Reprisals

So, I received some intelligence that the “random” attack on me in Far Point wasn’t random, after all.  It was a hit put out on me by Carlo Adiar.

Well, then.

That TRI transport that was missing? Well, I found it. Then I blew it up.

So, consider us even, for the nonce.

On the other hand, I did find the ship. You’re welcome.

No, it wasn’t Conflux. Although I did use one to help me find it – and then I killed the flux. Then I splashed the tow. It wasn’t a storm – storms can’t destroy ships, by the way, TRI. It was me. I actually wanted the Enforcer, but I will settle for what I got.

 

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DSS Recovery & Decryption DSS 116.1.20D4B-0

This is a recovery from a “rare” condition DSS4 found in Outer Roh cloud.  It’s brief and seemed very clean. I was able to recover the entire dataset without any evident corruption.  That being said, it’s not encoded in any way I have run across before.

qhkz gqd … ghhi rw iorz kflkz zrqn rw hydk xrb .hwdk gqd udhi qr iorz nfdoe hkw ;kwldi gqd hyro qr vhylukw iorz hwlkz hkw .iorz hwlkz d gqd iorz nfdoe d .vx ir kfdh ql vhyorz rzw hud huhkw

Weighted Down

I’m going through the anomaly, friends. I found where Thrice Seven went, and where they were stopped in their tracks. But that’s all I know. I know also that every scout sent back there since has vanished – save one. I saw a bit of what he said. It was frightening. I’m going to verify it, and see if I can get any more data to help us. So, as you read this, I’m nowhere to be found – and nowhere you want to be.

The anomaly loomed, ever closer. The trepidation.. and the flash.

6, no, 9, no 12 hostiles inbound. UNKNOWN Conflux! Go, go, go… flashing red… armor damage…. flashfire! What’s that? Another anomaly? Go, go.. go.. gooooooo! Flash. A rending, crashing boom. All was darkness.

Razor woke up with a start, his brow beaded in a cold sweat. He hated that particular dream. Hated it with a not-entirely-sane vehemence. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and rolled off his spare pallet in the transient’s quarters at Hyperial. It came, every night. Again, and again, and again, and again. Some fluxhunter he was. Nightmares about flux. It didn’t help that he’d fought every class of them since – especially the ones that shot him up so badly on his expedition. It didn’t help that he’d killed thousands – tens of thousands – since then. They never stopped coming. Not in his dreams – and not in space, either.  He’d failed. Miserably. He’d failed New Dawn, he’d failed Amananth, he’d failed Holly, he’d failed… everyone.

I need answers.

Trades

Aelagi waited impatiently at the FluxGuts Depot for the arrival of her erstwhile Commander – inwardly fuming over his tardiness. She had been there for nearly 20 minutes, and they had clearly arranged the time, and…

Pilot RazorsKiss has arrived at this station

About time, she thought bitingly.

“Heya, Aelagi!” He called out, with obviously false cheer. “So, what did you need again? A Whistle, and?”

“An Antiflux, as you know full well.” She replied, with patent sarcasm.

RK winced, and turned away to access the inventory panel. He tapped in several codes, and when he turned, his face was calm. They waited in silence as the drone transferred the cargo to her ship. “Going hunting, then mining?” He inquired mildly.

Equally calm, Aelagi replied, “As the mood strikes me. Yes.”

“Good hunting.” Razor gave her a slight smile, walked back to his ship, climbed aboard, and was off.

Pilot RazorsKiss has left this station

She sighed, not for the first time; wondering whether things would ever get less awkward.

Probably never, she thought.

Job Hunting

Here goes nothing… nothing ventured, nothing gained – right?

Legate,

Since becoming aware of the unfortunate passing of Dr. Calatorius, I looked for the current Conflux Expert for the Ministry of War, in order to verify certain findings of Conflux spawn ratings that I recorded throughout Octavian space. After some searching, I am forced to conclude that the Ministry has not named a successor for his position.  Does such a successor exist? If not, are you interested in the services of one?  Most fluxhunters specialize only in killing Conflux. While I am more than proficient at that task, I also worked extensively with TRI-R’s CSD, and specifically, with Dr. Q’son prior to the Catastrophe, as my decorations from that time can attest.

I’m no Dr. Calatorius, but I can’t help but believe that we need someone in that role, at least in the interim.  While I will never be the researcher that Dr. Calatorius was, I would venture the guess that there are few Octavians with my strategic or tactical experience in dealing with Conflux – drones or sentients. While I will readily admit that I am not a military factionalist, I would submit that as an expert on Conflux behavior, tactics and strategy, I have the qualifications for the position. That emphasis on tactical considerations – or the lack thereof from other quarters – was the initial reason that Octavius created it’s own division – as is proper.

Again, while I don’t propose that I can ever replace Dr. Calatorius, or ever fill his shoes – I feel that the recent decisions (and statements) of TRI-R’s CSD once again highlight the need for someone in this position, who understands the tactical problems the Conflux pose. If I can be of service to the Empire in this position, then I am willing to take this duty seriously and do so contentiously.

Contego Octavius!

Razorat “RazorsKiss” Kathonar, Optimus

Closing In

<pilog-log><sec-lev:pers><enc: gamma-7;ADM-5^4>

Infestations are just so… ugly. Like scar tissue newly grown over an amputation. Gazing at it out the viewport at Wake, I shuddered, despite myself. Things like that don’t belong in the same galaxy we do.

I don’t belong in this galaxy either. I made it back to Wake the day before yesterday. Chatted with Nuncio a bit. He says he’s getting “deep background” on the workings of the station. He’s sightseeing, but who am I to judge? That’s exactly what I was doing on Soria, after all.  Rail’s out there with his bomber, I saw. Dropping nuke after nuke into the pestilent thing. Nothing I can do to help there, with a piddling Premia XL. Razors’s on his way for escort duty, he says.  I’m glad. I don’t like the feeling of being closed in.

Escort Duty

“…I’ll pick up any mantas, you go for the infest,” I said, 10k out from the gate. Rail’s terse “Roger” was more a function of the remaining distance and the focus required of an upcoming jump than of any nervousness on his part. The gate flashed around me, and I reappeared in Bronci Rift. Slewing ponderously around, I oriented myself on the anomaly, and watched 2 mantas, 2 snails and a squid pop into view and orient themselves on me in turn. The flash from behind made me cycle targets once again, and a third manta jumped in, oriented slightly above me. Knowing that the first two mantas would remain focused on me, I concentrated on the third. The angle was bad, but I managed a quick burst that got his attention as I hit the burners to tag an additional snail chasing Rail’s bomber – and not so coincidentally decreasing the time I was under fire from all 3 mantas.