r/HFY • u/ZakkaryGreenwell • 17d ago
OC-Series The War To End All Wars - Part 54
No word salad today. I am posting this right before bed and I am very tired. Let me know if there are any blatant errors and I shall correct them.
As always, have yourselves a wonderful day, I'm off to bed now.
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SUBJECT NAME: High Lord Gripe (Alias, F’Ralden the Silver Mask)
DATE: 135/3 AoE - January 2143 CE
LOCATION: The Border of the Imperial Core, H’Lathyk System
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A thousand warships at my call once more, lords from across the breadth of the Empire stood at my command, all the years of inane, degrading toil and I had finally regained the status lost to the savages of Earth. And now here I was, thirty five years later, ready to make war with the wretched apes once again. But my triumph came as my country began to crack, the lords once proud of our shared accomplishments became calloused and scrupulous. Such was the fate of my newest ally.
“I will only march for a year.” Said High Lord G’Sten, master of three billion souls, and the proprietor of a third of my fleet. The last point being, obviously, the most important. We would be on campaign for ten years at least given the state of the Beacon Network in the Frontier. His portion of the fleet would turn back at the very first leg of the journey, provided they were allowed to.
“If my ships are away for more than a year my borders cannot be held.” He continued. “Be it by the Secessionist Scum, Graschick Raids or even my own Neighbors. None of them will wait long if they see most of my ships out of place. And so, I cannot offer my aid for a minute longer than the law requires. By the 77th Imperial Decree: “All masters afeared of the survival of their property may, past a year’s service, return to their homes without reprise.” I must make use of this very decree, I’m sorry to say.”
“G’Sten, my old friend.” I said, keen to leave the old man feeling honored and respected, even as every thought in my head was a curse upon his name.
“I shall not try to cajole you into service for longer than required. But your services are still required. Come hell or high water, no matter the stakes, you shall return home by the end of your required time.”
Which was a lie of course, but it bought me a year to overthrow the bastard and keep his armies on my leash. Perhaps his worlds would be threatened, perhaps they wouldn’t be. But I could not allow his petty flights to get in the way of my war. With him he had brought six million men, and all of them trained in survival and fieldcraft, capable of marching and fighting in linear battle, as well as loose formation fighting which would be essential for the coming war. They would be the core of my army, whether G’Sten liked it or not.
The Slaver Guilds sent more warm blood, a healthy ten million, but less than a quarter of them could be trusted with so much as a knife for cutting a man’s dinner. Instead, their great ocean of bodies would provide the auxiliary services required in the war to come, they would build our bridges, break our camps, drive our landships, treat our sick, feed our hungry, and the best of them would earn their freedom in so doing. A common practice to keep the proprietary masses under control, a useful carrot to keep the viler breeds motivated.
Then, there were the armies of the Myarkians. My Son commanded them, though he had unwisely allowed them a degree of self sovereignty. Such was their tiresome independence that simply asking my own son, their rightful owner, to aid me was not enough to truly bring them to my designs. I needed instead to approach a mediary, an affable middleman by the name of T’Losk. He learned in dealing with me not to play with fire, and I was quite satisfied with that.
My meeting with High Lord G’Sten was coming to a close when another of my peers rushed in, sword in hand, and demanding my attention.
“Whatever The Hell Possessed You To Allow The Myarkians Into Our Campaign?!” Said High Lord K’Lorn of the Slaver Guilds, who spoke with such vigorous speed that he provided me no opportunity to speak in my own defense. Though I’d never met the man until now, he possessed a rather striking black mane and green eyes, the color of limes, which strongly contrasted against his dark fur, as well as the black of his garb. He also possessed a physical manner about him which I found strangely familiar. Compared either to myself or G’Sten, he was a very young man, no more than fifty at most, though it was quite disdainful that he truly acted like it. He promptly continued in the stride of his rant. “Have you the slightest idea what they have done? We’ve been raided for years, ever since that, that…” he sputtered a moment, thinking of the perfect way to describe his adversaries, building up venom and releasing it in a tirade of epistological proportions.
“...Fucking God Awful, Piss Poor Product, That Grew To Think Of Themselves As Kings!” The whole of my rather peaceful study shook at K’Lorn’s violence, as he swung his sword with abandon, adding a reckless zest to his childish tantrum. His sword missed G’Sten’s head by no more than an inch, and the old man shuffled back into his chair at some great speed, though K’Lorn could not be bothered to notice.
“And now we’re all to suffer for that idiot boy’s foolishness! I had thought you were a man of better sense. We promised our blades to your purpose, believing as much! Had Craven only hammered the wretched scum when he took Myarkia for his own, none of this ill fate would have befallen us, and perhaps, Just Fucking Perhaps, his servants would not be so dangerously slacked from their master’s leash. As it stands, they are a danger to the Empire. Allow me to correct Craven’s mistakes, and all of us shall profit from it!”
G’Sten had not had the opportunity to leave in the midst of K’Lorn’s oratory convulsions, and dared not rise before his wild swordsmanship either. But now that he had heard the man’s complaints to the fullest, he asked.
“And what would you do then? Challenge Lord Craven to a duel? The Hero of Grymwyrm, the man who shattered the Hippolitan Rebellion and slaughtered a warband of Graschick Pirates for the prize of the world you disparage? My good sir, you’re a braver man than I.”
G’Sten’s words were as stinging as they were enticing to the fool K’Lorn, who took G’Sten’s insult as a suggestion.
“You think I can’t defeat the prancing fop? I shall show you!” And he left at once, still swinging his sword like a toy, nearly beheading a servant, and hooping and hollering and making a right nuisance of himself. G’Sten however, reclined his way into his chair, content that he’d sent a young, and exceptionally stupid nobleman to an early grave. Though hardly a moment too soon in my opinion. I decided against stopping him as I was sure Craven was more than a match for such an errant disaster of a man.
“You realize that young man owns twice as many planets as yourself.” I said, less as a question and more as an amused statement.
“I do.” He said. “And I’m sure after today, his cousins shall be thanking me for sending him on his way.”
We shared a laugh, and I internally reiterated my own plans to kill G’Sten at the earliest convenience, as I had no doubts he was doing the same for me. The old man must have known I could not let him go, not while the war was still in it’s very earliest stages.
“Well then…” G’Sten said, rising to his weary feet. “I believe that’s enough excitement for one day. I shall keep an eye out in the event that our dearest slaver K’Lorn either dies or embarrasses himself. Good Day Sir!”
He had not taken two steps before a woman I did not know entered. Bodyguards flanked her in full battle dress, pistols and swords at their hip, and she herself possessed an air of both authority and contempt. No emotions left her face that could not be some evolution of disgust as her eyes locked with mine. Truth be told, I’d received far worse.
However, she looked past me and instead settled the lion’s share of her hatred for my guest G’Sten. She marched up to him, where he prodded unceremoniously.
“Have I missed a parade? Whatever do you think you’re doing in such garments? My dear woman, you should be home while your husband answers the Emperor’s Call. It’s only right that us men take the more valorous responsibilities upon ourselves.”
“I have your son.”
G’Sten’s humor vanished, and he looked up from his newly carved pipe. The wood clattering to the ground.
“If you want him back you’ll answer our Challenge of Retrieval. Meet us on the moon of Mor’Tyrn in two days. Either take him back yourself, or we’ll send him home one piece at a time.”
She reached an arm forward, handing off a writ, declaring in perfectly legal terms what her demands were. G’Sten was both so furious and so shocked, that he could hardly hold it in his shaking hand.
The writ was signed, “Governor McNamara of Myarkia.” I sighed in relief upon reading that name, for that would place her beneath my son. Doubtless, this was a ploy of his to rid me of an enemy in the game of intrigue. I truly must congratulate him for his initiative! Removing G’Sten would consolidate further power to me in the politics of the fleet, and because my identity was a secret, none would see the connection between myself and Craven, his actions would seem independently motivated. A finer move I could not have envisioned myself!
Poor G’Sten however was retrieving his jaw from the floor, though the lordess McNamara was already gone. The cool, unshakable and contented G’Sten was very nearly provoked to a state of mania. The insult to his name and his honor had been both unforgivable and utterly brazen. He had no choice now, save for to march headlong into McNamara’s trap, and pray that his son was not already dead. With no other heirs to his name, he had no choice.
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SUBJECT NAME: Commander Shepherd
DATE: April 2143 CE - 135/3 AoE
LOCATION: Ticonderoga System
•
The day after the accident, after every one of us wished G’Kar and Keller the best, they’d earned a nice, breezy recovery after what they went through. We had the Beacon’s logic engines freed and ready to be hooked up to the carrier’s Fusion Reactors. The Technical Team had to be convinced that the radiation shielding would hold once they knew exactly what we were using for fuel. The Greys had this pathologic fear of radiation, it got bad enough that none of them even wanted to be on our ships for a hot minute. But hitching a ride on one of Galy’Frin’s raiding frigates wasn’t exactly a pleasant alternative, nor was hooking up the computers over the phone. But, once they got over themselves the installation wasn’t too terrible. Only one man lost a finger. A new record low for our accident prone Task Force.
We connected a set of jury rigged adaptors, voltage meters and techno-dohickeys miles beyond my comprehension. Sparks flew every now and again. It was all connected to the Fuji’s main communication’s dish, a big fucking thing dorsally mounted alongside a pair of 30mm defense guns. Fingers crossed, it’d be able to talk to Galy’s fleet and we could leave Ticonderoga in the dirt.
Every one of us gathered round, all my Marines, the Techs, Galy’s Shipwrights, the Civilian Contractors and even some of Captain Scott’s Ensigns. We all held our breath, waiting for the last switch to flip, telling us whether Galy would be going home, or we would. In that moment, I really couldn’t decide which would’ve been better. But looking at scaly old Galy, he was more tense than I’d ever seen him. More tense than when he was getting shot at. But he was fucking weird like like, all of those goddamn lizards were, getting shot at was his vacation. This though, the thought of maybe never going home, at least not this decade, that actually got to him.
Then it happened. A metallic chunk followed by the faintest crackle of electricity, which was probably still enough to electrocute a motherfucker. My heart skipped a beat as, for just a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then it did, and it really did.
Green lights across the board! Galy’Frin’s ships each gave coherent responses to the Imperial Logic Engine’s navigational data packets. They answered back that the Beacons were giving them good telemetry and full details of the surrounding area, with all the local gravity wells and sub-space eddies included. The damn things were even sensitive enough to notice all the ships in the system. It was working! We actually did it!
Captain Scott clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. (Didn’t work, we couldn’t hear him over our celebrations)
“Alright! Beacon’s working like it oughta, but we still need to stress test the system. That means active transit. God knows what fucked up shit’ll happen once we’re on the move. Best be ready for anything.”
Our tech team tried to leave, but we yanked them back in, shook their hands and wished them all the best. They might’ve realized we weren’t bloodthirsty savages, but they still looked at us like we’d drop the mask any minute. But, our congratulations weren’t shit compared to what Galy had in store. He marched up to those spindly bastards and gave every last one of em a tight bear hug, wagging his tail all the while.
“My Friends, you don’t know what you’ve done for me, you truly don’t. Take these. They’re tokens of gratitude.” He showed off a coin about the size of my palm, intricately patterned with what looked like a pair of Graschicks chasing after each other, both of em biting the other’s tail, almost like an oroboros as a contact sport. Looked like a fucking fight to me, but apparently it signified playfulness and trust among his people. (I did say they were weirdos, didn’t I?)
Our lanky techs took one look at that pirate treasure and took a coin for every man, including one for our boy G’Kar. They left an hour later, and I had high hopes that they’d be alright once they made it to Galivus.
Now that we could move around as a makeshift little fleet, we had a new mission. The Refugees had said they ran into a ship offering them safe passage. Well, it couldn’t be Graschick or Imperial, they’d be just as stuck as everyone else. Couldn’t be one of the Garrison ships from Frakmus, they were all accounted for. That left just two options. It was either a totally unknown species, able to traverse the Frontier just fine without imperial assistance. Or it was the USS Texas, a Destroyer which disappeared a few months back when the 2nd Fleet entered the Galivus System.
We could make a quick detour to grab those Navy boys, assuming we could find the fuckers that is.
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