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First Contact - Second Wave - Chapter 137

[first] [prev] [I want to dream a nightmare] [next]
The Lanaktallan Second Wave was a massive undertaking. They targeted 300 worlds across a broad front, each system had hundreds of ship dedicated to wresting the system away from the Terrans and to eliminate the Terrans from the system once and for all.
The best minds of the Unified Military Council had determined that 14% casualties would be sufficient for force the Terrans to surrender.
The First Wave and the anti-coreward section of the Second Wave had met with rousing successes. Resistance was limited, and many on the Unified Military Council believed that the Terrans had made the classic mistake of sending all their ships to combat the Unified Council strength in the Neo-Sapient Systems without guarding themselves.
Planet after planet, system after system, had fallen to the Unified Military Council and the Unified Executor Council's might.
Just how it was supposed to be.
But any human could tell them: If the battle is going easy its because you have ambushed a patrol, not the enemy's strength.
Tenmard's Star was a perfect target as far as the Unified Military Council was concerned. A single energetic young yellow star, three planets in the Green Zone, an asteroid belt full of resources, two gas giants, and four planetary bodies in the red and yellow zones. Two close to the star, two further away.
The Lanaktallan force consisted of 200 ships from the Unified Military Forces, 50 ships from the Unified Corporate Fleets, and 10 vessels from the Unified Executor Fleets. There was over a hundred thousand ground troops, complete with tanks, artillery, intra/exo-atmospheric fighters, and armored vehicles.
The Most High Executor knew that the system had no chance against his might.
The 142nd Fleet dropped out of jumpspace and right on the edge of the resonance zone. The first thing that happened was a nearby buoy began to transmit.
**Hello, and welcome to Terran Confederacy Territory!**
The Most High of the Fleet, Executor Most High Tanmalo'o, sneered. "Get rid of that annoying thing."
One of the cruisers fired a pair of particle beams.
The scan-tech noted that gravity focused around the buoy and it shifted.
**HEY! Watch it. That isn't how you communicate!**
On the cruiser the gunny master ordered to more shots at it. Each time, it shifted.
**Hey, Asshole! Watch it!**
The gunner master ordered four more shots.
Again, the bouy, nearly 11 light seconds, dodged out of the way.
**Hey, dickheads! Stop shooting at me!**
The gunnery master ordered a full broadside. Again, the buoy danced around on focused gravity.
**OK, that's it. I'm calling my big brother and you assholes are in trouble!**
The buoy seemed to dwindle away and vanish.
The Most High Executor sneered and turned away. "All ships, move in system. We'll take the inhabited worlds one by one and move onto cleaning up the system after the Terrans have been pacified."
For nearly two hours the massive armada moved steadily into the system. Vehicle masters checked out their vehicles, infantry checked their weapons and armor, ship gunnery masters checked the weapons as the ships went to action stations.
As the task force passed the asteroid belt a drive signature lit up, angling toward the fleet on an interception course. Like many Terran vessels it had ridiculously high acceleration, getting within ten light seconds in only minutes.
**OK, who's in charge over there?** was broadcast to all ships.
The Fleet Most High sneered again. "Destroy that annoying thing."
Lasers flickered and missiles shot out. The new object didn't even bother moving, just kept getting closer, the battle-screen flickering as it took the hits. The X-ray lasers created by the focused nuclear explosions and the ship-fired lasers were drained away by the battle-screens and used to add to energy storage.
**There you are. You know that shooting is a provocation and I'm within my rights to shoot back, right, genius?** the object broadcast directly to the Most High's flagship.
The Executor Most High frowned, his tendrils curling and his crests inflating with annoyance.
"Order Squadron Glorious Talon to eliminate that annoyance before it alerts the rest of the system," the Executor Most High harrumphed.
Twelve ships, let by a battle-cruiser, shifted and began firing upon the newest object, which was only the size of a destroyer.
**OK, that's it. My little brother warned you assholes, I warned you assholes. I'm calling the Fleet and... well... heh, you won't see me, but I'll see you**
The Most High Executor snarled at the symbols displaying his fleet, cursing their incompetence, as the larger object twinkled and vanished.
"Most High Executor, we've got drive signatures approaching," the Most High Sensor Technician called out. "Five, ten, no, twenty five signatures. Designating them as Bogey Alpha."
"Twenty-five ships, against my fleet? Bah, we'll sweep them aside and do what we came to do," the Most High Executor snarled, inflating his crests with annoyance.
Minutes passed and the Terran ships vanished off the sensors. The sensor technicians, badgered by their supervisors, tried in vain to get them back.
The Terran ships did reappear, at a range of less than a light hour.
"Most High, the Terrans are messaging us," the Communications Most High said, turning to the Executor Most High. "Shall we respond?"
"No. Let these feral primates bleat for mercy to someone who might feel sympathy for their misbegotten species," the Most High said.
Less than a minute later the viewscreen flickered, the 2D graphic of the system and the various ships vanishing to be replaced by another image.
The Terran was in a heavy seat, the faceplate of an armored vac-suit closed, his armor black with red edging and "CARTER" on the right of the chest and "TCSFN" on the left side of the chest.
"Oh, I think I can make you listen to me," the Terran said softly. The faceplate went transparent, showing a dark skinned Terran with cold cybernetic eyes glaring at the pickup. Several of the Lanaktallan crew drew back in anxiety at the image.
"You are trespassing in Terran Confederate Space. You have not transmitted any recognizable national identification, and as such, you will be treated as a pirate force," the Terran said. The Most High noticed that the image was needle-sharp, as if the Terran was in a vacuum. "Which means," the Terran's lips moved in what the lexicon told the Most High was a smile of pleasure. "No quarter."
"Get this being off my display," the Most High snarled, his tendrils quivering with rage.
The Terran just stared, his face cold and hard, as the Most High Communications officer kept trying to regain control of the main bridge display. Every time he tried his station computer just replied with profanity, pornographic images, or mocking words including a hurtful nickname his older sister had given him.
"You can't make me do anything," the Terran said. "I could rip your ships apart without ever clearing my guns for action. Instead..."
he turned his head slightly. "Execute the fire plan, Guns."
Right as the last syllable was uttered the Most High's ship shuddered and groaned. Multiple impacts on the ship's superstructure warped it, the engines were blown into scrap, the shield not even glimmering with any intercepted weaponry, just a steady pounding.
Ships of the Task Force started to break up, spewing debris, as something kept pounding at them.
"Most High, the impacts are hitting inside the ship!" the Damage Control Officer called out. "They're somehow bypassing our armor and shields!"
The shells kept impacting. Light C+ shells fired from ships nearly a light hour out, a hundred times what his own weapons were capable of.
The Most High's suit com came on and words scrolled across his faceplate right before his ship exploded.
**Told you I was going to get my older brother, asshole**
Task Force 34 was assigned to leapfrog First Wave into the Terran systems to continue to crush their systems beneath the hooves of the Lanaktallan might. They had stopped long enough to get data uploads from Task Force 11A, which showed that the Terran Confederacy had made the mistake of sending all of their ships into the Neo-Sapient and Uncivilized Species territory, leaving their core systems unguarded.
The task force was made up of just over a hundred ships, all designed to take control of and supress the Terrans found in any system.
The data upload showed that every time the systems begged for mercy, claimed they were peaceful, and then just stopped talking once they were shown that begging would not stay the wrath of the Lanaktallan war machine.
They had pacified or eliminated hundreds of species during their primacy, even defeating the Mantid race. The Terrans had no choice against the Lanaktallan and the progress and success of the First Wave showed that to anyone who cared to look.
TF 34 dropped in at the resonance zone and began moving in-system.
Two outer belts of asteroids in between two gas giants, then four planets, only one inside the Green Zone. Some refinery and extraction facilities in the asteroid belt, but the Most High in charge of TF 34 ignored them. They could be swept up and destroyed after the system's only habitated planet was pacified.
Just inside the orbit of the first planetary body the sensor tech looked up.
"Sire, I have twelve unknown ships at less than ten thousand miles! They just dropped some kind of stealth behind us!" the Second Most High Scanner Tech blurted out.
"Put them on-screen," the Most High said. "Let's see what trash these Terrans have sent to try to stop the righteous strength of the Lanaktallan people."
The ships were decidedly ugly to the Most High. The ship core was flat, with a rounded wedge forward section attached by a narrow umbilicus to the flat rounded body, with two wings off of the main section that had engines attached. They were dark green, with red running lights.
They looked clumsy to the Most High.
"They are attempting to open a communications channel," the Communications specialist said. "They've transmitted a lexicon."
"Very well, let's listen to these primitive primates beg for mercy from our ancient civilization," the Most High sneered.
The beings that appeared didn't look like humans. Bipeds, yes. Hair on their heads, yes. But their skin was dark brown, they had ridges on top of their heads, their faces were flat with prominent noses and mouths full of sharp teeth.
Before the Most High could speak the creature onscreen spoke.
"I am Dipaq of House Vrat, Commander of the Negh'Var-class ship IKS Hammer of Vengeance, this system is under the protection of the Klingon Empire," the figure barked out, the translation appearing across the bottom of the screen rather than translating the words to civilized speech. "Declare your reasons for your ship presence in this system or be destroyed."
The Most High sneered. "I am Most High Executor Gretalo'o, commander of this task force you see before you. Surrender and be destroyed."
The beings on screen laughed.
"Glory to one of our houses then," the being said. He made a motion and the screen went blank.
"Most High, the Terrans, they're breaking formation and accellerating! It looks like attack runs!" the Most High Sensor tech said.
"Bah, their weapons are primitive, we have no..." the Most High started to say.
That's when the disruptor cannon hit the back of his ship, collapsing the ship's battle-screens, ripping through armor and deep into the ship's vitals.
Gretalo'o found himself thrown against the restraining straps as his ship started flipping end over end.
Torpedoes launched blew ships into splinters. Heavy disruptor banks shattered armor and ripped ships apart.
When the first attack run ended, the ships vanished into stealth for only a few minutes before reappearing behind the panicking Lanaktallan ships, opening fire again.
It took four attack runs for the Lanaktallan task force to be reduced to vapor and wreckage.
On the bridge of his ship, his pride and joy, Commander Dipaq turned to his communications officer.
"Tell Sisko-89371 that the cowtaurs tried their hand in this system and we have brought glory unto our house," he ordered, picking up an engraved chalice and sipping at the spiced blood wine.
"And their life pods?" his Executive Officer asked.
Dipaq sneered. "Let us show them the mercy they have shown the people of Harmony."
His expression grew cruel. "Show them Klingon Mercy."
Task Force 271 was heading deep into Terran Space, one of the furthest targets into Confederate Space that the Executor Council had authorized. They'd been in the upper reaches of Jumpspace for nearly a month, traveling thousands of times the speed of light. It wasn't easy to keep six hundred ships together in jumpspace, but the navigators had done an excellent job and jumpspace sensors tied the whole fleet together.
Which is why the sudden impact that threw Most High Untara'a onto the floor of his cabin came as such a sudden shock. He heard his ship creak and groan as the hyperalloys were stressed. He scrambled up, reflexes having him pulling on his vac-suit as quickly as possible.
Sirens were going off when he touched the communicator, connecting him to the bridge where the Fifth Most High was on duty.
"Report," Untara'a snapped.
"Something massive dropped us out of jumpspace. Our sensors reported that a gravity shadow appeared and the jumpspace conduit collapsed, dropping us into real space," the Fifth Most High said. "Our sensors are scrambled but it looks like our fleet dropped completely. The ship's VI went offline a few moments ago, we're basically drifting."
"I'm on my way," Untara'a said.
The whole way to the bridge lights kept dimming and brightening, flickering, turning off or on. Displays kept coming and displaying gibberish before turning off. Speakers howled or chattered garbled sounds. It took three tries for the elevator to arrive. Twice the elevator stopped, once it started going down, and once it went up so fast that Untara'a almost went to his knees.
When the elevator finally deposited him on the bridge his tendrils were tight and his crests were inflated. The bridge was chaos. Lights flickering, turning off for a moment before turning back on, lights exceeding their normal brightness. Computer displays were showing garbage, sometimes streams of letters and numerals, other times choppy clips of videos or pictures, or screaming chattered bits of sound files.
"Most High, we've lost control of all systems, the computers aren't responding!" the Fifth Most High reported. "We have no idea about the status of the rest of the Task Force!"
"Hmph. Each being, reset your consoles manually," the Most High ordered, moving over and taking his place in his cradle.
He watched as each computer was reset.
They just stayed dead. No data display.
One by one all the systems went down, even the computers that hadn't been touched yet.
Even the ship's virtual intelligence remained offline.
Despite the Most High's demands, everything stayed turned off.
Long minutes went by until suddenly a dot of bluish white appeared on the middle of the main bridge display. It started pulsing, getting bigger with each pulse, until it suddenly flashed rapidly and transformed into a strange face made of bluish white code. It was hard edged, with two eyes of bright blue, the edges chrome and sharp looking.
"I am the Engine," the face said without moving its mouth. It spoke in perfect Lanaktallan. "I have examined and are assimilating your culture. Do not attempt to flee. You will be identified."
"Get this thing off my display," Most High Untara'a ordered.
"How, Most High?" the Display Tech Third Class asked. He pointed at his work station: "My terminal is inoperative."
"You are species designation Lanaktallan," the face said again. "Hostile Species in service to a hostile government."
There was silence again.
"You are slated for termination."
There was an audible inhale by everyone on the bridge.
"You are allowed one plea per ship."
Everyone looked at the Most High, who drew himself up. "Show yourself!"
The screen cleared to show a black orb floating in the space between stars. The screen blinked and the chrome and blue-neon face showed up again.
"You have now seen me. Do you wish to enter a plea for continued existence?" the face asked.
"You do not have authority over this ship or my subordinates! Release us at once!" the Most High said.
"Your plea, combined with evidence of genetic and biological warfare technologies aboard your ships, have been rejected. You now have sixty seconds to perform whatever death rituals your people observe," the face said.
The screen went black, leaving everyone in the dark.
Untara'a tried to turn on his suit lights, but his suit wasn't responding. It was starting to get hot in his vac-suit. He opened his visor in time to hear the warning that the ship's atmosphere was venting. He slapped his visor shut.
Within a few minutes Untara'a realized that his suit's environmental system wasn't working, that he was stuck with what little air was just inside the suit. It got hot, and hard to breathe.
He passed out, and eventually suffocated.
The ships just sat in space. Dead. Their computer systems all shut down. Their ships VI snuffed out.
The Engine went back to monitoring jumpspace in a five hundred light year span around himself.
It was his duty.
submitted by Ralts_Bloodthorne to HFY

First Contact Second Wave - Chapter One-Hundred-Two (Vuxten)

[first] [prev] [First Appearance] [Last Appearance] [next]
Director Brentili'ik stared at the screen, hugging herself tightly as she stared at the pictures that kept popping up.
Telkans in armor, fighting monsters. Next to Terran troops in armor, next to warborgs, from vehicles, from windows and rooftops and hidden nests in destroyed Precursor machines. All them meme'd.
Too many of them contained her husband.
Every time she saw him she shivered.
He had circles on his torso with a diagonal line though it.
Yesterday the circles were covered by red discoloration from being spit on by a giant creature. His armor was damaged, but he still went out and fought.
And the shelters loved him.
This morning it had started on the night side of the planet.
Admiral Howell had started doing orbital bombardment on fungal sheets in the oceans to break them up and hopefully give the ground troops some time. He refused to hit the land masses but he did high atmospheric strikes to break up drifting clouds of spores.
She turned away and looked at the other holotanks. Different locations, different amounts of alien life, slowly covering a planet she had fallen in love with only a year ago.
"It shouldn't hurt so bad. I barely knew it was my planet a little over a year ago, now I feel like someone is tearing out my heart," Brentili'ik said, hugging herself again.
"It's your home. You just got it back from the Overseers and now they're taking it away from you again," Harvey said. "I understand."
"Like when your planet was destroyed," Brentili'ik said softly. She had watched the terrible videos of it then watched videos of how it was like it never happened except in places where they'd left the glass to remind them.
"We'll fix it. The Clone Worlds has already offered Elven Queens and everyone has agreed," Harvey told her.
She turned away. "My people are fighting so hard for it, like it means something more than just where we were born and served as menial labor slaves for so long," she said. "I don't understand why I want to stay with them, why I want to fight so hard with them."
"Because it's your home," Harvey told her. "And it will be again. Not for you, but for your descendants."
"I wish my husband were here," Brentili'ik said softly. "I miss him so."
Vuxten kissed his paw and reached out, touching his pads to the flat 2D printed picture of his wife pointing at the sky where a ship was hanging in the blueness, the title "A New Home Awaits" at the top and "Do Your Part" at the bottom.
"Corporal Vuxten," pinged in his implant, with the number 683.
"Go ahead, 683," Vuxten answered.
"Your armor is repaired. Do you wish us to repair the cosmetic damage?" 683 showed in text.
"No, it's fine. Thank you and your men," Vuxten said.
"We also serve, those who stand and weld," 683 answered and then cut the channel.
Vuxten reached out and touched another poster of his wife, this one pointing podlings and broodcarriers toward a next in the forest. "NEW NEST SAFE WARM" it said in broodcarrier icons.
An icon flashed for Gunny Wentmark in his vision. He opened the channel.
"Vuxten, how's the shoulder?" Wentmark asked.
"Stiff. Touches Softly, the gold mantid medic, said I should be all right in a week or so if I stop touching myself so vigorously," Vuxten answered.
The big human chuckled. "Good man. Armor up, we're rolling out in five."
Vuxten clicked through his channels, summoning up the links for his two Lance Corporals in charge of the two squads.
"Rolling out in five, armor up," Vuxten ordered.
Two of his men were in the brothel, three others were drinking beer, but Vuxten didn't care. He might joke about the brothel, but he missed his wife and broodcarriers and was uninterested in what the brothel was selling.
He reached the armory, where the power armor was stored. There were greenies swarming over the armor, getting it ready for deployment. The atmosphere had gotten more humid, the armors were overheating faster than they had before so the little green engineer caste mantids were trying to fix the issue. Some of the spores latched onto anything hot enough to act as a heat dispersal system and melted on it, coating it thicker and thicker until it didn't radiate the heat any longer.
His own armor was easy to spot. Red circle on the chest with a silvery stripe across it. Purely cosmetic now that the greenies had filled in the slash and ground the filler down. They'd replaced his shoulder pauldron where it had been cracked, replaced his rocket launcher system on his other shoulder.
When he stepped up to it he put his hand on the chest and softly vocalized his access code in time with his implant broadcasting a different string of numbers and Telkan letters the same length.
The Cult of the Blade calls this praying, he thought to himself. Some of my men do too. Some part of me thinks I should stop it, remind them its merely advanced technology, but I worry that their belief is the only way they can hold on.
He remembered that his group, all the back at the CorpSec building and that terrible night the Precursors attacked, had eventually all quit, unable to continue. Marine training was supposed to help with that, but he knew something.
We Telkans are a gentle people, he repeated his wife as his armor opened up. He unzipped his jumpsuit, stepping out of it, and stepped backwards into his armor naked. The suit closed around him and he felt the linkage plug slide into the jack at the base of his skull.
The armor went live, running through a quick system diagnostic. His armor was at 100%, his creation engine nanoforge at 0% slush and at 2% heat and rising to the standard 5%. He noticed his armor had a half-dozen micro-thermal sinks in addition to the normal amount. Finally the system unlocked and he 'felt' it go live around him, motor controls from his brain going to his armor before even his muscles got it. One in a while you could get muscle strain from pushing against the armor as it moved, either the armor too slow or two fast, but the heuristic systems quickly compensated.
Vuxten blinked at the online icon and the crash-cage released.
His men came in slowly, hurrying all the same, but the last one, Lance Corporal Doxik barely got his armor out of the cradle at the 4:51 mark.
"Vuxten, there's a air mobile carrier outside, mount up," Gunny Wentmark ordered.
Vuxten hurried out, his men following him, instinctively spreading out five meters apart in two lines five meters apart. They followed him out to the flight pad, where the sky was filled glittering of battle-screens tuned to act as sterilization fields like in a mobile surgical hospital.
An idea from Tic-Tak's men that had worked to keep the spores out.
There was a warborg waving them in, up the ramp, and Vuxten led the way. Once they were in they were strapped into drop cradles.
"You've all done this in training. You are all Air Assault qualified," Lieutenant Rogers, who had taken over for Lieutenant Bent Spoon after the Telkan Combat Liaison had been speared through the center by a chitin spike. "The Icarus Landing System will drop you easily onto the ground. Do not be afraid, follow your training. Your armor will 'nudge' you slightly."
Vuxten swallowed. He'd hated it the six times in training, even though he'd managed to drop into the inner ring all six times.
At least it wasn't a hard-light chute drop.
He felt the ship lift off, a slight drop feeling in the pit of his stomach. It vibrated as it tilted slightly and lifted off.
"We're going in as a a reinforced company. Two squads of Telkan Marines as scouts, two platoons of Terran Marines, two platoons of Warborgs, six robot combat armors, and our shuttle. We're going to scout out a landing zone for elements of V Corps who are coming in to support us while the shelters reconfigure," The Lieutenant continued. "Telkans will drop first, makes sure the landing zone is clear, then the rest of us. If the Telkans come under heavy fire, we'll be doing a hot drop, men. This is a non-abort mission."
He paused for a moment.
"Spores are preventing sat-recon, so we're going in blind. Vuxten, I want you to look through the dropship's eyes. You're the only one who's actually been there in over a year," the Lieutenant finished.
Vuxten felt his stomach clench. He knew what that meant.
"Vuxten?" a voice asked. It was female. "Hi, I'm Pamela. You can call me Peacock. I've going to let you see what I see."
"Roger, ma'am," Vuxten said. The voice sounded strange to him but he didn't know why. His visor went staticy for a moment then came up.
They were passing over a city. It was dark, the buildings broken and shattered. He could see the streets vividly, color-pallet night vision. There were multiple targeting carats up but he didn't pay attention.
He recognized those buildings, knew what he was seeing. He could practically taste the dead air he knew would be in those streets even though almost every available surface was covered by moss and glowing motes floated in an obscene parody of traffic signals and vehicle lights.
"The moss and vines are new. Those plants are new," Vuxten heard his own voice saying, like he was a hundred miles away. "Lots of plants around the Precursor stuff, I've seen that before. They like the batteries and the reactor mass, feed off of the propellant and explosives, use the superconductor as food. Anyplace there's Precursor vehicles there will be heavy plants and attack creatures. The moss and plants produce heat, so you won't be able to see them on thermal. Spores and spore ejectors to provide chaff. You won't have com beyond fifty meters reliable and a hundred meters at poor quality."
Targeting reticles kept popping up, showing across the entire screen.
"Thank you, tell me if there's anything else," Peacock said.
'ride or die 417' appeared on his HUD with several flashing icons of happiness.
His greenie was with him.
He blinked at the icons to thank him.
The city kept flowing beneath him. It looked alive, lights twinkling, but he knew it was just the lights of the bioplague infesting his world.
He knew it was coming even before the ship passed over. Peacock was looking forward in addition to down when he saw it.
The first of the half-mile wide craters. They had filled with water over the months since the atomic explosions.
Peacock suddenly cursed as the entire field filled with bioplasma being vomited up from the ground. His view went back to his armor as he heard Peacock speak.
"Taking heavy ground fire. We'll drop by the crater," Peacock said.
"No! Not unless you can tell me why there's an island in the middle of the crater now!" Vuxten snapped. "I've seen this before. Don't land! Repeat! Do not land! Repeat! Negative landing!"
"Sir, are you sure," Peacock caleld out.
"Vuxten's our man! Negative landing by the crater, get us to point Bravo," the Lieutenant snapped out.
The shit started shuddering and Vuxten knew it was taking hits. It heeled to the left, shuddered more.
"DROP DROP DROP!" Peacock suddenly called out.
His light went green and he felt the world drop out on him as the insertion system grabbed him with a magnetic hand and flung him at the ground.
'ride or die' flashed along with a picture of podlings on a slide with their hands up and the caption "WHEE!" on it.
The Icarus system kicked in and he managed to barely get into position, toes, bended knee, slam the knee and fists into the ground, ignore the entire world exploding around him. Other streaks of light were coming down and as Vuxten watched the air assault shuttle slammed into the stub of a skyraker, collapsing it on top of it as it went down.
Vuxten stood up, hefting his rifle, standing in a clear area.
"Sound off," he ordered over the section channel.
'ride or die 417'
Icons started winking, telling him his men had gotten to the ground safely.
Vuxten looked around him. He'd landed in a moss covered parking lot. The force of his landing had flipped over a half-crushed limousine. His color pallete light amplification brought everything into clear focus. The building, the vehicles, the fencing. 417 ran a diagnostic on his armor as he did a visual inspection.
The limousine, the landing, the launch, something had scratched his warsteel armor on his chest. A line went from one hip to the opposite shoulder, creating a red circle with silver rings in it and two lines across it forming an X.
He looked around at the building, feeling like it was familiar for some reason.
When he saw what was on the side of the building he couldn't help it.
He started laughing.
Have arrived in Telkan System in strength. Moving to support Space Force and local forces.
submitted by Ralts_Bloodthorne to HFY

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