in the middle of nowhere. The vastness of the galaxy surrounding him never ceased to amaze him, and every excursion into uncharted territory gave him a sense of adventure. The rare occurrence of a pirate raid made his job even more pleasing as he heard and watched the massive turrets of the Kunn-Lann rip the raiders’ ships to pieces. Nothing ever instilled fear in him. After all, with squadrons of fighters and battle groups of Ramming Frigates at his command, how could he be afraid?
   
   More than often, Tanen viewed mining as women’s work. Combat is where the real test lay, and every time a raider battle group fell to the Kunn-Lann’s defenses, Tanen felt himself becoming more and more powerful. Like many of the pilots on this ship, he was a Homeworld War combat veteran and more than often found himself strapped in the cockpit of an Acolyte fighter chasing down marauders. The mere sight of his guns spewing out hot death made him nearly seem invincible. Not that anyone minded it, of course.
   
Pressing a few buttons on the side of his quarters, Tanen watched the door slide open, revealing a small room with a smaller bed in the corner. It was getting late anyway, so he decided to call it a day (or a week, for that matter) and catch up on some much needed sleep.
   
As soon as his shirt came off and landed on the floor, he was in bed. Closing his eyes and switching his light off, Jack Tanen fell sound asleep.

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