first_runihura | Recent Entries

Following the medic, Tarik crossed the encampment. The heat under the camouflage nets was stifling, too humid for the temperature-control units on their uniforms to handle properly, but every little bit that added to their chances of going undetected was welcome, so no one complained much.

"How is the situation with our wounded, doctor?" A small sigh was the only response at first, the medic turning a weary face towards Tarik as they walked.

"It's a mixed thing. We have two dozen patients or so, a handful of whom I seriously doubt will get back to our lines alive." There was genuine distress in the doctor's voice. Medicine was the pride of Haqqislam's scientific efforts; in a society where the search for knowledge was considered a holy pursuit and a moral obligation, medicine was held as the foremost of sciences, the cure and defense of the body and mind, just as faith and religious study were the cure and defense of the soul. Even in the frontlines, Haqqislamite medics weren't used to seeing patients slip out of their grasp like this. "We are running out of supplies at an alarming rate, and the bacteria in this jungle seem to be able to shrug off huge doses of antibiotics. There are clean flesh wounds that wouldn't pose any risk in Bourak, or any other normal planet, but we have to keep a close eye on them here" He shook his head as he opened the flap of the tent acting as infirmary.
Tarik stopped just inside the tent, gazing around in the cold bluish light of the portable sterilizing lamps that bathed the whole scene. The wounded men and women looked back at him, and he knew that most of them recognized him immediately, except maybe some civilians and the two Nomads who, even here, kept their distance from everybody else.

Before he could speak, one of the wounded stood up carefully. His left leg was missing from the knee down, the lower half of his thigh encased in a stabilizing sheath, a plastic sleeve with a small control unit attached to the outside. It was the best a medic could do on the field when there was no chance to reattach an amputated limb. The sheath kept the nerve endings and the blood vessels as healthy as possible and administered treatment to minimize the chances of rejection towards a synthetic or vat-grown replacement. The man wore the olive-and-tan jacket of the Halqa mechanized units over clean scrubs, the stripes on his upper arms denoting a veteran NCO, and in his eyes Tarik saw what this conversation was going to be about. He had seen eyes like that before, in many a desperate situation. Sometimes he felt it was a curse, to look in the eyes of a man who just learned what it usually takes to become a hero. The man walked slowly with the help of a crutch, and Tarik strode up to meet him halfway.

"Amir." The sergeant saluted and stood at attention as best he could. "I'm sergeant-major Khaddaoui. My... Companions have asked me to speak in behalf of all." Tarik could feel the tension rising, the many eyes on them, some of them as hard and determined as Khaddaoui's, some of them nervous, or frightened. Khaddaoui took a deep breath and continued. "We have heard the details of Colonel Ibn-Hussein's plan. We have been riding on the Luziges so far, but apparently they are needed for an attack now. We have also heard that the column needs to move as fast as possible." Tarik didn't dare interrupt the man as he spoke. "In all, we concluded the last thing everyone will need is a dozen badly-wounded people slowing everyone down. We don't want to be a liability." He saw Tarik's mouth twitch, lifted a hand to stop him from replying. "Sir, we have thought this over, we know the implications, we just won't risk someone else dying because of us. What we ask is nothing unheard of, Amir." Tarik nodded slowly and looked around, raising his voice.

"I take it you are all in agreement?" His gaze fell on the two Nomads. He was pretty sure about his own people, but as much as he wanted to think the soldier mentality was similar, the Nomads were, after all, a mercenary force. Survival was probably the number one priority in their book when not defending their own Motherships. The Alguaciles looked at each other and then shrugged, the one who seemed in worse condition leaning up slightly to whisper in his companion's ear. She smirked and nodded, looking back up at Tarik "Says he's still good enough to aim and pull a trigger, unless you Haqqis plan to keep on talking until he dies of his fucking wounds." There were some chuckles in response to that, and even Sergeant Khaddaoui smiled faintly.

"Very well. I'll talk to the Halqa officers. I'm sure they have several support weapons they can spare. Also... Any of you who have had a personality recording in the last few years, please send your data to my comlog." He gave the mental command and the list of names. Just four out of a dozen, one of them the badly-wounded Nomad. "As soon as I get back to our lines I'll have these data forwarded and all the weight of the Khawarij put behind the request for your Resurrection." He swallowed to try and undo the knot that had lodged itself down his throat. "And then I'll meet each one of you in person and tell you exactly the kind of hero that you are." He looked around. "The rest of you... I will meet again too, God willing."

"I just hope it will be a little further along the line."

The five officers stood around a campaign projector under Colonel Ibn-Hussein's tent, the amber glow of the holographic map bathing their faces. All of them did their best to appear calm, but the signs were there for anyone who wanted to see. The march through enemy territory had been nerve-wracking enough, but as they approached the moment of crossing into the no-man's land tension had been mounting. Being so close, with only one last obstacle to face, and yet at the highest risk of being discovered was running everyone ragged.

Tarik looked around at his fellow officers. Ibn-Hussein held command of the column, not just because he was the highest in rank, but because his Halqa made up the bulk of it and it had been his leadership that had kept them safe and brought them so close to the human lines. His beard, usually trimmed, had crept up his cheeks over the last few days, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Old Salar looked as craggy-faced and impassible as always, standing one step back and to the side to show just how little he enjoyed the company of superior officers, as a kovnik of the Hunzakut rangers should. Captain Mokarian of the Ghulam infantry regiments, a wiry woman in her thirties with henna-red hair and weary eyes, would lead the column on the final run. And finally, clad in her gray and russet combat uniform, the featureless faceplate of her helmet down, one of the two Intruder commandos was there in representation of the Corregidor Nomads. She had uncloaked the name tag on the right side of her ballistic jacket. If it could be trusted, her name was Márquez.

"So that's the situation, officers. We have watchtowers here and here" Ibn-Hussein's finger touched the holographic map, causing tiny markers to appear on both sides of the chasm. "and the remains of a blown-up bridge here. The rest of the line seems to be made of modular fortifications, lightly manned. Still they would delay us too much and make us easy prey. Crossing the ravine is still the quickest option. There's also a heavily wooded ridge overlooking the ravine from the East, the direction of the nearest Sneak encampment, if the new intel that the Khawarij provided is good. That is where we should be expecting reinforcements to come from, so you will be deployed to ambush them as soon as they leave camp. Also, that ridge looks like a perfect spot to place snipers, so we better send a few of our own hunters to root them out. How long do you think your men will need to set those repeaters in place, kovnik?"

Old Salar tilted his head slightly to the side, scratching thoughtfully at the scraggly beard that covered his cheek. "I would say fifteen minutes from the moment we leave the column, but let's just give it twenty to be sure." Ibn-Hussein nodded and turned to the Nomad.

"How long will your men need, Sergeant?" Márquez's expressionless faceplate remained immobile as she spoke. "They have looked over your plan and I must say it has made you quite popular among the engineers. At least, they laughed quite a bit." There was a wry amusement in her tone. "But they say they can do it in ten minutes if your drivers can do what you say they can. Now, about the armed escort..."
Captain Mokarian typed a quick command on her wrist-mounted comlog. "We have three Janissary HI with fully-functional suits and a fourth whose suit has severely impaired mobility, but could still hold a static position. They are all armed with Bourkan machineguns. We also have six Naffatûn troopers. Their incinerators can clear an area around your position, and they are always good for close-range defense."
Márquez nodded. "Plus a dozen Alguaciles, me and Sergeant Alves." The red faceplate turned towards Tarik and Old Salar. "If your men can keep the bulk of the Sneaks off our backs, we should be able to hold long enough."

It was Tarik's turn. He traced a three-pronged line on the hologram. "We will launch a diversion attack on the enemy camp. My Khawarij's mobility and the camo support of the Hunzakut should enable us to mask our actual numbers and make them believe it's a full-fledged attack, to draw as much of their forces after us, away from the column. By then, hopefully, the repeaters will have relayed my message and we will get some support sent from our lines so we can fall back in with the Hunzakut and steal back to our own lines."

Ibn-Hussein sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his large hands. None of them had got much sleep for the past couple days, but the stocky colonel was showing signs of weariness for the first time. "Fine. We all know it isn't the best of plans. It hinges too much on several groups of men performing bloody heroics, but" He smiled, suddenly, and the bright flash of white teeth amid his black beard had a strange uplifting quality. "I've always said the Sword of God doesn't lack in heroes. Now I want honest opinions, sirs, madams. What do you think?"

Mokarian nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "It's a good enough plan, given the circumstances. Even if everything goes wrong and we can't cross, we can take those towers and hold the ravine until reinforcements arrive. There would be losses, but I can see much worse possibilities if we lag around here. We are getting reports of a large force of Grunts moving in, one day behind us but gaining slowly."
Old Salar shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't know about heroics, but I've seen your Halqa do some hardly believable things with those little tanks of theirs. And if the Red Nomads build as well as they fight, I can believe they will lay that bridge for us."
Márquez pressed a button on her comlog. "You heard it all, sir?" The arm-mounted unit projected a serious, professional voice, all personal characteristics carefully removed from it to make identification impossible. "Loud and clear. Colonel, your plan is what we call a Tomcat job, but considering the alternative it's not like we have much choice. We're in."
Tarik only needed to nod. The Khawarij's role in the plan was dangerous, but it was precisely the kind of work they were supposed to do. Ibn-Hussein looked around at them and smiled again, a smaller, less flashy smile. "Good. You all know your parts, then. Let's get this in motion."

Just as they were leaving the tent, a man in the tan fatigues of the Ghulam infantry approached Tarik. The red half-moon surmounting crossed swords on his chest insignia marked him as a frontline medic. "Amir?" Tarik nodded in acknowledgment. "Some of the wounded men want to talk to you."

Current Location: Paradiso

Tarik walked to the place where the Hunzakut rangers sat together, apart from the rest of the troops. There were half a dozen of them sitting or crouching in a wide circle around a portable heating unit the size of an ammunition pouch, but Tarik knew there would be at least half again as many standing watch somewhere close at hand, hidden from view.

As he moved closer, the younger scouts got up to greet him, while the older ones remained sitting or squatting, showing just how little the presence of the leader of the Khawarij meant to them. Of course the members of the Hunzakut scout companies weren't all descendants of the original Hunza tribes anymore, but a huge majority of them came from the areas of the Gabqar mountains in Bourak which had been settled by colonists from the Hunza Valley on Earth. Further settlers had found a local culture already adapted to life in the arid, labyrinthine range of mountains and quickly became integrated with it. Thus the name had stuck as a cultural, rather than an ethnic label. When the Sword of God started to recruit men from the Gabqar mountains to form companies of scouts and skirmishers, the old tribal denomination was naturally transferred to the regiment, along with many of the culture and customs of their hunters.

Tarik grinned thinly at the show of old-school etiquette from the mountain tribes. He was an armed visitor, and as such he would always be shown a cold, aloof sort of courtesy at first. He stopped a few paces away from the half-circle of men, his hands visible and well away from his weapons. He nodded, the smile still on his face. One of the older men, probably an officer, though it was hard to tell since the Hunzakut seldom wore their uniforms unaltered for long, nodded back.

"Good eve, Amir. Why do we have the pleasure?" Tarik looked around. He caught a glimpse of movement high among the branches of one of Paradiso's strange, tangled trees, but that was all. They were good at their trade.

"My mission wasn't just to meet with this column, kovnik, it was also to help you back to safe ground." The officer smirked crookedly and looked around. Instantly, three men who had been hiding not fifty paces from the group deactivated the camouflage patterns of their uniforms and adopted a more relaxed position.

"Amir, my men are fed up with running. They want to stop and do what they do best. They want to hunt these aliens, stalk them, harass them. Safe ground is all good for the regular infantry. Let them have it." Tarik shook his head, looking at the ring of hard, rugged faces that looked back at him.

"If I may be honest, that is a foolish decision, kovnik. The aliens chose Paradiso. They chose this planet to start their invasion, and they did so because it suited them. We need to contain them, and then your talents will be put to good use finding out about them. You will have plenty of hunting to do, but right now there is another mission for your men. An important one." The Hunza officer nodded. "Your men carry positionable comm repeaters, don't they?" The only answer was one of the younger men producing a foot-long rod of dull metal from a long, slim pouch on the side of his trousers. Tarik knew the contraption. The rod telescoped into a point with enough force to be set into most building materials, and a small relay antenna unfolded from the top. They were used to relay coordinates for navigation, and also to augment the range of electronic warfare operatives. "Good. In a few hours we will be staging a distraction, your men and mine. The Khawarij will mount a mock attack on an enemy position and you will give us sniper support and ambush any small enemy force sent to intercept us. But before that, I need at least five of your men to place repeaters at certain coordinates."

Tarik didn't allow himself a smile, though he knew he had piqued the Hunzakut's interest. The officer nodded thoughtfully, looking around at his men. "At least five?" Now Tarik grinned a little.

"It would work better with more, but we need five at the very least. Then you will help us stage the distraction and hopefully cover our retreat back to friendly lines. And then, I promise you we will start planning how to return every blow that these aliens have dealt us in the last few days." There was a sharp edge to Tarik's grin, a deep twinkle of bloodthirst in his eye. Feelings the Hunzakut could relate to. The old officer stood up and saluted.

"Very well, Amir. Let's go and discuss the whole operation with the Colonel. I guess there's no way around it." There was an amused little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The Hunza were known for their lack of love for the chain of command. Tarik nodded at the assembled scouts once more and then he turned back towards Ibn Hussein's command post, followed by the Hunza.

They sat in a group, slightly apart from the rest of the troops. Most of them wore the spacesuit-like uniform of the Alguaciles, the line infantry of the former prison-ship Corregidor, buckled up snugly despite the humid heat of the jungle. The others were dressed in a mix of work clothes and scavenged military hardware, and there were one man and one woman clad in the heavier ballistic armor of the Intruder assault commandos, the smooth dark red faceplates of their helmets closed down over their faces.

Tarik stopped a few paces from them and nodded in greeting. "Salaam" Most of the Nomads nodded back, and there were a few murmured answers and even a "salaam" or two in response. Despite having confronted groups of Nomads before, the variety in their looks still surprised him some. Back home in Bourak no one had really light skin. Genetics didn't have as much to do with it as the melanin-enhancing treatments necessary to function comfortably in the unforgiving sun, the same treatments that had been the very beginnings of Haqqislam's thriving bio-medical industry. The Corregidorans, though, were of a bewildering variety. Even though the original inhabitants had come mostly from South American and East African stock, the sordid origin and checkered history of their nation-ship had brought in a lot of ethnic variation. And it wasn't like the Nomads conformed to what Nature intended. Tarik counted at least one soldier with pitch-black skin and dark red eyes and another one with artificial inserts under the skin of her face that gave her cheekbones and jawline a bluish sheen. He noticed a faint smile curling the corners of his mouth. He couldn't help liking these people. They were tough, rough and loudmouthed, but when the shooting started they fell into a well-trained military discipline that made them into one of the deadliest fighting forces in the Human Sphere.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush. I've worked with you before, I know you aren't going to let me know who your commanding officer is. I'm fine with that. I'll just give you an overview of what we need and leave you to decide whether you are interested or not." He paused, looking at the faces before him. The workers seemed a tad nervous, specially the younger ones. The older had no doubt seen their share of combat already. "I know that Corregidor has some of the best combat engineers available. Of course I don't know if there are any of those among you but I know something else about your engineers, both military and civilians. I know that all of them can lay a bridge under enemy fire, if they have solid supports and a decent covering fire." Another pause, and still no questions from the Nomads, in fact not a single word. At least hey hadn't told him to fuck off yet.

"That's quite precisely what we need. There will be armed support, the best we can provide in the current circumstances." Now one of the Alguaciles raised his hand, a wry little smirk on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt, chief, but what does that mean, exactly?" Tarik smiled a tad wider and shrugged faintly before answering.

"A couple HMGs carried by Janissaries in power armor, a platoon of Naffatum with heavy flamethrowers for close-quarters defense and sniper support. Plus anything you can provide yourselves and whatever we manage to pack into two Luzige light APCs. I know it ain't much, but it's what we got. I'm not gonna lie to you because neither of us is stupid. The probabilities of completing this assignment without losing a few men is practically nil, but right now it's the only chance we see of getting back to our own lines." He made another little pause, surveying the group assembled before him. Still not a hint who the commanding officer could be. He wouldn't have expected any less.

"I'll be at the command post with the Colonel when you come up with a decision."

Tarik and Colonel Ibn-Hussein sat under the camouflage net, sipping their Touareg tea thoughtfully. The small elevation they were on offered a good view of the camp, as the men packed and prepared to start in a few hours.

"So, what is the composition of your column, Colonel? So far I've seen most of your men are either your own Halqas or members of the Ghulam Infantry."

Ibn-Hussein nodded. "I have almost one full Company of Halqa, all that's left from my battallion. We are down to two transports, though, so we're using them to carry a few civilians and those wounded who are too weak for walking. Aside from that, we have men from several different Ghulam regiments, numbering... Almost another Company, I'd say. They have lost almost all their officers and morale isn't good, but your presence has improved it."

"Any specialists?" Tarik looked down over the camp, his eyes quickly scanning several troops that didn't look like either Halqa or Ghulam regular infantry.

"We have a platoon of Naffatum infantry with heavy flamethrowers, but I'd rather not have to use them in this jungle. They could come in handy to clean fortifications once we get to the enemy lines. We have a small bunch of Hunzakut rangers. Undisciplined, but great trackers, infiltrators and skilled at setting traps for a perimeter. Three of them have sniper training, too."

Tarik smirked a bit. The hillsmen from the Gabqar mountains were a difficult people to deal with, but the scouts they lent to the Sword of Allah were a fine bunch. If you didn't mind a cutthroat streak in your men. Still, their presence probably was one of the reasons the column had been able to dodge the enemy for so long. "Power Armor?"

"We have the remains of a fireteam of Janissaries. One of them got shot down by... Something, we didn't get to see it properly. Another suffered serious damage to his armor's systems and had to scrap most of it because he couldn't handle the weight without the augmentation. The other two are fine, though."

"Still, two fully equipped Janissaries add a lot of firepower and endurance." Tarik pointed to a small group of men who stayed away from the rest most of the time. Their uniforms were predominantly dark red in color, contrasting with the tans and greens of most Haqqislamite troops. "What about the Al-Waziri over there?"

"Oh, the Nomads? We picked them up in a pharmaceutical facility and took them along with us. Those are the garrison, the scientists are with the civilians over there. They have a couple of those Intruder Commandos with them, a platoon of regular Waziri and that's it."

"Tough men, the Nomads. Jungle fighting isn't exactly their thing, but I've seen them fight a few times. In a tight spot, they can surprise almost any foe." Tarik took a deep breath. "That's it, then?"

Ibn-Hussein drained his glass of sweetened green tea with mint and nodded. "That's it. That's all we have. And now that you know the plan... What do you think?"

Tarik stood and started to walk down the hillside. "As I said before, Colonel... You are my kind of insane."

Current Location: Paradiso

A weary soldier led Tarik to the improvised command center of the column. It was basically a tent erected next to the armored side of one of the Luzige light APCs. There, next to the operator of the holographic display sat Colonel Ibn-Hussein.

The Colonel was a stocky man, shorter than Tarik but of broader build, the curve of his belly belying a physique that was rock-solid underneath. He wore the tan and olive uniform of the Halqa mechanized troops, the jacket hanging unzipped in an attempt to fight the suffocating heat of the Paradiso jungle, his officer's beret tucked underneath one shoulder strap. The short beard tracing the contour of his jaw and mouth had been neat and recently trimmed and his brown eyes regarded the approach of Tarik with attention and sharpness.

"Amir Mansuri" he said, standing and bowing his head in greeting. "I'm glad that you and your men were able to find us, and without suffering any losses."

"Colonel" Tarik bowed back. "I'm glad we found you on time. Have you examined the data that command sent with us?" Ibn-Hussein nodded with a grunt and nodded to the man operating the holographic display. A map of the area flickered into view before the two officers.

"Doesn't look good. The way I see it, the best option we have is launching a surprise attack and cut through their lines here" The Colonel's finger touched a point of the map, and the image zoomed closer. "This spot is less fortified than the surrounding areas. I would say it's because they are using this ravine as part of their defenses. As you can see, it's some... Ten meters wide and six meters deep, more or less."

Tarik looked at the map, then back at Ibn-Hussein. "Looks like a prime spot to be caught in a dead-end and shot to pieces, Colonel. Unless you have some way to cross that ravine. Do you have a bridgelayer?" Ibn-Hussein shook his head. "A squad of sappers?" "Yes, but they used up almost all of their equipment booby-trapping our retreat from a Nomad facility we helped evacuate." "And how are we going to cross this ravine by surprise, then?" Ibn-Hussein's lips parted in a grin that didn't lack in amusement. "Well, we have the Luzige." Tarik looked at the Colonel without much confidence. "And what good are two light APCs in this predicament?"

And then Ibn-Hussein told him.

"Very well, Colonel, you are completely insane. But..." Tarik grinned broadly. "Yours is my kind of insane."

Current Location: Paradiso

It's the year 2200, and humanity has reached the stars. It was a long road, and some of the mistakes made along the way still plague us today, but it is inextricably tied to the history of our species.

The Beginning. Ariadna, Aurora, and the fall of the Powers.
It started late in the first half of the 21st century, with the finding of Object GA6037283, the first "stable" wormhole. This made viable several theoretical developments that pointed to the possibility of interstellar travel, and got NASA, the European Space Agency and the Russian Space Agency embarked in a joint project to study that possibility. After the first automated probes returned information of a planetary system with at least one world that could easily be terraformed into habitability.

The next phase was the development of the Ariadna, a huge colonization ship, and the recruitment of personnel for the expedition to the newly named planet, Dawn. In a few years the Ariadna was launched and started the terraforming and colonizing work. Meanwhile a second ship, the Aurora, was built and prepared for launch as soon as the terraforming and initial settling were complete. Enthusiasm about the colonization was massive on Earth. The USA, Russia and the European Union were deeply invested in the project, both economically and morally.

And then, tragedy struck. Due to unknown causes, the wormhole collapsed as the Aurora passed through it. This meant not only the loss of the crew, but the total loss of contact with the colonists already on the planet's surface. And it had a deep impact in the political situation of Earth. The three powers which had invested so much money, manpower and effort in the project were severely weakened. For the USA, recovering from the politically disastrous results of the so-called Centro-American Conflicts it was almost a death blow. Russia and the European Union, plagued by internal problems, were even less ready to deal with such a crisis. Their weakness was the opportunity for new powers to expand and arise.

Yu Jing, first to rise.
Of these, China was already on the way there. During the first half of the 21st century, the Chinese Communist Party had started a series of ambitious reforms to better adapt to the relative cultural aperture under the Socialist Market Economy. Hoping to stall the cultural encroachment of the West that was stripping away all the ideals both old and new upon which the Chinese identity stood, the Party chose to reforge China, to transform it into something else while at the same time recovering its cultural identity. The ancient religions were accepted anew, albeit under control of the State. Those values of Taoism, Confucianism and Buddhism that were the most compatible with Maoism were exalted once again. At the same time, neighboring countries within the Chinese area of influence were drawn more and more under the political control of the Chinese state, and most notably countries that had formerly cast their lot with the USA like South Korea and Japan, and were now deprived of their largest outside market grudgingly accepted economical dependence from China. It was to allay their fears that the Party took two final decisions that may seem more symbolic than practical, but helped shape the first of the great Powers of our time.

No longer would this super-country that comprised much of Eastern Asia be known as China. In a show of its will to make a fresh start, the Party decreed a change of name to Yu Jing (Capital of Jade). The other unifying symbol the Party wanted was found, and it was probably the least expected that it could have been: The Emperor. A figure uninvolved in the inner politics of the Party, a figure that with the right media treatment could be promoted as connexion to tradition and a more harmonious, ideal past. The figure of the Emperor was reinstated and given power as head of the Judicial branch of the government to show that it was more than a mere decorative change. To prevent the excessive accumulation of power, and because there were differing opinions on which dynasty should be reinstated, both the Ming and the Qing dynasties were granted the title of Imperial Family. The title of Emperor would be rotated between them, thus ensuring that while one family held the title, the other would do its best to keep their rivals from gaining too much power. Thus the ImperialState was born.

PanOceania, the Hyper-Power.
With the decline of the USA and the European Union and the rise of China, the economies of Australia and New Zealand found themselves standing on very shaky ground. This prompted an alliance with their former competitors in the area, Indonesia and Malaysia. Soon the Philipines joined in, providing even more manpower and a strategic situation that could compete with that of the Chinese ports. Also threatened by the political and economical expansion of China and later Yu Jing, India joined into the fledgling new nation which would soon become a political unit under the name of PanOceania. The new Power would complete its formative period with the adhesion of Chile and Brazil, the two richest countries of South America after the Conflicts.

Politically, PanOceania is a direct democracy. Thanks to the expansion of the Maya Network and the fact that every citizen of PanOceania owns a Comlog (A portable wristworn personal computer), and the decline of the traditional political parties as the 21st century advanced, PanOceania has structured its political functions around lobbies. All the important lobbies are formed by several minor entities, the larger monolithical ones having been rejected by the voters once and again. Companies, non-governmental organizations, religious groups and multitude of anonymous citizens form each lobby, and most citizens participate in the decision-making process of more than one lobby, choosing those that better represent their interests in several areas. Likewise, the government is chosen from among all the lobbies by direct vote. Each citizen votes separately for each Minister, which results on most lobbies specializing on one or two areas and presenting candidates mainly within those. The Prime minister is chosen in a vote where the lobbies forming the Government have a 50% weight and the citizens' individual votes make the other 50%. This process allowed PanOceania to quickly integrate very different populations into a cohesionate unit where individual cultural origins are proudly maintained while at the same time most citizens are fiercely proud to be a part of PanOceania. Said capacity for integration and the individual's apparently easy access to participation in Government affairs have left PanOceania free from any deep internal tensions, which in turn has allowed great economical and technical development for all the systems under PanOceanian control.

For PanOceania is the only human Power that holds more than one planetary system.

[Next: Space expansion of the two Great Powers.]

No sooner the door to the cockpit has closed behind the Amir and there he is again, a gleam of barely-suppressed anger in his eye. He turns to his second-in-command lieutenant Derya. "How long have I been gone?"

The clipped tone and slight Moroccan accent creeping back into his speech is a clear sign for the unit's veterans that something is wrong. Derya shakes her head, her puzzled expression hidden behind the faceplate of the helmet. "Amir, you have just closed the door. Is everything all right?" Tarik never seems this tense right before deployment. Serious, yes, sometimes even rigid, but on the verge of anger like this? Never.

He takes a long, slow look around the cabin, flexing his left hand slowly. He takes in the smells of the transport plane's interior, the mix of gun and motor oil, the old traces of tobacco and food from other missions. No, it's all too real. His brow still furrowed, he shakes his head and turns back to the cockpit door. "I will be back momentarily".

Tarik watches in silence as the emerald jungle of Paradiso flies underneath, the speed of the aircraft blurring any landmarks into a tapestry of mixed greens. Here and there barren areas blasted clean by artillery or incendiary small arms paint black dots on the surface. In a handful of days at most they will be gone, swallowed again by the frighteningly fertile vegetable life of the planet. It's not a good place to fight a war, and even worse against a new, unfathomable enemy like this. For a moment he wonders what purpose there may be, what reason for these ruthless, terrible enemies to appear right here and now, but then the moment for reflection is gone, and he turns around to speak to his Khawarij.

Checking their equipment, adjusting the environmental units attached to their backs, distributing the combat load on their webbing... Not one of them is idle, not even the few who just sit, head bowed and hands placed together palm-up, for they are praying in preparation for battle, and that is far from idle behaviour for a Khawarij. Tarik waits until they are all done before moving into the isle, attracting the men's attention.

"We are nearing the insertion point. I know you well enough that I'm sure you don't need another briefing, but you know me well enough to know that I'd rather give the situation another run-over." There are a few groans among the dozen men, good-natured jokes to break the tension of the moment. Tarik smirks and continues.

"I know the rumors are horrible, but the vast majority are unconfirmed. Let's stay with the proven facts. You've seen what recordings have survived the first wave: We are facing an alien enemy that we don't fully understand, an enemy armed with technologies both familiar and incomprehensible. They have taken us by surprise and are pushing all human forces back across the whole front. It is confirmed that the enemy has some kind of biotech weapon that can take over a soldier's Cube and control his actions through it, and that isn't even the worst they have thrown at us. We need to fall back, regroup and plan a coordinated offensive with the other Powers." He makes a brief pause, letting that last bit sink in.

"Now, on to this operation: Colonel Namerd Ibn-Hussein is leading the remains of the 3rd Mechanized Halqa Regiment on a fighting retreat. They are down to a handful of Luzige armed light APCs, and have joined up with the remains of other units, rescuing others who were under attack. The maps of the route he's following are downloaded into your Comlogs, please check them." There is the flicker of holographic images being projected from the soldiers' wrist-worn computers. "You see either through sheer luck or some superb scouting work, Colonel Ibn-Hussein has managed to move his forces down the line dividing the two main alien contingents in this area, thus avoiding detection so far. We have some good intel that apparently the two main species of the alien force prefer to fight by themselves, so our retreating men have a decent chance to make it back to our lines. Now, since their last encounter with enemy scouting parties two days ago, Ibn-Hussein's men are keeping comm silence. Command wants us to liaison with them, carrying updated information on the enemy force's position and strength, and help them back. The pilot is going to insert us on a raised, sparsely wooded ridge by means of a parachuteless drop. We will then spread out in standard three-man teams. As usual, we have our own scrambled channel but we are to use it as sparsely as possible, and only in battle-code, never open speech, understood? As per the original briefing, until we liaison with the 3rd we are to avoid engaging the enemy. I trust your good judgment to obey the orders as far as it's absolutely possible. Any questions?"

One man raises his hand slowly. "Hateb?" His clean-shaven face looks young under his red tagelmust, but Tarik knows he is a veteran of at least forty. A quiet man, thoughtful and cautious.
"Amir, if the rumors about that Cube-controlling weapon are true, how do we know if one of our squadmates is under the enemy's control?" Tarik purses his lips and shrugs slowly.
"I guess the first serious warning sign will be when he shoots you in the back of the head. But even if it's confirmed, we only have news of it being used in the PanOceania-controlled areas so far. We cannot afford to be paranoid, not in this operation. Keep the possibility in mind, but don't let it affect your trust in each other. We are the Khawarij, we are brothers, we are the bond that holds the Sword of Allah together. That's what they expect from us, and that's what we must be, and even moreso in times like these." He lets his gaze pass over the seated men and women and nods once, satisfied with what he sees. "Helmets on, those of you who still haven't, we are nearing the drop zone. I'm going to talk to the pilot."

And with that he turns around and opens the door to the cockpit.

Current Location: Somewhere over Paradiso

Okay, let's try this.

Since the setting Tarik comes from is pretty obscure, this journal will include both IC posts and others which can be thought of as entries from the character's Comlog (A personal, arm-mounted computer with access to the Maya network, the setting's equivalent to high-tech Internet) explaining different elements of his world. For ease of browsing, those entries will be grouped under the "Comlog" tag.

More coming soon.
Tarik Mansuri, out.