Mara Lithaen

Anna popped another smile, this one genuine, glad to be off the subject of the armor. "And just as well you have; we don't believe in underfeeding guests, here. I'm given to understand that there are some of your own delicacies on the menu for those who wish to eat them, and the President's mother cooked a batch of her famous cornbread big enough to feed the whole gathering. Though, admittedly, calling it mere cornbread is doing it a great disservice..." she said, trailing off. She thought for a few moments, and then continued. "I do hope that you're able to quell the Governor a bit. He's a bit jumpy about getting onto the world stage. Meeting a world leader of your stature would probably go a ways to fixing that."

Anna smiled at her, returning the handshake. "I myself normally do more... informal meetings, such as this, in the Florida Keys or the Bahamas. However, it was a touch short notice and a few of our more prominent political leaders wanted to meet you as well. OKC is simply the most central place from which to do so; as far as I'm aware, our next stop is the Devon Tower in Bricktown - which is our name for downtown, in this city. There is an excellent restaurant there that will host us, the President, and the Governor of Texas." she said, the smile still on her face. "I'm afraid, though, the armor's not for sale, and the couple who forge it aren't easily pried from their work. Those suits are a bit of a... family tradition, among those who wear them." Anna finished, and beckoned the group et al towards a trio of limos rolling up to the terminal's exit. "Perfect timing; there's our rides." she said, and lead the group towards them.

As for me, look at my factbook. It's there. Whole fleet moved out.

The Imperial plane would be directed to land at the much-expanded Will Rogers World Airport in OKC. There, the Empress would be met by Vice President Kennedy and a detachment of her personal guard, a rather intimidating-looking bunch of soldiers in armor unlike any the world had seen in many years, a form-fitting, form-shifting lattice of alloy plates and servomotors. --- Anna watched as the Empress walked out of the jet bridge, then moved purposely forward, her guard staying a few steps behind her. She bowed, the slightly deeper bow of one greeting someone only one step in station above their own. Anna straightened. "Welcome to the Plains Federation, Empress. I'm Vice President Anna Kennedy; it's a pleasure to meet you."

Vice President Anna Kennedy picked up her personal phone, fumbling the quick-release catch on her chestplate in the privacy of her office. "'Ello, who's it? Oh hello, Speaker Coin. What's the situation?" she asked, and the information got relayed to her. "Sounds like someone's stoking the rumormill with no facts to back it up with. I wouldn't worry about it. Tell you what, Speaker, I'll phone the President and see what he has to say about it. I think he's actually about to go into his weekly meeting with the Joint Chiefs. You're welcome; yeah, I'll get back to you as soon as I hear something. Or maybe the President'll call you; either way, you'll know what we know. Good day." she said, and closed the connection, sighing and rubbing at the rather massive bruise developing under her bodysuit. "I need to spar more often." With another sigh, she dialed the President. On the other side of the White House, President John Reese excused himself from the Joint Chiefs for a moment. "Hello, Anna. I know you know my schedule, so this must be important." "It is, Mr. President. Well, maybe it isn't, too; have you heard anything about some sort of attack made by Federal Navy ships against the British in the Atlantic?" "No, I can't say I have. I'll ask the Chiefs, but they typically start off with the big news and move into the details. An incident like that would qualify as 'big news'. Why the curiosity?" he asked, curious. "I just got a call from the Speaker of the House; apparently the Texan Congress is getting worked up over a rumor that we had attacked the Brits." Anna replied. "Call him and tell him I'll speak to him when I get out of this meeting, but do tell him there's no substance to these rumors of an attack. There are tensions in the area, yes, but so far as I know nothing has yet occurred." John replied, truthfully. "Will do, John. Enjoy your meeting." Anna said, slightly teasing. "I always do, Anna; I always do." After that, Anna called the Texan Speaker back, and explained the situation as the President knew it, informing him that the President would call him after the meeting.

Changed it to recon fighters.

E-4s are the result of making that post from my phone, though they are a 747-turned-airborne-command-post. You might know it as NEACAP. I meant to put down the E-2C Hawkeye. Fixing.

@Triyun - if I'm not mistaken, everyone launched drones and other aircraft to search you out first, hinging firing upon somebody finding you. If you want spy rolls or whatever to have our searchers find your fleet, I don't have a problem with that.

OOC: You should have cleared this up in PM with me. This thread will receive no response until that has happened.

With the sudden threat of imminent attack, the Federal fleet, on exercise in the North Atlantic near France with allied fleets, would move to Modified General Quarters, Condition Yellow Two. Weapons control was released on all ships under the control of the TAO. All AEGIS platforms, including the Freedom, Peary and Missouri class ships, would bring their radar suites online, but not in transmit/receive mode; they would be held in standby until ordered to go active. ESM would also be brought up both on the hunting subs and the surface ships themselves, searching for enemy emissions with all the doggedness and skill of a bloodhound. Three RF-18s, equipped with ECM pods and a quartet of AIM-120 AMRAAMs were launched from the carriers' decks, making their way towards the British fleet. Two E-2C AWACS platforms were also launched up to their operating altitude to locate and coordinate against aerial attack. Each carrier also launched 16 F/A-18E/F Super Hornets armed for anti-air duties as a CAP detachment, the remaining compliment of sixty-five planes per carrier being fitted with anti-air and anti-shipping strike packages. The carriers themselves would drop back, staying within mutual defense range of their Tikalian allies' carriers and escorts, accompanied by their destroyer escorts, while the rest of the ships would forge on ahead. All comms directly to the fleet would be done via satellite, to limit the possibility of detection. Otherwise, the only emissions the fleet would make with be that of the RADAR, which, until the British fleet was found or the fleet was alerted to incoming threats, would be held in standby. --- "Admiral, we've acquired the enemy." the stocky Captain reported, in the CIC aboard the PFS Federation. Admiral Jane Hedlund nodded, then sighed, rubbing her temples. "Convey my compliments to your fire control crew and SONAR technicians on their find, as well as the drone operators. Now, Captain..." she said, pausing a moment to reread the orders she had from the President very, very carefully. "Move to Condition Red One. Full weapons release authorized under TAO authority with the exception of nuclear munitions which still lie under Command Authority." she said, each word feeling like a hammer dropping from her lips. She knew very well that many thousands of people were going to die in the next few hours, and she knew full well she could be one of them. "Aye aye, Admiral." the Captain growled, and turned to his bridge crew. "Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come to test our metal against a worthy foe. So cry 'havoc!' and let loose the dogs of war!" The bridge crew cheered for a moment, and then the bridge turned into a hive of activity, the roar of jets on the flight deck rising to a fever pitch, growing ever louder, as the planes moved into position. Admiral Hedlund turned to the comms officer. "Patch me through to the rest of the fleet, Lieutenant." "Yes, ma'am. And... you're on." "To all Plains Federation ships: This is the Admiral speaking. Our part in this exercise has been cancelled. The exercise itself has been cancelled, for the British fleet currently steams towards us with intent to engage. France has just declared war upon them. Our allies in Tikal are surely doing the same. Once they have, the President will have no choice but to ask Congress to honor the treaty we have made with our brothers and sisters in Tikal. I'm entirely convinced he would choose to ask Congress to do so either way. So, by order of the President and in accordance with Naval engagement protocol, set Condition Red One throughout the fleet. Prepare for battle and speak your prayers, for tonight you may dine in whatever version of the afterlife you believe in." she said, and paused. "May God watch over you all, and may He bless the Federation. The world is watching. I know you'll do me proud, and your families even more so. Give 'em hell. Hedlund out." --- When the enemy was finally located via drone, recon fighter or other means, the fleet's radar installations would be brought online, and targets would be painted by AWACS and shipboard fire control. In coordination with launch orders from the Tikalian fleet, like an almighty hammer, six hundred Harpoons and TASMs would be fired at the British fleet when they reached their respective ranges. Some were fitted with decoy warheads, designed to mimic a large formation of missiles each on their own, in the hopes of confusing enemy fire. The rest were fitted with HARM-type sensors, and the TASMs cameras would search for the familiar outlines of an enemy ship, along with the usual HARM sensor. The fleet's remaining 210 fighters would then launch as well, all aimed like a spear towards the enemy's fleet. They, too, would be coordinated and predicated on their allies' attacks being launched.

"The Plains Federation will stand firm with her allies in Tikal. We have given our word, and it is not lightly spoken."

Floating in a cocoon of darkness, a presence manifested itself in the void. It had form, and it had shape, but it was damaged. It had no business in the void, but it was in pain. What on – why is… why is… my brain so… ungh… it’s dark here. Am I… And the consciousness struggled, wrestling with concepts it knew intimately though the pain made it difficult to focus. Am I dead? The consciousness asked of the void. And the void laughed back at it. “No, my daughter.” The laugh which greeted the question was not angry or dark itself – no, it was warm, alive with love and mischief. It was… a mother’s laugh, and the words reminded the consciousness that it was female. “No, my Nyx. You aren’t dead, though you are betwixt and between. You are neither truly here, nor truly there. Do you know who I am?” The consciousness felt small and insignificant against the void surrounding her, greater than worlds, old as time. No, I know neither who nor what you are, mighty one. “I am Nyx, your namesake… though I am given to understand that mine is not your given name. Even still, it is a brave one who takes up the name of a god. And you are brave, my daughter; your courage knows no bounds. You use my shadows to shroud yourself in darkness, taking revenge upon those who have created your kind. Your recklessness, alas, does not know bounds either. It is for this that you are before me, wrapped in my embrace. You need, you must, learn to control your impulses, lest my child Thanatos find himself carrying you to the Elysian Fields once more. You may stay here, and my child can carry you the rest of the way to the Fields, where you will never know pain or sorrow again. Or you can seize the opportunity I will grant you, and return to the lands of mortals. What say you, my daughter?” The consciousness-that-was-called-Nyx pondered the choices before her. On the one hand, she was tired of fighting against the forces arrayed against her and hers every day of her life, and dearly desired to rest… But I can’t. Mama and Uncle Hunter would destroy the world again to save me… any of the kids. And I can’t let them do that either… and I can’t let the Project go on operating as it has been since the day they started playing God. “Then it seems as if you’ve already made your choice, daughter.” I have. And the void seemed to smile, feeling abruptly welcoming and warm of its own. “I expected no less of you, daughter.” A warm breeze seemed to waft the-consciousness-called-Nyx toward something new, something old, and something familiar all at once. The darkness gradually began to give way to light. “You bear my name well. Go forth into the world, and may it be known that you have my favor! May the shadows never fail you, and may the moon be darkest when you need it most; may it shine brightest when it most befuddles and betrays your foes. May it smite them about the eyes and blind them to you. May it be that I do not see you again until your final Fate comes to pass. Go, my daughter…” With each word, the voice got softer, sweeter, and more and more like a memory of a voice than a physical presence. With each word, the world brightened. And then, abruptly, Nikita Walker’s eyes flew open, awakening in her hospital bed. She blinked, taking in the low lighting. Her eyes flicked about the room, trying to get her bearings. The windows betrayed the night outside, and her eyes lit upon the massive figure seated at her bedside, and a familiar warmth filled her heart. She tried to say his name, but her voice came out as little more than a croak. It seemed the croak did not go unnoticed, however. The figure grunted, lifting his head. “I’ll be damned… you’re awake.” He said in a tone of some wonder. Nikita smiled weakly, and tried to speak again, once more producing more of a croak than words. The figure shook his head. “Stupid, of course you’re parched. Here, Niki.” He said, pouring a glass of water from the room’s sink and tilting her up so she could drink it without spilling the contents of the glass everywhere. Nikita drank like a thirsty woman thirty days in the desert finding her first mountain stream. The water was cold and delicious and the most delightful thing she’d ever had the pleasure to drink. The glass steadily drained under her attention, and when it was empty, the figure moved to refill the glass. Nikita cleared her throat, and tried speech again. “I told you… n-not to call me that, Uncle Hunter.” She said, coughing halfway through, her throat no longer quite feeling like it would tear itself apart. “Yep, you did. You’ll always be little Niki to me though. Deal with it.” He said, his tone and his features cheerfully taunting. I’m glad it was him who woke up with me… mom wouldn’t be so… so… Nikita thought, trying to form the word she searched for in her mind, before failing. I’ll think of the word later. “What happened, Uncle Hunter?” Nikita asked, moving the hospital bed so she was sitting up, mostly. “What happened? You decided to do an instant replay of your momma’s attempt at running from an attack chopper.” Hunter replied, his features losing some of their playfulness. “I remember that bit…” Nikita said. Her hand flew to her stomach. She traced the line of stitches where a scar would form, much like her mother’s . “It hurt so bad, Uncle. It…” she said, her eyes squeezing shut as her mind replayed that last moment, and fire lanced across her back where the rod of tungsten had come in, doing its best to end her. “Ssh. You don’t need to explain what getting shot feels like to me, hon.” He said, and laid a massive hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got enough experience with it myself. You’re lucky your armor managed to do as much for you as it did. The nanogel kept you alive long enough for Doc, Ivan and Two-Twelve to show up, after they dealt with that damned helo.” He said, and stopped. Nikita was looking down at herself, transfixed with memory and the feel of her torn, mending skin under her fingers. His fingers went under her chin, and he tilted her head up so that she’d look at him. “Nikita, your mom’s going to be pissed, no two ways about it. And part of it’s at you for getting in the situation to begin with. Get ready for it. But as for me, I’m just glad we’re getting you out of this hospital in a walker –“ he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin at his pun,” and not a casket.” Tears welled at the corners of Nikita’s eyes. Wordlessly, her arms went around her uncle’s frame as best they could, and he did the best he could without hurting her by accident. Uncle and niece stayed that way for a while, before the medic came padding around in his hospital exo. “Sorry to disturb, “ he began. “Sensors told us you were awake a while ago, but we also knew Hunter here was in the room. We informed your mom that you were awake, though, kid. She’s on her way.” He said, and he turned to leave, before looking back over his shoulder. “I advise the two of you brace for shock. She’s in a fine old fury.” Nikita gulped. What was the saying? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? It should have said ‘hell hath no fury like a mother enraged’. I’m beginning to think I should have stayed in… that place in my dream. She thought to herself, trying to dredge up the memories but mostly failing, only recalling warmth and comfort. She shook herself mentally. Ready or not, here it comes.

The presidential podium, after the announcement of the Universal Cure for Cancer. In a statement before the press today, President Reese heralded the scientists, biologists, chemists and doctors attached to the Cure project as heroes of the Federation, and, indeed, of humanity at large. The two doctors who headed the research effort were publicly presented with the Civil Heroism Medal, the highest non-military award that the government can give. President Reese promised that "this Cure will be manufactured and distributed far and wide, that all humankind can benefit from our good fortune. Gone are the days of a cancer diagnoses being almost a sentence of death, of survival being iffy unless the cancer is caught early in its development." The President is expected to make the day of the cure's announcement a national holiday. Hurricane dies out, cleanup and rescue operations begin Helicopters from the HS-1 squadron from LHD-1 San Antonio rescue stranded survivors from a rooftop in Florida. Fort Lauderdale, FL: Search and rescue operations begin in earnest as Hurricane Isabella spins itself out, leaving a path of destruction hundreds of miles wide. From the welldeck of the San Antonio, LCACs (Landing Craft, Air Cushioned), massive hovercrafts normally used to ferry troops and materiel ashore, bring food, medical supplies, and prefab housing units to designated landing zones the worst-affected zones in Florida and Alabama. They work in conduction with helicopter squadrons stationed on the same ship, whose primary task is to locate and rescue stranded survivors, bringing them to designated gathering places where they can be fed and their injuries seen to. Thousands of troops have been landed with heavy rescue equipment in hand, the most common of which are rigid inflatable boats, which are the most commonly used form of transport in the flooded areas left behind by the storm. Most of the personnel assigned are medical personnel, along with detachments of Military Police, working to restore public health and order. Initial casualty estimates have climbed into the thousands, and are expected to top out at a minimum of ten thousand. In some areas, the damage is total, almost as bad as a direct strike from an EF-5 tornado. There are currently no estimates on rebuilding time for the infrastructure alone.

The First Fleet, stationed in the Caribbean, moves towards the North Atlantic RV point, with the exception of the LHD San Antonio, currently detached on SAR ops in the wake of the hurricane which had hit the Gulf coast in recent weeks.The Federation, Enterprise, and Defiance battlegroups took the lead, separated by a hundred or more kilometers, each surrounded by shoals of AEGIS-equipped cruisers and destroyers, and silent, watchful SSNs prowled beneath the surface. Meanwhile, six divisions of the Federation Army made ready to participate in the ground exercise, bringing with them their complements of Sesks, Abrams, Patriots, THAADs, IFVs, Iron Dome units, artillery, and helicopters, et cetera ad nauseam. When asked how much of anything they were bringing, the only number given was "enough".

Marshal James Benson, Federal Marshals, sat once more ensconced in his office’s comfortable chair in Denver. A steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a half-eaten bagel in the other, he paused in his inspection of the image of the plaster casting which hung suspended above his desk. Dropping the bagel to the plate from whence it came, that hand flicked up to manipulate the hologram. It slowly spun, and then a two-fingered motion made with thumb and forefinger zoomed in on the spot which had caught his attention. The image he was viewing had been taken from the crash site in Colorado, and the casting was of the impact in the snow that had been so drenched in blood – human blood, as later lab analysis had borne out. It was strange blood, however. The genetic material was one-hundred-percent human, but tiny artificial metallic particles had been laced liberally throughout it, seemingly inert. Then further analysis under a microscope had revealed the particles to be nanometer-scale machines, no longer active, suspended in the frozen blood sample. But now, looking at the casting closely, Benson noticed something he hadn’t back on the day they’d come to investigate the site. Another finger-flick and the image magnified again, focusing on a part of the imprint near the upper breast. A hard, reversed set of imprints that looked like… “Looks like we’ve got something to go on now… What does it say?” he murmured, asking of himself. “Computer, mirror image.” He spoke, an order to the computer’s limited AI. “Mirroring.” Came the response, and no sooner had the words finished being spoken than the new, reversed image popped into existence in the hologram. “ ’0241’” Read the top row of characters. The bottom row read simply “Nyx.” “Nyx… Nyx… that sounds familiar. Computer, search ‘Nyx’. Historical references only.” “Searching. Search complete. Nyx: Greek Mythology, the personification of night. Born of Chaos, Nyx was purportedly powerful enough that Zeus feared her wrath.” “Hmm.” He thought to himself. He pulled that image off to the side, and reassigned focus to the overall image, looking at the contour of the plaster cast. Just like his first inspection in the bitter cold on that mountainside, the form the cast belied was full of hard, harsh angles and articulated joints. Irrationally, his first thought had been that the… victim, for the lack of a better term to describe someone who’d been attacked by a Comanche helicopter (as further investigation had identified it to be), had been some sort of cyborg or robot. But the name on the suit… the name. Robots had no use for fearful names, and they also didn’t bleed - especially not as much as the victim at the site had. Cyborg was still on the table, but… hold on. “Computer, magnify abdominal section. Freeze.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk. Something else he hadn’t noticed at the time – a small, almost spikelike protrusion into the abdomen, jagged edges about the protrusion. “The exit cavity.” He muttered. “Computer, make a record.” “You are on record.” “Marshal James Benson, Federal Marshals. Crash site subject appears to have been female, possibly with the callsign Nyx, as demonstrated by the cutaway of the upper right breastplate I’m attaching to this record.” He did that literally, moving the file to the record’s image. It attached. “I will continue my investigation and research, but I will note that I need more evidence to gain a fuller understanding and more basis to posit further hypothesis from. ” Making an across-the-throat gesture with his finger, the AI responded to the unspoken command and cut the recording. “Send that to HQ in OKC. “ “Sending… sent.” And now I wait for some sort of response, Benson thought to himself. And wait he did. For several weeks, he heard nothing back, despite making two more reports on the subject. After the fourth one went a week without reply, he got fed up, and called the Head Marshal of Colorado directly. “Jose Martinez, Federal Marshals. To whom am I speaking?” “James Benson, Federal Marshals. I’m assigned to the Breckenridge case.” “Ah. I think I know what you’re on the phone to talk about, Marshal, and I’ve been instructed already to inform you that the case is closed.” Benson blinked. Closed? “Closed, sir?” he asked aloud, his words echoing his thoughts. “It hasn’t been solved yet. We still don’t know who the subject –“ Martinez sighed. “Benson, all I know is that someone with a paygrade way above mine told me it was closed. That, as far as I’m concerned, is that. And that should be enough for you, too.” “But, sir –“ “End of discussion. Don’t push it, James. Have a good one, you hear?” With that, the line went dead, and Marshal James Benson’s mind went into high gear.

Hurricane Isabella strikes Florida, Alabama; PFS San Antonio deployed to assist in search and rescue efforts - Fort Lauderdale, FL- With a swift and violent ferocity, Hurricane Isabella has devastated the eastern half of the Gulf Coast, with portions of the western section likewise affected. Hundreds of thousands of homes have been confirmed to be destroyed, with current damage estimates in the double-digit billions as a bare minimum. The Category Five storm spun up roughly a week ago, then as Tropical Storm Isabella, near Tikal's coast. It continued northeast, gaining strength and speed until it grew into the monster that smashed into the Alabaman and Floridan coast today. The storm is expected to reach as far inland as Tennessee and northern Georgia, though the main body of its strength is already spent. The PFS San Antonio, the name-giver to the San Antonio-class LHD (Landing Helicopter Dock) amphibious assault ships, has been deployed on the tail end of the storm along with a number of Federation fleet tenders bearing supplies and rescue workers to aid in the affected areas search and rescue efforts. The 45th Infantry Division out of Oklahoma has been deployed along with the San Antonio to provide the manpower required to aid the local relief services. A large supply of inflatable habitats, originally built for use on other planets and as part of the ongoing space station project, have been donated by aerospace consortium Ruiz-Sharpton of Roswell, NM. Each habitat is capable of comfortably holding up to six people, and, being inflatable, can be deployed in waterlogged areas with the assistance of balance-maintaining pontoons strapped to the hull.

Confirmed.

Somewhere, flying low and fast over the Colorado countryside, a doctor, a medic and a pilot ferry a wounded trainee back home... “I need suction, here! Come on!” The sound of a small, surgically clean vacuum coming to life in the transport's medical bay breaks the monotonous drone of the transport's massive engines. “On it, on it!” “Quick, sutures! I need the replacements, and I need sutures.” “Here!” A clatter of tools, and a faint, wet, squelching sound as something is removed, followed by a similar sound as something else is put in in its place. “She’s fading…” “Start a new infusion. Use your own blood if you have to. I showed you how to do that already.” More rustling of tools and implements greet the command. “Already halfway there, Doc. I hope the stupid kid’s worth it.” “You try telling Nike about how you let her daughter die. Just let me know ahead of time so I can be outside of the blast radius.” “I might take you up on it if I didn’t think you were being absolutely literal... aaaand the IV’s hooked in. She’s stabilizing.” “The replacements are snipped in and the nanites are taking hold. I’ll start closing her up once the bleeding stops.” “On a scale of one to ten, how pissed do you think Nike will actually be, Doc?” “I’m not sure, Ivan. On the one hand, nobody messes with Mama’s babies. On the other hand, we already killed most of the motherfuckers responsible. On the other other hand, Nyx here did exactly what Nike told her not to do – go hunting after the Project people without backup. So on a scale of one to ten, I think somewhere around nine-point-five – I’m just not sure who she’ll be pissed off at.” “Shiiiit.” “I’d say that’s about the size of it, yeah. Bleeding’s stopped, closing her up. She’s gonna have a nasty scar there, same as Mom.” “That family has a thing about running afoul of attack choppers, dunnit?” “Nah, they have a thing about coming up short of cover to hide in at the wrong moment. The proverbial lightning’s struck twice now. Last stitch in. I’m upping her dosage to keep her out for a few days. She’s going to be in a world of hurt when she wakes up.” “And if that’s not the greatest understatement in the last half-century, I’m not sure what is.” The pilot breaks in. “Thirty minutes til we touch down at the Homestead, gentlemen. How’s our special guest?” “Nyx’s trending stable, Two-Twelve. We just finished closing her up; she’s on enough valium to kill a horse at this point.” “Good to hear, Miguel. That’s nano-controlled slow release, right? Not old-fashioned.” “Right in one. I do actually know what I’m doing, occasionally, Two-Twelve.” “That ain’t what your wife said to me the other night, Miguel.” “Ha-ha. Very funny, flyboy. She prefers helpful, healing types –“ “You mean quacks-“ “Helpful, healing types to laze-abouts like yourself.” “I’m wounded.” “You should be. Now shut up and fly.” “Sir, yes sir!” “Cheeky bastard.”

The two Acts regarding the Admittance of States would be passed by the Senate, and signed into law by President Reece. The Act concerning the Creation of a Lighthouse Authority would also be passed with the amendments suggested, namely the equality of station and cooperation with the Federal Marshals and all clauses related thereto.

Riots in Ferguson, MO.; Federal Guard moved in to dismantle FPD Ferguson, MO: After nearly a week of riots following the shooting death of an 18-year-old black man at the hands of an FPD police officer, the Federal government finally stepped in, arresting officers involved both in the shooting and in the blunders that followed, dismantling the police department with the intent of rebuilding it anew under better leadership, with a stronger emphasis on the use of non-lethal solutions and recognizing when a man is surrendering, running away, and/or not posing a threat. Psychological profiling of officers and prospective officers will become mandatory, with the intent of weeding out hot-heads and those with either racist attitudes or poor judgement.

First components of new station launched Space-loving Federation citizens flock to Galveston to watch rocket launch series. Galveston, TX - Thousands of space enthusiasts gathered in Galveston today to watch six launches in the space of 9 hours, the largest series of consecutive space launches in history. The launches were in support of the Federation's HiOSTAR (High Orbital Space Telescope, Auxiliary, and Research) station project. The first module launched into orbit was the central hub, a roughly six meter diameter sphere to which all further launches were to connect. The next five launches contained a habitat module, a science module, two sets of enormous solar panel arrays, and a greenhouse module for the study of plant growth in orbit. The first crew was launched shortly thereafter aboard a Federation Crew Dragon capsule: Captain Joseph Hillman, FAF; Lieutenant (jg) Irena Karpovna, FN; and Lieutenant Craig Tillman, FMC. They are expected to be joined by another three crew members as more modules are launched into orbit. The crew is currently tasked with completing the connection of the various modules, linking them all together via the hub module.

Plains Federation Navy commissions new ships First Fleet created, fanfare ensues Galveston, Texas - The Federation Navy held commissioning ceremonies today for its new units, among them the supercarriers Federation and Enterprise. All in all, more than two dozen ships were put into the service of the Federation, among them cruisers, destroyers, landing craft, and support vessels, as part of the multi-year development cycle which has culminated in their construction and commissioning. The ships are expected to undergo sea trials within the month, and should enter full service within the year.

Far away, in a darkened room, two figures kneeled in front of a shadow-shrouded figure, themselves bathed in light. “Well?” asked the figure, in a guttural accent far removed from the American continent. “Sir, the target escaped, and it seems they also took one of the subjects with them –“ said one of the kneeling figures. The shadowed figure grunted, moving a bit. “And just how did you let that happen?” it asked, voice silky with hidden danger. The kneeling figure didn’t catch the tone. “We didn’t, sir, it was –“ That one never finished speaking. With a movement that was sensed than seen, the shadowed figure drew a revolver, the barrel coming to a rest level with the speaker’s head, and the room lit up slightly with the flash and rang with the report of the weapon. The speaker toppled forwards, grey matter and red mist coating the floor behind him. The shadow figure moved the weapon’s business end to point at the other figure, the one who hadn’t spoken. “Now, suppose you tell me how our enemies managed to abscond with our test subject under your supervision?” the figure asked again, in the same silky tone. The woman swallowed, eyes fixed on the barrel of the gun centered between them. “Sir, one of the guards fell asleep at his post in the sensor room. I… I didn’t realize that he was sleeping when I made my rounds. He was sitting straight upright, and appeared to be looking down at his console. Nothing seemed to be out of order, so I continued on without making a further check.” For a moment, she prepared herself to die as the gun didn’t move, sending a half-remembered prayer winging off as she did so. Then the shadow made up its mind, and the gun disappeared. “Honesty.” It said, the silken menace gone from its voice. “I do value it. It is rare enough I find it.” The woman released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, as silently as she could. Then her breath caught again as the shadow continued. “You will bring me this sentry and I will deal with him. Is this understood?” She swallowed. The young man was about to receive a death sentence, and it would be her doing, as surely as if she’d pulled the trigger herself. But it was him or her, and in the end, self-preservation won out. “Yes, sir.” “You are dismissed.” The shadow said. The woman had to remind herself to walk normally as she rose and left the audience chamber, without a backward glance toward her dead companion. When the door closed, the shadow turned its head, and spoke to no one that could be seen. “Lights.” And then there was bright, white light in the chamber. The figure revealed himself to be a brown-haired, brown eyed man of middling height and nondescript features, a pair of glasses perched on his nose, giving off less the air of a killer and more that of a schoolmaster. The only thing that detracted from that image was the perfectly pressed, well-kempt field-gray uniform he wore, bare of further decoration save for twin lightning bolts on both sides of his collar.

On a normally quiet, un-disturbed mountainside in Colorado, one could glory in the beauty of nature, meditate and center oneself, camp, hike, ski… or you could also be among the hundred-odd brightly dressed personnel charged with securing and investigating a crash site whose burning wreckage still marked the spot where something had died. Marshal James Benson of the Federal Marshals puffed his way up the mountain towards the wreck in the bright, clear dawn of a late-autumn day, leaving the warm confines of his Ford all-wheel-drive to pass through the hastily erected barrier between the crash site and the outside world. The weather up on the mountainside was cold, bone-chillingly cold, and he looked – and felt – more along the lines of an arctic explorer than the big-city detective he was, lost in his bright-yellow subzero gear. Exacerbating that fact was the snowfall that had occurred just before the incident on the mountain had occurred and had had the good graces to end before it got too deep to pass wheeled vehicles through, though it still left drifts of loose snow up to his knees. As he drew near, an equally bright-colored and Eskimo-like figure standing next to what looked for all the world like an oversized Radio Flyer waved him over. Taking that as the sign it was, he trudged up the slope to meet whoever it was that lay under that coat. “Marshal Benson?” the figure asked, a woman’s muffled voice issuing from somewhere within the gear she was lost in. “That’s me.” He replied, voice equally muffled by many layers. “And you?” “Sheriff Santos. Pleased to meet you. I’d shake your hand but that’s contra-indicated at this point. I don’t think I’ve got the articulation in this thing to do it.” She replied, a wry note in her voice that was almost lost in the wind and layers of clothing. Benson caught it nonetheless, and smiled, despite knowing she couldn’t see it. “Likewise, Sheriff. What have we got here?” Benson asked of the good Sheriff. “Marshal, I’ll be damned if I know. “ Sheriff Santos said, bluntly, and turned to gesture at the still-burning wreckage up ahead. “Whatever that thing is, it’s burning so hot we can’t get close enough to ID it, and our firefighting gear freezes up before we can use it. Regardless of what it is, though, we’re getting a fairly good idea of what it was doing.” She said, and reached down into the wagon, pulling free a cylinder of polished metal almost as long as her forearm and bigger around. She handed it to him, and Benson inspected it carefully, turning it end over end. On the closed end of the cylinder, it read “30mm x 113mm APFSDS”. While that random string of numbers and letters might not mean something to most people, it did mean something to the ballistic forensics expert Benson had been and the veteran he was. “My God, whatever that is –“ he said, gesturing at the wreck himself, “ I’d bet my next paycheck it was firing this at whatever it was shooting at. Sheriff, this is an anti-tank round – the Army uses them on their Apache attack choppers.” The eyes behind Santos’ goggles grew wide. “Jesucristo.” She muttered to herself, barely audible in the wind. Just then, an investigator came – well, not quite running, but the closest one could come dressed as they were – up to Santos and Benson. “Sheriff! I found something you’re going to want to look at.” Santos nodded. “Take us there, McCoy.” She said, starting after the investigator, Benson hot on her heels. Around a hundred yards away from where the wreckage lay, the investigator stood and beckoned Benson and Santos over. When they caught up, Benson immediately saw what had caused McCoy to alert them. A swath of snow was misted red, making a rough cone up to where an indentation in the snow showed where something – or someone – had hit the ground, hard. A pool of blood rested in the middle of the indentation, roughly where a person’s abdomen would be. Something looked wrong, however. Benson kneeled down, as the investigator resumed his documentation of the area with his camera, and paid close attention to what he was looking at. The indentation in the snow resembled a human, but only in a general sense. As he looked closer at it, he saw that all the limbs were angular, the edges of the indentation too even and sharp to be natural. Then he started to notice patterns in the packed snow – grooves and sharp edges and other things besides. He wished he could scratch his head. “This doesn’t make sense,” he said aloud to the Sheriff, who was making her own inspection on the other side. “The proportions are right to be a person, but the shape is just… wrong.” He said, and looked around. “And see here,” he said, pointing over to a very widely spaced set of tracks that also led to the indent. “These strides are damn near forty feet long, too. Or at least before the aircraft over there hit whatever – whoever this was.” “And there’s more than one set of tracks, at that.” Santos said, pointing out additional footprints in the snow. “This looks like there were two or three others besides this one. These look like some kind of boot, and every other groove has a deep cleat on it – perfect for snow work, but not if you’re moving as fast as this one was, unless you’ve got a lot of muscle behind it.” She said, and went over to look at the longer strides. After a moment, she exclaimed – “And that one’s prints have the same indentations as the rest!” Looking around, between the tracks, at the place where something had rested not long ago, bleeding massively, at the wreckage, and at the indents the other mystery aircraft had left when it landed, led to far more questions than answers for one Marshal James Benson. What the hell happened here?

Strange disturbances in Colorado Breckenridge residents report odd noises and lights west of city, near mountains Residents of Breckenridge, Colorado, were awakened in the late hours of the night last night by a what some residents described as a 'cacaphony' of noise. Others reported seeing lights in the nearby mountains, accompanied by sustained flashes and the sound of thunder. Local UFO enthusiasts insist it was some sort of visitation, while the veterans in the area, after having watched a video taken by miss Adrienne Benavides from her house on the outskirts of town, near the mountains in question, said the lights and sounds remind them more of an attack helicopter attacking a target on the ground. Her video and others showed corresponding flashes on the surface of the mountainsides, which seemed to validate the veterans' hypotheses. None of them could offer an opinion as to what it would be that it was attacking, if it were an attack helicopter, as there is nothing in the mountain range. Army and Air Force helicopter aviation officials have denied the presence of any helicopters from their respective branches in that area, much less attack helicopters, at the time of the disturbances. UPDATE: Further investigation of video taken by other amateur videographers in the area has revealed something Benavides' video missed due to not being in a proper angle to see capture it - after approximately twenty seconds of fire from the mystery aircraft, the aircraft seems to hover, judging by lack of movement of its running lights, before suddenly itself flashing into a brilliant fireball. One of the videos captured a large shape seeming to descend to a position near where the mystery aircraft was firing before its destruction, moments after the aircraft in question exploded. Federation personnel and local law enforcement quickly moved to secure the area. At the time of this writing, no official statements have been released by local or federal spokespeople.