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The Ancient One lounged in the soft pillows of her couch, staring intently at the holosphere in front of her and trying to suppress that gnawing sensation in her vitals. For the last five hundred years, she, the Nameless, had been dealing with a group of uncouth savages whose entire recorded history covered only slightly more than a quarter of the lifespan of her mind. No matter how she tried, the barbarians were too powerful, and they would not stop until they came up to her face.
The feeling got worse, and the High Mind Empress shook her head. There's no point in brooding; it serves no purpose. The cease-fire was still in effect, yet strained, and she at least had a breather from the pressure of the Human Empire. Walking around the domed atrium of her palace on Sh'kai, she looked up at the stars. The dusting of lights across the sky no longer filled her with awe, as it did when she achieved sentience; no longer sparked curiosity, when her children took the first steps towards them; no longer aroused greed, when her children expanded to every system visible to her eye. Only dread, the thought of death, came from those stars.
And for a creature whose mind is two million years old, death is a very terrible thought indeed.
Something inside her head buzzed; she sensed the presence of her intelligence adjutant, Ra'pij'okk before he entered the room. Glad to have a distraction to pull her away from her own thoughts, she turned slightly on her three heels and watched the green-skinned Thinker sidle into the comfortably decorated room. At least the Human genome was useful for something, she thought as the Thinker bowed his expansive braincase a little too quickly and nervously drummed his fingers on his note-machine.
"Great Mother," he began nervously, "we have intelligence from the Thaurian Concordat."
She hadn't been paying too much attention to the Thaurians lately; they were only another wall to hem her in. "What have my children reported?"
"Nothing, Great Mother... that's the odd thing."
The High Mind Empress blinked.
"We recieved two transmissions from the Thaurians that they broadcast to the entire local galactic group--apparently, someone assassinated their Master-Cleric, Imcedi claimed the Dais, and Garbog has declared a holy war against him."
She immediately turned her mind directly to the agents she had in the Thaurian Concordat. Through their eyes she saw the battles beginning, through their ears the sounds of battle. "They are finally collapsing."
Ra'pij'okk signaled agreement. "It looks like their military has been divided into thirds; one portion on each side and one neutral."
The Ancient One stood in thought for a few minutes, glancing at the holosphere. A chance had opened up, and a plan quickly formed in her mind to exploit it. The Zoners had always seemed to employ cunning, but they'd never suspect this one... they'd react exactly as she wanted them to.
She reached out to her mind to her fleet commander in the region, Ra'che'e'terrchangjon Pikbuuv, and communicated her ideas. While doing so, she thought to herself how it was a shame to lose such a good commander. In times of war, sacrifices must be made.
Seventy thousand light years away, on the opposite edge of the Nebulous Galaxy, Pikbuuv opened his heavy-lidded yellow eyes. Around him, the yellow-skinned Technicians and blue-carapaced Warriors scuttled about, maintaining the maze of pipes and coils that was the inside of the superbattleship Slax pij Pikthid.
With his mouth and his mind, he shouted in combat masfie: "Prepare the fleet for departure immediately. Operations officers, stand by for further orders." In English, the effect would have approximated: "Prep fleet depart now. Ops, await orders." Subtly, the constant movements of the crew shifted from various maintenance tasks to preparing combat stations and locking down unecessary items.
Drawing his short cape about his shoulders, Pikbuuv scratched his thick blue neck with the talons of his lifting arm, located centrally between his two shoulders. Moving from the command center to the fleet command node, he uncovered a switch and flipped it to activate the strategic command holosphere. Resetting the safety, he awaited for the indicator lights of the command ships in his fleet to turn blue, indicating a clear connection. Once they had all reported in, the ra'che'e'terrchangjon began:
"The Thaurian fleets are divided and open to attack. We will press centrally for their forward fleetyards, light capital ships leading diversion raids on these fronts." He indicated sectors of Thaurian frontier, highlighting them on the holosphere. "Once we hold that shipyard, we have a base for further progress."
A speaker grille set into the control panel hummed. "Sir, Okkche'e'terrchangjon Xonmik, commander of the Oomlok. Pardon, but doesn't that plan leave out our supply line?"
Ahh, Xonmik... always the curious one, aren't you? "Don't worry, Xonmik. We're doing a precision strike, and we have plenty of resources to get there."
"I do not question that, sir. My only argument is once we get there the supply line will be rather long and quite vulnerable."
"These orders come from the Great Mother, and we aren't going to let her down. If need be, we'll live off the land."
All of the commanders of the fleet acknowledged their orders and signed off, leaving Pikbuuv alone with his thoughts. You're a bright one, Xonmik; I had the same qualms myself. The only possible reason to do this is to eventually open a second front on the Weirdo Zone, and they'll see that coming a galactic span away. Pikbuuv grimaced. He hated those family-killers, but after jousting with them for all of his life he had come to respect them.
In intergalactic space, an unmanned reconnaissance outpost detected something out of the ordinary. Determining it to be jumpdrive signatures originating from the Reaver Nebulous Galaxy, it transmitted the raw data, its analysis, and its recommendations to Sector Twelve Defense Command. Corporal Halzek, on his night watch, scrolled down the output on his monitor at SEC12DEFCOM, groaned, and immediately called Fleet Admiral M'sharra.
M'sharra rolled over on the bed and held a finger to her ear. After failing a few times to make the phonemes that were more difficult for her palate, she finally got it right: "M'sharra. What's the situation?"
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but this we need you here at DEFCOM."
No complaints about how late it was, no questions as to the exact situation--M'sharra bounced instantly to her feet out of bed and began dressing. Halzek waited patiently on the other end of the line. Once she had enough of her uniform on to classify as actually in it, she again depressed the microswitch in the soft cartilage of her ear.
"Situation?"
"Jump signatures out of the RBC, looks like a pretty decent sized fleet. URO 470 data shows at least three spikes past 30 on the scale, the brain reads it out as a heavy capital ship fleet. With three superbattleships jumping, a lot of the signatures of the smaller vessels were probably obscured."
"Three superbattleships?"
"Well, one definite and two maybes. The other two might be synchronous jumps of normal BS's, the data's too close to tell without a closer look."
"Look... um..."
"Corporal Halzek, ma'am." It sounded pretty obvious he didn't like giving out his name to a flag officer he'd just woken up, especially one who could literally eat him for lunch if she wanted to.
"Halzek, you've just been deputized as an adjutant. Call the rest of the command staff, my orders. Get 'em over to DEFCOM last month."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Also, contact the fleet and tell them to standby for further orders."
"Shall I send it up the line?"
"Only after you do everything else."
"Yes, ma'am."
Klaxons went off in the Brisbane announcing General Quarters. I'd never heard them before, so I had to be escorted to my spot in the bridge by my friend Sergeant Pelok, a sensors operator. For some reason, I got to sit with the rest of the command crew in the "Inner Sanctum," the standard central seating arrangement where they could easily coordinate with their sections, who had control of the perimeter of the room.
Captain Ruiz Stonozka looked up at me as I passed through the bulkhead to the bridge. I just shrugged as the pressure door cycled behind me and looked around a little bit. It really is just like the movies; command crew in the center of the room set up in a semicircle around the holographic situation board; sub-screens lining the wall the board was projected out of, and the tight two-tier command room setup behind the command crew where alll the technicians worked. Pelok waved, grinned, and clambered up a gangway to the second level. Captain Stonozka must've seen the confused white glow to my eyes, because he motioned me to sit down at one of the chairs at the end of the semicircle. Made sense; I was the only person on the diplomatic staff, so there was no need for me to swivel around and see what my nonexistant staff was doing. I sat in the chair, somewhat torn; General Quarters meant that we were in trouble but I was finally getting to sit on the bridge when things were happening, as opposed to being in my quarters or only dragged out when I was needed to work my diplomatic magic.
Like I said, I'm a D.O., I'm not here for the fighting.
"So... what's going on?" I ventured.
The communications officer to my left turned to me. "We've just got a message from DEFCOM; apparently trouble is brewing with the Reavers. Right now we're standing by for further orders."
I looked around the bridge; no one looked too happy. They were all Exploratory Services personnel, they hadn't signed up to necessarily fight either. However, they were the second string and they knew it. If the Military Services couldn't keep 'em back, it was our job to teach the Reavers a lesson in superior firepower.
"So... we're being invaded? Again?"
Great. Let's tack another five hundred years onto the war, shall we?
Supreme Emperor J’hnsen looked at the new blips on the strategic board in her office. Reaver jump drives weren’t instantaneous, like the Weirdo Zone’s were, but that did give them the definite psychological advantage of instilling uncertainty. Unlike the Weirdo Zone, which was boom, here we are, ready to dish out some well-planned justice on some surprised ass, when the Reavers jumped… one never knew where they’d end up. They could pop up in one sector or the other, but the hope was always there that they’d land on the other guy.
And that hope ensured that whoever got landed on was surprised.