Alsatia - "A Place Where Law Cannot Reach"

[Bazza]

The system of Kansas, only technically within Liberty's domain is, for the most part, a completely empty and rarely traversed area of space far removed from its parent house. Sitting deep in the forgotten backwaters of space, the sector is devoid of human presence for very nearly entirety; only the occasional transport or escaping pirate vessel is ever observed breaking this monotonous silence.

This was correct only up until recently, however. For the past several weeks a inexplicable boom in traffic has streamed across the vast emptiness of the system, each ship's respective destination an apparent mystery. The only common point between this influx of passers-by is Planet Wichita.

Highlights of this flow of traffic include but are not limited to an eerily familiar Scylla-class Liberty Rogue Destroyer, a self-proclaimed "floating Neural Net" in the form of a Spyglass battleship , a swathe of various utilitarian vessels including a ship proudly bearing the name "Alsatia" across her bow and finally a selection of apparent Liberty Navy vessels.

Those few who venture closer to Planet Wichita would quickly become aware of the suspicious levels of dubious scuttlebuzz surrounding the planet's solitary moon. The moon itself, whilst technically having a name, is simply part of the background scenery for most people.

For the vessels not welcome at this seemingly useless lump of rock, a small armada of out-dated, obsolete and jury-rigged fighter craft, gunboats and indeed even two distinctly hand-made battleships await to either chase them away or terminate them.

Ships with approval, however, will find themselves gliding between this hodgepodge assortment of defensive units, down to the surface of the moon itself - a cold, barren wasteland; devoid of atmosphere and featuring only vague whisps of a gravitational pull.

Amongst the shadow-streaked cliffs, valleys and asteroid impact craters, nestled in a small area of relatively flat ground, an area resembling a landing pad can be observed. On this crude, rapidly assembled construction sits another small selection of ships of equally varied origins.

After putting down the ship onto the area provided, one can observe a hive of activity surrounding a large, utilitarian steel blast door embedded into an adjacent cliff face. A fleet of mining robotics such as crawlers, tunnel borers and slag trucks dive in and out of the open doors, still completely exposed to the elements surrounding them.

Small trucks filled with waste rock and dirt traverse the sandy ground before them to a growing heap off to one side, the knowledgeable person noticing this same refuse had been recycled to level out the landing pad.

A small number of people in full space suits oversee the predominately robotic, remote-controlled operations, each taking the utmost precaution to avoid becoming a victim of the deadly vacuum which engulfs them on all sides. Part of the construction under way is that of a building not unlike the common catwalk, a sealed and pressurised walkway whose apparent direction indicates it will eventually link the overbearing blast door with the landing pad beside it.

Two large transport ships sit side by side amongst the others; one being of distinctly lower-class origins - bearing all the hallmarks of a ship "well loved" by its owner: Pock-marked, faded paintwork, plasma burns and noticeable surface rust adorning the unattractively triangular exterior design. The latter of the two craft standing in stark contrast to its' sister: a clean, sleek vessel without a single mark upon its gleaming, stainless steel skin.

Within the confines of the bridge of the second of the two transports, the figures of four people and two children can be made out, staring out through the almost gratuitously large windows overseeing the operation before them. Standing at the very front of the group is a young Bretonian woman, in her arms the shape of an infant. Proudly standing beside her is the form of a Kusarian girl, whom despite looking younger is near-as-makes-no-difference the same height as her Bretonian counterpart.

Behind them are two more Kusarian women, one of whom bears a large sword at her side, watching over their employers as bodyguards. Rummaging around the control room is a small child, also of Kusarian descent, lost in her own little world as she contentedly explores her new home.

The Bretonian leader impatiently lords over a small laptop computer, tapping a pen on the steel-topped console in front of her with her one free arm whilst suspending the sleeping infant - presumably her own child - in the other.

"They should have been here by now..."

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