Foundation

[Eppy]

Prime Historian Ian Gedrix stared out of his viewport, listlessly perusing the blue and green gas clouds of The Mouth, his planet far below.
The final result, the grand achievement of his life's work, all his dreams, all his hopes and desires, lay here, on that green and blue rock comprising the lush, rich world they had stumbled upon, right in between Outcast, Kusari, GMG and Nomad space. Omicron-64, Humanity's last hope.
The Nomad superweapon had completely scourged Sol. Of Homo Sapien's home world and system there was naught left but a neutron star and a massive planetary fagment field, small nebulae where the Jovian planets had been. This they had discovered upon retrieving sensor logs from one of the old fighters once belonging to Willow, the famed Outcast, who had ejected just as his reconniasance Saber was destroyed by Nomads. They even had a jumphole-worthless, now, outside of it's historical significance.
Gedrix's life had been built around books. A very special set of books, in fact. They had been cargo aboard the Hispania, a tome of reason, of warning, and of hope-Foundation, courtesy of Isaac Asimov, the late Terran writer of such incredible note. It was Asimov's lessons that Ian had built his existence around, preserving Humanity's knowledge and technology for the eventual fall to Nomads. It would rebuild once the monsters had left. That planet, Foundation, was the Second Eden. It was a haven...and an invincible fortress. It was immune to Jaktarian fire, Ka'Vosh spears, Nomad infiltration. It was Asimov's base upon which Gedrix had built this world.
The embryo had been set. Largely isolated from the rest of humanity, the system was essentially self-sufficient, with ample H-fuel in the Mouth Nebula, all the metals necessary for development in the asteroids; Crops could be grown in the unbelievably fertile soil, and in bio-domes. Water was abundant on land, and in the Upper Lip Ice Field. It was free of trade, of foreign dependence.
And now he would give it its last gift.

OOC: Little idea I've had bouncing around in my head for months. Once the Rouge is finished and I have all my Outcast Characters set, I'll try and create a faction, if that's okay with the Admins. Eventually buy Omicron-64, populate it with happy things.

---

Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.

[Eppy]

Gedrix slid through the ovular port, surveying the cockpit of his small shuttlecraft with distate. He was not much for flying; in fact, he was a pathetic pilot. Which was why he did the planning, and let somebody else handle the ship.

The miniscule craft slid at speed out of the flagship, one FNS Asimov, the massive grey hulk of an Outcast Dreadnaught, constructed by special order from himself; the computer slid the craft into a lover orbit, down towards the massive orbital complex above Terminus; it darted towards the upper dock, the anvil-tower occupied by his newest vessel.

The FNS Arkady Darrell was a brand new Kusari Destroyer, acquired as surplus due to a defective sensor suite. The Foundationeers had replaced it with one of their own, a much superior model. The ship was equipped now for deep space reconniasance; her mission was simple-

Make a fully detailed map of everything.

This was Gedrix's last gift, the last thing he would do before he died, which would probably be quite soon; even with the Cardamine, he was quite incapable fo maintaining himself for much longer. He was 194 years old-he had seen entire empires rise and fall, had seen civilizations ruin themselves.

He was out to prevent that. With gusto.

He would give his people complete knowledge of humanity's home in Sirius. Terminus would, in the coming centuries, be there to protect the species, maintain the stability of Humanity's life. They would ensure the survival of the species. And for that very active little agenda, they would need knowledge.

That was his gift.

---

Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.

[Eppy]

Gedrix slid out of the office door, trailing his protege, one Jacob Bonello, captain of the Arkady, and an avid explorer. He was renowned for his quiet yet powerful speaking voice and a deadly shot when provoked. He was a scant five-eight, nothing special, with shoulder-length mercury-like hair and violet eyes, with a sort of perpetual half-frown.

"Anything else you think Arkady here might need?" the Historian rasped, his voice hoarse from years of shouting at angy council members. "I can arrange for anything short of the Pax Ejecta, should the need arise."

"Special Projects needs to keep that much deeper in their pocket." Jacob said, voice echoing with the clanking of their onyx boots along the grill-floored corridor. "I think this ship will do fine. As long as we have fighter support, she can handl anything shot of a battleship."

"Good. She'll need it."

They strolled out onto the trapezoidal platform of the bridge, beholding the wonder of man's achievements.

---

Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.

[Craines]

At that moment, a large shuttle landed outside of the Hall of the Historian. It was the Hakobune, once a great pioneering ship, and now a renegade science vessel. The Hakobune had on it four people who would help the Historian immensely. They were Richard Walters, an elderly Bretonian man who had served as a butler to the late Fiona deLuna for a year, and had been in such prestigious halls as that of the Queen of Bretonia, the President of Liberty, and the Chancellor of Rheinland. He was also a clandestine assassin, perhaps the most skilled in the universe and the least talked about. Never had a murder been traced back to him.

The second man to walk off the Hakobune was the esteemed Doctor Daishou Hiia, head of the Deius Prime experiment. With a masters degree in metamathematics, and two Ph.Ds in genesis biology and viral biochemistry, he was a master of terraforming, as had been exemplified during his stint at Planetform. He had spent most of his life on the Deius Prime experiment, but that had ended with the sudden and unexplainable death of the captain of the Hakobune.

The third man to descend was a stout looking Rheinlander, short, fat, and with a massive beard that spanned the width of his belt. He wasn't more than four feet high, and he had a large round nose that was sunburn red. He was Professor Gregori Gutenteval vanHoffman, a master of gravitonics and the head of the Rheinland Jump Hole identification effort. Along with the lab coat he wore, a jug of alcohol swung freely from his belt. His undershirt was brown, his pants black, and his skin was tanned from working on stations that orbited stars. The top of his head was exposed, and his thick black hair made a little crown where it was evident. He smiled jovially while he got down.

Finally, a tall, thin woman with shoulder-length, fiery red hair and a look of bemusement walked down the boarding ramp. Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses, and her face was framed in by the wild, uncontrolled mess of hair that she had. Her efforts to straighten her hair had been in vain, and she had accepted her curls for the untamed entity that they were. She was Samantha Cinders, Liberty's metallurgist and chemist extraordinaire. She had been at a meeting before Doctor Hiia had interrupted, and as such, was dressed in a pinstripe business suit. She didn't look the part, but she was the foremost mixer of metals in the Sirius system.

They were four unlikely friends, bound together by a strange invitation that Doctor Hiia had received. It had requested each of the four persons gathered by name. A very strange event, but still, they had seen weirder things in their days.

Professor vanHoffman looked at his ornate pocketwatch, and turned to his companions. "It vould be vise, my friends, if ve enter that building! After all, ve don't vant to be late!"

---

[Eppy]

Jacob Bonello sat down with a sigh into his chair, sipping from the flask of Cardamine-laced water he kept tied to his belt at all times. Twiddling with a stray silver lock, he tapped some odd sequence into the arm of the command seat, sending the Skipper's Sign out to Isengard control. The bridge immediately went into overdrive, the dozing crewmen quite excited to be on this new boat.

"Arkady Darrel, this is Isengard Control. You're clear to disengage. Safe journey, and may the Radiant Illuminate Your Way."

"Thanks, Isengard." Jacob gave one of his rare true smiles. "Helmsman, take us out one-quarter throttle. You have the coordinates."

"Yes sir. Course laid in. Proceeding." The ship's deck began to hum slightly as the oversized fusion drive kicked her out of dock, slowly gliding away from the massive tower and the warships decorating its spire. The Asimov, at the top of the station, let loose a six-gun salute, swirling ivory bolts of antimatter sailing across space. The small Aspirations Nebula became clearer, the loose purple gas left over from the destruction of the second Nomad Supernova Torpedo. If one looked closely enough, one could see the burnt-out wreck of the Nomad escort battleship, dubbed Sherman by the admiral of the prevailing Foundation fleet, some two hundred years ago.

"And we're off." Bonello smiled again.

*******************************

On the same small shuttle, back on the way to the Asimov, Ian Gedrix suffered a fatal stroke.

*******************************

Some dark room lit up briefly as a purple, fluorescent creature, coughed sickly. It had felt him go.

Atticus Rockwood was, once again, without a face and voice for his empire.

---

Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.

[Eppy]

The black, spiney hulk of the Pax Ejecta hung silent, behind the neutron star at the far end of the system, the actual planet Foundation obscured by the small star. The five-kilometer hulk of the silent superweapon suddenly flared, for just a second, red light poring out of its exposed power grid, crisscrossing the surface in odd patterns.

Somewhere inside, the creature known as Atticus Rockwood hauled itself to the sole source of light within its chamber, a computer terminal with a dim blue glow. It dropped its transleucent violet arms across the interface, and read the news it had been waiting for for some time.

My development team has arrived.

---

Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.

[Craines]

The four members of the Hakobune were engaged in a debate when the door to their room was opened. Professor vanHoffman was ranting about the strange polarity of the system they were in, especially the odd gravitonics readings that he had gotten from the Hakobune's sensors, while Richard Walters was passing back and forth, a long, slender stiletto dagger balanced between his hands, his middle fingers making contact with the tip of the blade and the hilt. Samantha Cinders was listening to her college, her glasses reflecting the light of the room in a peculiar fashion. Doctor Hiia was staring into a datalink, working studiously on the project Deius Prime and the information he had gotten from Adalae.

The man who entered the room was met with the dagger stuck only centimeters from his head. With a twang, it stuck into the metal door frame. Walters had already withdrawn a second from some secret compartment, and looked at the visitor, with the intentions of murdering the poor fellow if he posed a threat to Walters' charges. Professor vanHoffman blinked several times, and then began to process the information. A thick pair of bifocals appeared on his face while he took everything. Doctor Hiia stood up immediately, the datalink secured and password-protected, and hurried to Richard, signaling for the assassin to lower the weapon. Samantha hurried forth to welcome the man.

"My name is Salvor Hardin. I am here to inform you of the passing of the Historian, Ian Gedrix, who had summoned you. A funeral procession will soon be held, and it would be respectful if you four attended. He wanted you four here for some special reason - I think it would be fitting if you all accompanied me and paid your final respects."

"Wait one moment. Salvor Hardin? As in, mayor of Terminus? Please, the originality of this place is staggeringly low. Oh, I am sorry, that was rather mean. I'm sorry. The thing is, I am well versed in the works of Isaac Asimov, and... well, why are you all staring at me like that? Did I say something wrong?"

The room had looked at Doctor Hiia, who was now looking back at them. Walters broke the strange silence. "Needless to say, these three are more important than anyone on this planet now. So no, we four will not be attending any funerals, wakes, or any other form of respect paying to the deceased. If you have a problem with that, I have only one thing to say: we won't attend your funeral, either. I hope that I have made myself clear? Good. Because I certainly hate to be questioned."

Mr. Hardin looked at the Bretonian man, and began to fuss. Samantha interrupted him. "Listen, honey, if you favor the use of, well, your corpus callosum (which you do, hon, don't question it), I advise you remain silent. Mr. Walters hasn't... 'offed' anyone in a while, and he's getting a bit, oh, stir crazy. Maybe you could just tell us why the late Historian wanted our aid? If not, we'd be happy to leave. I have no intentions of staying here forever, and I'm sure you won't require that. Now, care to explain our invitations?"

"Of course, Doctor Cinders--"

"Ms. Cinders, actually. I took the title of doctor off after my husband died."

"I'm terribly sorry, Ms. Cinders."

"No use in talking about it now. Continue, please."

"Yes. The Historian wished for your assistance in a most pressing matter, the likes of which I believe whole-heartedly believe you will find fascinating, since it uses all four of your abilities. The project that I'm about to describe was the full sum of the total knowledge that could be obtained in the amount of time that we had to obtain it. Now, because the Historian has passed away, I can't explain everyth--"

A dagger embedded itself in the throat of Salvor Hardin. He fell to his knees, grasping at it. The stiletto had pierced the man's throat and spine, the hilt making contact with his flesh, and the tip sticking through the back of his throat. In but a few moments, the man was dead. The three scientists were looking at Richard, unaware of why he had killed Salvor. Walking nonchalantly forwards, Walters removed the knife from the man's body. Only a minute hole could be seen. Sprinkling some powder on the body, Walters effectively dissolved it by speeding up the metabolic rate.

"Do ve run? Or vill ve not get executed for killing somevone in cold blood?" Professor vanHoffman asked, his bifocals off and the alcohol being sipped hurriedly. Richard smiled in his strange way, and brushed his mustache.

"My good Rheinland fellow, if the man wasn't expendable, would he have been sent? No. In my many years of learning how to interrogate a man, I determined that there are those who are... necessary, and those who are not. He was unnecessary. Therefore, I removed him. Now we have a lovely skeleton! I shall name him Johnford. I think I'll have him hung in the Hakobune! And no one will be any the wiser."

The three scientists looked at each other, deciding that it was best not to interfere with Richard Walters or his strange new companion. VanHoffman took another long draft from his jug, and began to follow the assassin. Hiia and Cinders shrugged their shoulders, took a final glance around the room, and left for the ship as well. They weren't going to leave, but they certainly didn't want to be on the planet when Salvor was declared missing.

---

[Eppy]

Bonello watched the wormhole expand and swallow the view. The blue lines lasted approximately three seconds, and then the field of view expanded into the Dark Matter Southern Arm of the Sigma-60 cloud.

And they stared straight down the nose of a Nomad Gunboat.

"Shields up!' Bonello screamed, standing up. "FIRE ALL GUNS!"

The gunboat, without any fuss, disappeared into a cloud of flourescent violet gas.

"..." Bonello stared for a moment, expecting it to be nothing but a farce. "What the hell just happened?"

"It was wounded, sir." The bridge bunny at Sensors tapped his console. "It never stood a chance. Scans show nothing else in the area, but you know what these clouds do to sensors..."'

"Right." His silvery hair glistened as he dropped into his seat, brushing the tiniest bead of sweat from above his eyes. "Get a message back to Isengard, we've got an infestation on our hands. Take us down/port thirty degrees. We'll have to wait for reinforcements."

"Aye."

He turned his thoughts inward, pulling a pinch of Cardi from within his jacket. What might the foul scum have in store for us now...

---

Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.

[Eppy]

Bonello stared down at his drink, twirling the straw as he waited for reinforcements.

"Word's in!" Comms called. "We're getting the Bayta, the Toran, and the Hober Mallow, plus the 22nd, the 38th, and the GODs."

"The new Osiris?" Bonello frowned. The brand new light battleship had been Orillion's gift of friendship to Speaker Gedrix, when the two groups had reconciled their differences over the Corsair issue and allowed each other's ships in their systems, and joint military operations where necessary. She had only left drydock a week ago, though. "Why not send the Flagship herself? Better firepower, to be sure."

"...yes, there's that. Ah, sir? Speaker Gedrix is dead. Asimov's preparing for the funeral."

"...Oh, lovely. Political upheaveal. We'll clean out this systyem and turn back. This was sure as hell not part of the plan."

---

Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.

[Eppy]

In the orbit of Mallorca, worlds away, Willow looked up from his book.

Severe worry.

"..what is it, sweetie...?" a blue-haired head poked up from under the covers, groggily moaning as she lazily brushed hair away from her eyes.

"It's father. Something just went very wrong."

"Oh no!" She sat up, suddenly much more alert. "What's happened to Jacob!?"

"No idea, but he's concerned, and that's a very rare thing." Willow bounced out of bed, sliding over to the wardrobe and yanking out a blue uniform, trimmed gold and caped.

"Admiral Willow?" Mia Bonello, 22, slid onto the floor, going for the same wardrobe and pulling out a Commander's uniform.

"If this involves the Foundation, Outcast Special Forces authority won't apply. I'll have to strong-arm my way in and remind who sends them their Cardamine Concentrate. Gedrix is a nice guy, but the rest of the Speakers aren't always so nice, and he can't always keep pulling emergency powers."

"Oh, lovely." Mia zipped the side of the jumpsuit and slid on the boots. "Arkady was supposed to leave port yesterday, wasn't she?"

"I wonder if that damn destroyer just lost life support." Willow half-ran to the door (which automatically slid open for him) and sped onwards, Mia close behind. "Damn their useless Kusari engineering!"

"Who knows? We'll have to find out later." They slid out into Ibiza's docking bay, vaulting into the nearest shuttle and popping out of said docking bay, into full view of Mallorca, Fantasia parked in the drydock, superimposed upon the beautiful purple gas ball.

Several minutes later, they found themselves in Vacuum suits, watching Fantasia's new weaponry attach to the great battleship.

"So these are the new Nomad Compounds?"

"Fresh off the boat from Omicron Delta, obtained on a very, very big budget." the crew chief's laughing crackled in their helmets. "They're nasty little snots; the biological parts are fighting the constraints with everything they have, but they can't get past the containment without a brain."

"Lovely." Willow's suit slowly turned back towards Ibiza. "Is Clair up yet?"

"She left for Malta yesterday. She'll never make it back in time."

"Damn. Tell her shore leave has been extended three weeks. How soon can you be done?"

"If we skimp on Inferno maintenance, four hours."

"Ready her for departure." We'll fix this, whatever it is.

"Word just came in!" crackled the comm. "First Speaker Gedrix is dead!"

"Oh, bloody hell."

---

Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen

Which Dreadnought was that?

One of your nine.