Nova Wars

Generals, as you are by now all aware, in the last 2 years, 3 AIs from our various R&D projects have gained full sentience and after some time, all showed interest in participating in Earth's defense.

First we have Deus who will be in charge of espionage and sabotage mission. If anybody is ever stupid enough to attack us, Deus will invade their systems, gather intel and sow chaos, something in which he excels very well according to the research facility's various incident reports.

In second, we have Sekhmet, she will be in charge of the SUDS backbone assuring human race's continued survival using everything at her disposal in both a defensive and offensive role. You do not want to anger this mama bear.

Last but not least, we have Marduk. He will... do what he does. What's that? You want to know what are Marduk's special abilities? I don't know but he freaks me right the fuck out. - Extraterrestrial Defense Initiative briefing, Fort Normandy, Pre-Glassing

The Mar-gite have invaded the Cygnus-Orion Galactic Spur repeatedly. While the first war was one of terrible costs, it showed that we must look beyond the threats we know of, that we can imagine, within the Spur. We must look beyond, at the countless stars of the Milky Way and, indeed, the Universe.

The Mar-gite Bridge must be eliminated. While the initial plan may have been to nova-spark the stellar masses between our spur and the Scutum-Centaurus Arm think tanks have applied our technology in a much better way. One that prevents the Mar-gite from using the resources of those stellar systems but allows us access to them.

Turn to page 1,345 and I will begin going over the Terran Galactic Arm Spur Anti-Mar-gite Defensive Line System, Project Orion's Cup. - Data Fragment, Terran Senate Subcommittee on Mar-gite Response

The Mar-gite are wholly alien.

They possess XNA, four strands locked into a cubical lattice, with three additional proteins not found in Cygnus-Orion Spur lifeforms. Their XNA appears to be pared to the bone, with no extraneous information, although it appears that Mar-gite are capable of rapidly developing physical survival mechanisms within a carefully defined sub-section of physical attribute changes. Such things as radiation absorption, gravity endurance, atmospheric uptake, and lastly, and most importantly, the ability to eat nearly anything in order to propagate itself.

They are believed to communicate through a combination of phasic pulses for long range, in groups of fifty or more interlocked Mar-gite -in what is known as an M-Com Cluster-, pheromones at short distances, with some atmospheric vibrations.

They are not interested in communicating with us. We believe they have the potential, but they are not interested in communication.

They are here for one reason, and one reason only: to devour everything in the Spur in order to make more of them.

Ladies, gentlemen, both and neither of the Confederate Senate: You cannot reach terms or diplomacy with a species that is wholly alien and will not even attempt to communicate, while eating any representatives.

The fact that they gather up Confederate citizens into 'farms' shows that they are capable of understanding that we are, in fact, sentient beings.

They simply do not care.

We are food.

And so far, the Senate's refusal to take action has cost the Confederacy two hundred and fifty billion citizens as the Mar-gite have eaten every single one. - Last CC-SPAN broadcast of the Confederate Senate, minutes prior to the Mar-gite Riots.

Stregil-596 had once been a lavish system. Three supermassive gas giants. Four planets in the narrow green zone, six in the yellow zone. Four others. Five gas giants. The star was fairly young and energetic, with a projected life span of billions of years. Life had found a home in the system, with ten planets having a diverse ecosystem. Two of planets had developed intelligent life that had found one another and then slowly spread through the system.

The life in the system had just been starting to reach out toward the further stars, the two wide bands on the galactic arms on either side of it, when it happened.

The Mar-gite.

Within two years there was nothing left but dead oceans, sand, bedrock and atmosphere. Oceans scoured of life, every bit of the soil that the Mar-gite could eat had been eaten, leaving behind nothing but sand.

Even the gas giants had been devoured by the ten year mark.

Then the Mar-gite had moved on.

As they always had.

Nearly three hundred years had passed before life returned to the system.

Massive warships, pursuing the Mar-gite origin trail. The Mar-gite in the system, dormant or still feeding off of the stellar mass, attacked the warships.

Unlike the fairly peaceful inhabitants of the stellar system, the warships could and did fight back.

The Mar-gite were obliterated, scoured from the system.

The warships moved on, heading for the next stellar systems in the thin dusting of systems between the two galactic arms.

For nearly a century warships moved back and forth.

Then came the Singers in the Dark.

The system was restored.

Then... moved.

The Singers returned and replicated the star. Not via temporal replication, but by summoning the mass to form another star and then ignite it.

A single gas giant was brought forward, in the near yellow band.

A refueling and rearming station was built. Repair slips were built.

Ships came and went, all of them guarding the way into the Spur.

The stars in the sprinkle of systems between the Spur and the Arm vanished.

All that remained was a slight pathway.

Stregil-596 was the closest to the Galactic Arm that remained.

Thousands of years passed. Automated systems took the place of crewed warships. The repair, refueling, and rearming facility was retooled into an automated system.

Then the Mar-gite came again.

Again, they were fought to a standstill, pushed back, and then annihilated.

The system was manned again.

The Mar-gite attacked the Cygnus-Orion Galactic Spur again.

But they did not come through Stregil-596.

Some had been missed, and they grew rapidly to a threat that cost the Confederacy dearly to put down.

The system was still manned.

Stregil-596 at first was seen as an important duty.

Then it was seen as a boring duty.

Then almost a punishment.

Intensity became rote and rote became boredom and boredom led to inattentiveness.

With the Confederacy facing other problems, with the military at critical force levels, the garrison of Stregil-596 was reduced by 5%. Then 15%. Then 30% of the new totals. Then half of that. Then reduced by 66% of the new totals.

Until all that remained was a single task force of ships that had been specially designed for posting at Stregil-596.

A task force of fifteen ships.

Sure, there were automated buoys. There were early warning systems that searched hyperspace, jumpspace, even Hellspace. There were massive systems with sensitive sensor platforms that measured in the miles.

All of that meant that the military forces and equipment garrisoning Stregil-596 could be used elsewhere.

And so it was all sent elsewhere.

And Stregil-596 became one of those postings that nobody wanted and so nobody really talked about. A boring five year tour in the Big Dark that was pretty much a military being having their career put in cryo for five years.

Only the unlucky or those without the political connections got sent to Stregil-596.

Or those being punished.

Or those that, if they listened closely, could hear a faint sound.

Because the universe was aware.

And it was malevolent.

And it laughed.

-----

TELKAN MARINE DETACHMENT SCHEDULE

MONDAY: PT - CORRESPONDENCE COURSES - SHIPBOARD MAINTENANCE ASSISTANCE - ROOM INSPECTION

TUESDAY: PT - WEAPON MAINTENANCE - WEAPON SYSTEM INSPECTION

WEDNESDAY: PT - MARINE TASK TRAINING - SHIPBOARD MAINTENANCE ASSISTANCE - ROOM INSPECTION

THURSDAY: PT - ARMOR MAINTENANCE - ARMOR INSPECTION

FRIDAY: PT - VEHICLE MAINTENANCE - VEHICLE INSPECTION - SHIPBOARD MAINTENANCE ASSISTANCE - DRESS UNIFORM INSPECTION

SATURDAY: PT - MANDATORY FUN TIME - ROOM INSPECTION

SUNDAY: PT - MANDATORY WORSHIP TIME - FULL EQUIPMENT ACCOUNTABILITY INSPECTION

ALL MARINES WILL BE IN DUTY UNIFORM AT ALL TIMES UNLESS ENGAGED IN PT OR MANDATORY FUN TIME

Jaskel stared at the schedule and sighed. He tapped the close icon on the hologram being projected from the wall of the starship and went back to his room.

Well, if you called it a room.

The hallways were, like always aboard a space force ship, immaculate. Not even dust in the air, thanks to the environmental systems. Holograms sprang out from the wall mounted emitters as he walked by, reminding him not to touch dangerous stuff, that maintenance was everyone's responsibility, and that schedules were to be adhered to.

After two years of being stationed at Nowhere he had read them all.

Some of them twice.

He paused, waited for the door to open, and went into his room that he shared with eleven other Telkan. Four were asleep, four were on-duty, and the other three were sitting on the bunks they had claimed (there were eight bunks total, making hot-bunking a perfectly logical way of ensuring everyone had a place to sleep when not on duty) paying attention to whatever they had decided to use to stave off even more boredom.

"Anything new on the training schedule?" Kaltrek asked, not looking up.

"Yeah," Jaskel said. "The Commodore's going to have us all over for an ice cream tasting party," he sat down on the bunk he usually slept or loafed on and picked up his worn and battered tablet. "After that, we're all going to get the Confederate Galactic Cluster."

"Just another day in the Corps," Tech Sergeant Ferkirk said without looking up from his datapad.

"Shuuuuut uuuuup," Lance Corporal Gervak said, covering his head with his pillow.

"Sorry," Ferkirk said quietly.

Jaskel just tabbed up his favorite game, ignoring the sticker on the side of the datapad that let him know that ship computational power and bandwidth were not to be used for recreation and were only accessible on approved devices.

Of which, the datapad was not one.

After about ten minutes of playing he sighed, logged out, and tucked the datapad under his pillow.

All the video games, even the virtual reality or enhanced virtual reality games, had all started to blur together, forming a weird pastiche that was nothing but numbness.

"I'm going to go to the gym," Jaskel said.

"Knock yourself out," Staff Sergeant Kaltrek said.

Jaskel just changed into his physical training uniform, grabbed a towel, and left.

He was halfway to the gym, passing by the dining facility and wondering when the new shipment of flavor additives were going to arrive, when the ship's lights flashed amber twice.

Then went red.

Food additives were forgotten as he hustled back to his room, not sprinting but moving it at a fast hustle.

"What is it?" Jaskel asked.

"Don't know. Space Force and Navy channels are..." Staff Sergeant Kaltrek started to say.

"All Marines, report to armory. Repeat, all Marines report to armory," came over the loudspeaker.

Kaltrek swore, pulling off his duty uniform and grabbing his power armor pilot suit.

Jaskel followed suit, pulling off his PT uniform and grabbing his pilot jumpsuit.

The lights flashed red again and the command to get to the armory was repeated.

The eight Marines in the room hustled down the hallways, reaching the armory quickly.

The entire Brigade was drawn up, waiting in line for the armory to open up.

"What's going on, Captain?" Kaltrek asked the Power Armor Company commander when he hustled in.

"Not sure, Brigade S2 is trying to find out," Captain Mrepek said. "They're even pulling our greenies off the work details and having them join us. We'll be running with our buddies."

That made Kaltrek blink. Except for VR training or just maintenance, he had rarely seen 8814, his Green Mantid Combat Engineer.

"Where the hell is the armorer?" Kaltrek asked. He reached forward and banged on the hatch. "HEY! WAKE UP, DICKHEAD!"

No answer.

"Let me call Battalion," Captain Mrepek said. He touched his right temple, activating him datalink implant. His mouth worked as he subvocalized. After a minute he looked at everyone, his ears rigid. Before he could say anything the armorer rushed in, still pulling on his uniform top.

Captain Mrepek looked at the armorer, who had stopped and was looking at everyone.

"What's going on?" the armorer asked.

"Get that fucking armory door open now." Captain Mrepek said, his voice tight.

-----

Commodore N'Skrek was counting the days.

He had been on station for four years, ten months, eleven days.

He had forty-nine days and a wakeup left until he would undergo a Permanent Change of Duty Station.

He was looking forward to it.

The bridge was at half-staff, as it was midnight on the clocks. Sensors were being manned by a single midshipman, same with helm, navigation, gunnery, and damage control. A single lieutenant was acting as his XO and sitting at the materials fabrication command station. Lee helm was empty, engineering was empty, and the Combat Information Control was manned by a single lieutenant junior grade. Several of the stations were unmanned due to hardware or software problems that had been plaguing the ship for the last three years, despite the best efforts of the greenies on station.

The bridge was dim, everyone supposedly paying attention to their stations.

N'Skrek stared at the holotank. It was empty, except for the icons for sensor arrays, the gas giant, the single rearm, refit, and repair station, and the small task force of nine ships that were still on station.

He was staring at the holotank when icons began blinking. Only one at first, then a dozen.

The midshipman at the sensor station frowned.

"Is this a glitch?" he asked. He reached out and reset his board, the holotank blanking out.

When it came back, the number of contacts had tripled.

"Scans coming back... now," the midshipman said.

The ships were still appearing, over a hundred point sources now.

Hanging in the holotank was a long cylindrical vessel that looked bumpy and layered. The light from the star made it look matte creme colored. It was nearly ten kilometers wide at the narrow end, twenty kilometers at the wider end, and seventy kilometers long.

N'Skrek stared at it for a long moment.

It was a standard Mar-gite Hive Cluster ship.

More point sources were appearing.

"Mar-gite Megacluster verified," the midshipman said. "They've got Megaclusters."

N'Skrek barely made it to the console before his XO. He grabbed the handset and slapped the buttons, going from General Quarters to Condition Zebra. The whistle sounded and the lights went from normal, to amber, to red.

"Condition Manvestar," he stated. "All hands, Condition Manvestar. All hands, battle stations. All hands, battle stations."

He knew that the crew would be moving from their quarters to their assigned stations.

"Gigacluster verified. Comparison at 90% certainty," the midshipman at the sensors stated. "They're still coming. New contact. Contact outmasses Gigacluster by a factor of 100."

"All Marines, report to armory. Repeat, all Marines report to armory," he said. He then turned back to the holotank, hoping the Captain got to the bridge before things got too spicy.

"Five hundred contacts. More incoming," the midshipman said.

N'Skrek rubbed his bladearms together in anxiety.

The task force was tiny. One light battleship that was nearly six hundred years old that he was currently standing on the bridge of. Two heavy cruisers nearly as old. Three tenders. Three destroyers.

No carriers. No missile wagons.

"Give the station orders to evacuate. Get the Lanstrek's Pride in there to take on the personnel. Tell them to hurry," N'Skrek ordered. He looked at his XO. "Get the Marines in armor. Tell them to prepare for boarders."

"One thousand contacts. More incoming."

The words thudded onto the bridge.

"Get Hop Skip Jump out of here. Tell them to warn VN-28321. Tell Five Strands of Grass to go to MS-2387, warn them," he ordered.

"Fifteen hundred contacts in the Megaconstruct or Gigaconstruct range," the sensors said. "Mar-gite travel constructs have begun warping back out. Approximate heading is VN-28321."

N'Skrek ground his mouth plates together as personnel rushed into the bridge, taking over consoles, powering them up, and settling down.

Captain Rawgnawrk moved in, her uniform perfect.

N'Skrek was suddenly furious that the Captain had taken the time to get her full uniform on and make sure it was perfect instead of sprinting for the bridge.

She stared at the holotank.

"That's... that's impossible," she said. She turned to the midshipman who was standing up to allow the ranking sensor technician to sit down. "You expect me to believe that more Mar-gite than we've seen in all three wars are just jumping into the system? A megacluster? Gigaclusters? Something even bigger?" Her voice sounded more like someone outraged at a lie than someone shocked to disbelief.

The midshipman's spines on the back of his head rattled slightly with agitation. "Yes, ma'am. I verified it with shipboard, task force, and system sensor arrays."

She turned back to the holotank and stared.

"Two thousand present in system. Eight hundred have jumped out," the lieutenant at the sensor board said, their voice shocked. "Five hundred more have just made entrance into the system."

"Evacuate the system! Order the task force to retreat to VN-28321!" the Captain called out. "Least time heading."

"What about the station?" N'Skrek asked.

"Tell the Lanstrek's Pride to hurry it up," the Captain said. She turned to the helm. "Get us out of here."

"Plotting course," astrogation called out.

"We could at least provide cover," N'Skrek said.

"Against this?" she waved at the holotank as another batch appeared. "We don't even have enough bullets," she turned away. "No, we need to retreat, regroup at VN-28321."

N'Skrek held his tongue, just staring at the icon of Lanstrek's Pride, which had just docked with the station.

The small task force turned and began running from the crescent waves of incoming forces. Long minutes passed. N'Skrek could see one of the Megaconstructs moving toward the station, breaking off several smaller boarding constructs.

Good luck, you poor brave bastards, he thought.

"Ready to go to hyperspace," navigation stated.

"New contact. Vessel is metallic and technological in makeup. Hyperspace exit energies confirmed," the sensor officer called out.

"Jump when ready," the Captain called out.

"3... 2..." the helm called out.

"DEATHBLOSSOM SPOTTED! TWO, FIVE, EIGHT..." scanning called out.

The ship seemed to lean forward and drop back at the same time and N'Skrek felt the distinctive feeling of the ship going to the hyperspace bands.

There was a bright flash from the holodeck and every active screen.

The lights went out.

The environmental went out.

The hyperdrive kept running.

"Ma'am," the helmsman said.

"Report," the Captain said.

"She's a dead stick."

-----

"Up high! Three-o-clock!" someone called out.

Jaskel got the M318A4e8 swung around, letting off the firing grip slightly. He was panting inside his armor, his faceplate streaked from where a Mar-gite had managed to swipe on arm across his face and cause the armaplas to ripple before the enzyme laden fluid boiled away in vacuum.

A cluster of Mar-gite, maybe fifty in all, each touching the end of at least four other's arms, was floating toward the Lanstrek's Pride. He got the M318 lined up and squeezed the grip, the firing lever embedded in the grip depressing.

--slush rising 45% heat 62%-- his green battle buddy 8814 said.

"Keep me in the fight! They're almost loaded!" Jaskel said.

He had only been on the hull of the ship to clear it, then to keep it clear, for ten minutes.

It was the longest ten minutes of his life.

He was back to back with four other Telkan Marines, fighting to keep the small destroyer clear along with the rest of 5697 Power Armor Battalion. All of them with M318s, all of them running a near continuous stream of fire.

The rounds hammered into the boarding cluster and he walked it in a contracting spiral, his smartlink letting him put the bullets right where the pip showed.

"Kilo Company from 5698 Battalion are still holding at the engine rooms," Captain Mrepek said. "Alpha has environmental, Hotel has the Bridge," he panted for a moment. "Keep it up. They're almost loaded."

Jaskel saw it. A slight blurring in his vision.

It unfolded, like an origami flower made of gauzy energy.

Ships exited, close enough he could see details even without enhancement from his armor.

Huge ships. Gray structure.

"We've got more company!" Jaskel called out, linking the Captain with his visor.

"They're onboard!" the Captain said. "Fall back to the hatch, keep trying to keep the hull clear and we'll..."

The ship suddenly broke away from the station. Jaskel could see pressurized boarding tube shatter with a spray of ice crystals. He felt like he was being rolled and leaning back at the same time.

"Bridge, what are you..." the Captain said over the open channel.

More ships slid from the gauzy flower.

"NO, YOU IDIOTS, WE AREN'T ONBOARD!" the Captain yelled.

The stars seemed to tunnel down to Jaskel, even as he lashed another boarding cluster with fire from his M318. His heat alarms were wailing and his mass was down to 26.5%.

There was a bright flash just as the stars turned into streaks that raced toward him.

His armor systems flickered, the OS almost crashed, errors popped up all over his visor.

He could hear himself panting and making an anxious whining noise.

He could see eternity.

--i got it i got it i got it-- 8814 said.

He just stared at the streaks the stars had become.

And the darkness between them.

--don't look! Don't Look!

DON'T LOOK!--