Interceptscript 2

"Get the Captain. Now."


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Interceptscript Compromised
Initiate Purge?

Interceptscript 1

Interceptscript 11236_Balaoo


"Is it the one?"

"I think so. Yes. All the signs and indications are positive."

"What about Worms?"

"No sign of any of that--though it is extensively honeycombed with pockets--"

"We expected that--"

"Of course. However, it's a lot heavier than we'd counted on. We're going to need help."

"Help? I don't like the sound of this."

"You won't. I'm sure."

"Oh no. Not them. You can't be serious, not after the last time..."

"Only the Martense Asterclan have the expertise--unless you'd rather talk to the Worms..."

"No. Never."

"So do we contact the Martense Rep, or what?"

"I don't know. This is something for the Captain--"

"He's in the Chapel."

"Again?"

"Still."

"Shit. Well, let's send in a drone and let him know that we've arrived. He probably has a plan. He usually does."

"Yeah, the undead are like that."

"At least he's not Tsanish or one of those sporeheads."

"Yeah, but it does make you kind of wonder how he knew it would be out here, just coasting along with the other debris leftover from the last war. All abandoned and forgotten like some shitty old protogoth manor out in the middle of nowhere."

"Maybe it's haunted?"

"Aren't you just ultra-frikkin-cheerful today? Whatever--I'll go get the Captain myself."

"You don't think we'll run into any shoggoths when we board it, do you?"

"How would I know? Why not ask Kez--she's the Nav-Witch."

"I'll just shut up now."

"Good."

---------------------------------
Interceptscript Interrupted
Connection Dropped
Reacquire?

CS 12: Blooms Left Behind

Europa is visible on the trailing edge of the angry red mico-star that once was Jupiter. It'll burn out in a few hundred years, leaving a cinder surrounded by a tangled labyrinth of debris. I wonder how the dolphins are faring, now that their reservations on Europa have been compromised by the mycellioids. Our course shifts and I get a view of the colossal fungal colonies extended outwards from Europa, Ganymede and Calisto. But not Io. The lesser bodies orbiting Jupiter cut groove-like swaths through the proliferating void-fungi, but Io remains aloof and untouched. No one is sure why. I watch the fine mist of sulfur particles cast off from Io sleet across the fern-like fronds of orbital flora the size of small continents. Then the Podder Captain gives us a ten second warning and we fall into the Gray, the Opalescent mists of the Interstitial Regions, the flickering Azure, on into the Deep Purple, and deeper into the Mauve Zone, into the Red, the Black. We drop down past the boundaries of all the known zones and layers of reality until our intrinsic resonance draws us back in a graceful arc. Back. Beyond, really. We're outside the Empire now. I re-run my internal weapon protocol subroutines. We'll most likely be boarded by Shamblers if we're not struck by Razorships. Ah. The follow-up signal. We're well outside the reach, the sphere of influence of the Core System now. We're approaching what once was called Barnard's Star. Hopefully there's enough of the Imperial Terrabase still intact to run interference and let me transfer aboard my new command without too much trouble. Dare I hope.

CS 11: A Glaring Red Eye

Mars lies scattered like so much glistening dust and rubble. An avalanche smeared across its former orbital path. Dhole-infested and knitted together by the thin white webs of beings like the Podder Captain in charge of this packet-ship. Arachnoid zealots who believe they are the successors to humanity. They're a relatively new faction. Arose after my last descent into the deep freeze. But there's not enough information in any of my chemobriefing ampules to decide one way or another, whether they might be right, or just another self-deluded bunch of cultists looking for salvation from some outside force, some new tech, or a benevolent creed. For me, those sorts of things, those childish dreams died when Jupiter became a massive, red sunlet. Ten thousand great ships were lost in the shockwaves. We won't pass very close to Jupiter on this route. It's half-way around the system from us now. But I can see it well enough. A smoldering, scarlet eye surrounded by a brittle nimbus of wreckage no one has had the time or opportunity to salvage. I watch the glaring red eye as it slips inexorably behind us. We're accelerating now. The polite fiction of the so-called safe-zone falls away and we're out in the cold harsh blackness. Cold. Alone. Just the way I like it.