“We did get one,” First Officer Calista repeated again, almost pleading. She knew the news was not good, and her voice showed it.

Domina Alia Lahidan was not speaking. She had been in a good mood as her old friend Junior Domina Chohoa Awda arrived with her staff to present their results. The red sun cast a soft glow through the high windows into Lahidan’s large, well-appointed chambers. The setting was comforting and softly surreal. Lahidan had felt this was a good omen, and had been expecting news of progress.

Now Lahidan was pacing rapidly back and forth. She went over the details of Calista’s report in her mind. Over and over. Every detail. The Griffons had not retrieved the crystal at Belli, which was their target. The strike team they had sent had been completely destroyed, for reasons as yet unknown. Only the news of the death of Magnus mitigated their failures. But even this had been clumsily handled; it had gained too much attention and may have alerted the Humans that something more was afoot.

Lahidan knew First Officer Calista was a key member of Junior Domina Awda’s staff and had been the one to prepare the final report. Calista was a promising young officer, advancing more rapidly than her peers and on the fast track to being a junior domina herself. Now Awda had asked her to present the negative results, feeling her reputation would soften the impact with Lahidan. She was wrong.

            Argyle paced back and forth on the bridge of his flagship the Claymore.  He was edgy, irritable, and just plain nasty.  His crew left him alone with his thoughts. Smart.  The death of Magnus left him shaken.  Just the reminder of mortality he didn’t need, he thought.  He wondered what really happened.  Not that he would find out any time soon he mused.  The note in his hands was even more disturbing.  H.T. really knew how to get a message across.

            That was the problem.  He message was totally unlike H.T. in all but one respect, love of gain and glory.  “Come Bruce, I need you.  I’ll forget about Sirius if you’ll just come.”  The rest was full of enticements, promise of adventure and riches.  That was vintage H.T.  “Forget about Sirius,” muttered Argyle aloud?  Never, he thought, unless-----. His train of thought was broken by the meowing of a cat coming  through the hatch from the main passageway.

White was a color for garbage scows and passenger liners.  Blue was for rich men’s yachts. Red was best for the peripatetic bordellos that prowled both the depths of depravity and well-heeled systems throughout the Expanse. Green was a political statement.  Only black would do, thought Argyle.  A deep, glossy, obsidian black.  That was the proper color for a scout ship.  Black as night; black as Mergatroid’s heart; black as his mood as he considered how far behind schedule he was.

Nothing had gone well for Bruce of Argyle and his companions. 

A trip wasted, time spent, frustration.  No end of frustration. 

First the P drive began to give him headaches because some fool technician had calibrated the new model drive for the use of regular adepts.  Argyle and company were far more powerful than “normal” adepts and this resulted in dangerous disorientation for everyone who used it.  Short was able to repair the error, but this put him in bad sorts with the others as he continually griped about the lack of technical aptitude of his companions. 

Chapter 1

            Sirius sat back in his luxurious recliner.  He shivered for a moment unsure whether or not it was because of the cool office temperature or because of his narrow escape from disaster.  He hadn’t foreseen this, not this way at least. He got up and opened up a scotch, a good one then sat back down again.  “God,”   he muttered softly, “Don’t let this happen again. He sat, drank, and after awhile, stopped shivering.  The scotch was taking effect and his mind wandered back to when this began. 

            He had been station master for almost fifteen years, here in the far north, watching the cargo come in and go out.  Not a bad job mused Sirius, not bad at all.  The money was good and the bribes from the Trilar were utterly fantastic.  Too bad he had to pass on so much of it to the board of directors. Oh well, they let him steal a little too.  Not much, but it sure helped his bank account, his secret one that is, the one on Tristar.

Following is an experiment of several types for some of the NCV participators. It is an alternative version of a possible battle between the North and the South during America's Civil War. The two sides are drawn up and do battle on a large tabletop using miniature soldiers and equipment. Strict rules governing what was possible using the technologies, strategies, and tactics of the times are employed. The encounter is recorded in writing and photographs. And now we present it here on the Internet for your enjoyment and possible comments. Its also just another way of having some fun with modern toys.

A Living Lunacy Novella

Raid!

"Report!" directed The Jackal.

"The Emstar escort was destroyed in the first few minutes. The Cabernet fleet scattered and ran. No Commonwealth ships were present," reported her brother Castor in a matter of fact tone.

Castor was the captain of the Anubus, The Jackal's flagship.

"Sixteen prizes including six fat juicy Emstar freighter carrying arms for the Cabernetians." said Pollux in a joyful tone. "What we can't use ourselves should fetch a pretty price on the Cretan spot market."

Pollux was his sister's chief of staff.

Both the brothers were identical identified only by the fact that one wore a red coverall and the other a blue one.

The Jackal looked thoughtful. "Our intelligence indicated the Commonwealth had sent fleet units to help the convoys. I wonder where they are."

"I have picket ships posted to look for any re-enforcements." Stated Pollux.

The Jackal nodded.

"Put me through to the flotilla." She ordered.

Seven images appeared on her screen.

"Comrades We need to wrap things up and get out. Each of you decide what to keep and then destroy anything else."

(See a map of the area of space where the action takes place here .)