# Exemplar: The Rebellion of Epsilon [UPDATE 12.4.04]



## Jeph (Apr 1, 2004)

*Citizen Smith*
Faction: Epsilon Free Order
Situation: Covert operative aboard the IAS Fortune, position of co-pilot
Skills: Combat, Subterfuge, Diplomacy

_Seven down, three to go._ Of the ten heavy chrome crates that had sat aboard the landing platform, seven had heaved onto the IAS fortune, [1] two still lay on the ground, and one slowly labored its way towards the Fortune, supported by Citizen Smith and some goon of the Marines Templar whose name Smith neither knows nor cares about.

They had taken out the loading droids first, of course. That keeps the ship on the ground longer, which means more Templar soldiers will get shot, which makes Smith's job quite a bit easier later on. But it also means that he has to load the crates himself.

Smith hears a tiny pop over his headset and the soldier on the other end of the crate falls dead. [2] The crate slips through Smith's fingers and crashes to the ground, one side buckling and separating itself from the main body with a clang to reveal neat rows of vials containing a greenish liquid, incongruous with the omnipresent white and chrome of the surroundings. Topaz gel. He should have known. The stuff would get him killed some day, no matter how useful it was.

Dammit. The ops firing on the ship had no way of knowing that he was on their side. Crouching down, Smith breaks into a combat run for the Fortune's loading ramp, only to stopped short by a yell from the first military officer.

"Citizen Smith! Who gave the order to retreat?"

Military speak on. "Sir! No-one, sir!"

"Are you aware that IGAC Approved Procedure places the value of the gel above your life, citizen?"

"No, sir!"

"Time to educate yourself citizen! Load that last crate!"

"Yes sir!"

::

*Citizen Kaleb*
Faction: Epsilon Free Order
Situation: Covert operative aboard the IAS Fortune, position of relations officer
Skills: Piloting, Repairs, Electronics

"Kaleb!"

"What?"

"Kaleb!"

"What?!"

"KALEB!"

"WHAT!?"

"Kaleb, what's our status?"

"Not good, Trent. Ops're gonna take out a thruster if they're not careful. I'm firing up pre-ignition!"

"Kaleb, that's illegal!"

"Bad argument, _citizen_ Trenton." Kaleb's fingers skitter over the glass panel and a white light begins blinking in a warning pattern. He overrides it, speaks a verbal command, and hits execute. A shudder passes through the Fortune's metal and plastic hull as the docking clamps loosen and the engines light.

He glances at Trent in the primary piloting pod, then at the various exterior image viewing screens. He sees the pile of chrome crates had been reduced to null, a scattering of corpses and robotic elements taking its place. In another window Smith heaves the last box onboard all by his lonesome--not an easy feat--and the blast doors slide shut behind.

"Trent, all aboard! Permission to lift off?"

"Granted, Citizen."

The docking pit fills with flame, and gravity onboard seems to triple for a moment before the ship's compensation fields kick in. Then all that can be seen in the views is streaking cloud, then blue, then velvet black sprinkled with winking stars.

::

*Commander Samuels*
Faction: Marines Templar, Exemplar order of the Intergalactic Government and Clergy
Situation: Military co-commander of Templar troops aboard the IAS Fortune
Skills: Combat, Leadership

Doors slide open, letting loose a pneumatic hiss. Samuels steps through. Doors hiss and close.

Thirty standard soldiers fielded by the Marines Templar, ten Exemplar combat experts as well as two Exemplar officers, and seven civilian specialists comprise the crew of the IGAC Approved Ship Fortune. Commander Samuels is one of the officers. Citizen Trenton, the ship's captain, is in his piloting pod, going through IGAC Approved Docking Procedures. Five of the soldiers and two of the Exemplar were killed in the fighting in New Tampa. The ship's surgeon is in the bridge, tending to two more wounded marines.

Thirty seven faces stare back at him. All accounted for.

"Comrades!"

"Hai!"

"Co-Commander Conners. Please activate the holotanks."

"Observed, Co-Commander." Conners hits a few buttons on the cuff of his white plasteel battle armor and a large glass box in the center of the room is filled with a three dimensional schematic of a looming spacecraft. Samuels strides over to it, beings speaking.

"This is the IAS Purity IX, a Warpship that made the translation from the Prime Jump Point at seven eighteen dotted this morning, as scheduled. [3] Solder Barkers! Given this information, what was the scheduled arrival time of the IAS Purity IX at the Epsilon Jump Point, specificity of hundredths of a second!"

"Seven colon twenty one colon three two colon oh one dotted sir!"

"Correct, soldier Barkers! However, the Purity did not arrive until Seven twenty four thirteen, prox. No hail was received by Central. The crew did not respond to hails on any radio or psi frequency. Is this IGAC Approved Procedure!"

"Sir! No sir!"

"Our mission is to make contact with the Purity IX via close-range hails and direct docking and boarding, if necessary. We are currently in rendezvous with the Epsilon Orbital Station. You will have leave from thirteen hundred hours until fourteen forty, during which time the Fortune will take on additional supplies and replacement crew. Understood?"

"Hai!"

"A thirty second IGAC Approved Litany will be offered for comrades Aberforth, Shuang, Curran, Ji, Iaian, Lesley, and Rustov." Thirty eight faces stare at white plastic deck plating for exactly one half of a minute. "Dismissed!"

::

*Commander Conners*
Faction: Epsilon Free Order
Situation: Covert operative aboard the IAS Fortune, position of military co-commander
Skills: Combat, Leadership

Conners catches the eye of Citizen Kaleb as the crew files out of the briefing room.

(Conners) A word. Or what serves as one.
(Kaleb) You're a telepathic?
(Conners) Two way, as you may notice.
(Kaleb) Those are rare.
(Conners) Not so rare, among Exemplar.
(Kaleb) (Notes) (?)
(Conners) If you meet a Citizen Remey on Orbital point her in my direction. Red haired lass.
(Kaleb) (Amusement) (Lewd imagery) (?)
(Conners) (Defensive) Free order business.
(Kaleb) (Amusement) What's the plan, anyway?
(Conners) You and Smith go with the away team to the Purity. I've made sure everyone else on it is IGAC. Divide and conquer. And then we find a way to lock the Jump Point for a month or three.
(Kaleb) (Fear) Smith and I against (?)
(Conners) Ten and four, I think. And stop doing that. Raw thought gives me a headache. And tell the rest of the gang, will you?
(Kaleb) (Consent)
(Conners) Dammit!

Conners breaks eye contact. Kaleb turns to another of the Free Order Exemplar and whispers something in their ear.

Telepathy was indeed a useful skill.

::

Citizen Smith and Citizen Kaleb stroll down the tubular main corridor of Epsilon Orbital. They plan to stop off at an IGAC Approved Quick Nutrition and Recreation Facility, sip a few IGAC Approved Mild Alcoholic Beverages, and chow down on IGAC Approved Cow chopped into bits and processed with IGAC Approved Treatment Chemicals until it became an IGAC Approved Hamburger Patty. As they are about to turn into the cantina's entranceway, a speck of red among the white and chrome of the station catches Smith's eye. Smith and Kaleb exchange a few hushed words. Kaleb goes to get a table. Smith saunters up to Citizen Remey.

"Comrade." This is the traditional greeting among IGAC Citizens.

"Comrade." Remey recites with the traditional response.

"Citizen, are you aware that this gate leads onto the IAS Fortune, a military vessel on an IGAC Approved Mission?" Smith has no idea how to reveal that he's a Free Order op without giving himself away to the authorities. So he bulls authority himself.

"I am not, fellow Citizen. I am looking for the IAS Homeward, bound for Epsilon's surface." Citizen Remey cocks her head and looks at him questioningly. Good sign--Citizens aren't supposed to have quirky expressions. He hopes the damned fool can be more subtle, though.

"If I may, fellow Citizen, I shall direct you to Officer Conners..." Remey looks up sharply. Good. "...who will in turn direct you towards the IAS Homeward and outline a suitable punishment for your malperception."

"Thank you, Comrade."

Smith levels a finger at Conners. They part ways.

::

Citizens Kaleb and Smith are done with their IGAC Approved Hamburger Patties and towards the bottom of their IGAC Approved Mild Alcoholic Beverages. Smith glances up from his white plastic mug. "Some guys just walked into the bar," he says.

"Humor ist verbotten," warns Kaleb.

Smith slaps his forehead, then recoils into himself and shoots furtive glances around the room. He made a dangerous slip with that gesture, an unwarranted show of individualism. Then he turns back to his companion. "No. I mean, seven guys just walked into the cantina, and they don't look right. They're sitting over there, by the door."

Kaleb glances at the newcomers. Indeed, they look odd somehow. Definitely carrying concealed weapons. Rough clothes. Engraved lapel buttons. No military insignia. "Pirates," Kaleb says. "Black Scorpion Crew."

"Good guys or bad guys?"

"Bad guys. They usually fire on Free Order ships at sight. The IGAC uses them to get around their own shipping regulations and as privateers."

"Can we bust 'em? I don't want them stumbling up when we've got the Fortune under."

"Yeah, I think I can get away with it. I'm a kinetic--"

"Don't be obvious!"

"No sweat. I'm gonna try to frame them." Kaleb glances around for psi detectors and notes that they're the wide angle kind, here--good for picking up the smallest resonance, but not so great for pinpointing. He concentrates for a moment, reaching out with esper-senses, and turns the pirate's table into a glob of misshapen metal and then flings it across the room at some guy one of the pirates had been glaring at.

Sirens wail. White lights flash. Weapons come out on all sides, tables are pushed over for cover. Commander Samuels rushes in with a lackey who is immediately splattered against the wall by a hi-power slug rifle. "Comrades!" Samuels yells. "Unauthorized Exemplar have been detected in this sector. They have not yet been located--"

One of the pirates scores his arm with a microwave pistol.

"They have been located as posing as members of a renegade pirate organization! All capable hands, attempt immediate extermination!"

Kaleb grins. He presses thumb to palm, activating magnetic gloves, and a saber flies into his hand from a holster at his waist. It begins to vibrate, and internal gyroscopes accelerate. [4] "Acknowledged, sir! Hai!"

He charges the pirates. Two draw microwave pistols on him. He cuts the arm off of one, and the gyroscopes draw his blade around in an arc to knock the gun of the other to the floor. Then he cuts of its wielder's head.

Smith flicks his wrists. Slug pistols slide out of their concealed sheaths in his cuffs and into his hands. He flips one upside-down, checks the ammo LED: Full clip, soft noses. Perfect. He spins and raises his weapon in one fluid action, downs two pirates before they can react, shoots the gun of another to the floor, then pegs another in the shoulder but fails to excommunicate him completely from the world of the living.

Only two left, and one's wounded. Samuels fires, but misses. Kaleb advances with his saber but the fresh pirate produces a dirk as fast as you can think and parries the attack. The wounded one raises an automatic rifle and sprays alloy across the cantina, then is shot down by a bullet from Smith a second after his weapon jams, explodes, and takes off a thumb. Kaleb thrusts, thrusts, is forced onto the defensive--that pirate's fast--lets the gyroscopes block a blow he's too slow to notice, then slips his blade through a gap in his foes' defenses and ends the fight.

Samuels frowns. "Citizens!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Why are you not in the armed forces?"

"Untrustworthy Family Unit!" shouts Kaleb.

"No stomach for blood!" shouts Smith. Kaleb looks at him quizzically. Smith shrugs, and puts up his pistols.

::

[1] IGAC (Intergalactic Government And Clergy) Approved Ship. 

[2] The signature of a microwave gun. This is a sign of the rebel movement's desperate situation: microwave guns are typically reserved for zero G combat, not being as powerful as old fashioned slug-throwers. Microwave weapons produce only radio static unless they hit something solid, at which point matter starts to vaporize and things blow up.

[3] "Dotted" is Navigator and Marine slang for precisely. "Prox" stands for approximately. Dotted is defined as within the frequently occurring yet minute window of time that a Navigator has to pilot a Warpship into a Jump Point's core before the desired route changes. Pinpointing and acting within this window is impossible without extensive training and psychically induced non-linear temporal perception.

[4] An odd weapon for a Citizen, but then, Kaleb isn't exactly IGAC Approved. Swords and shields are popular among Exemplar because of their usefulness in zero G and against standard troops wielding bulky rifles built for distance, and because they look sweet. Made from special alloys and plastics, blades typically have vibrational pods to add cutting power and internal gyroscopes to increase the wielder's effective reaction time and strength.

I hope you enjoyed! 
--Jeff


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## Jeph (Apr 12, 2004)

Kaleb is piloting the Fortune away from Epsilon Orbital. Clunking sounds; he looks behind him. Commander Conners has entered the pod.

(Conners) (Amusement) So you're a kinetic. 
(Kaleb) And a molder, you may have noticed. [1]
(Conners) And then some. Those are rare.
(Kaleb) Not so rare among Exemplar.
(Conners) Is anything? (New focus) I talked to Remey.
(Kaleb) (...) (?)
(Conners) She gave me a list of known Exemplar aboard the Purity. 100 Templars, two Navigators, and an Infiltrator.
(Kaleb) What was an Infiltrator doing there?
(Conners) Don't know. If you find him, make sure the IGAC crew don't notice.
(Kaleb) Right. You should talk to Smith. He's had a... run-in... with the Infiltrators, before. [2]
(Conners) (Assent) I'll leave you to your piloting.

A few moments of silence. The Fortune safely disengages Orbital and is out into free space. Course is adjusted towards the Purity. Telemetry flashes between various bits of IGAC Approved Radio Machinery until the lag grows too long, at which point the psicasters pick up where their lesser cousins left off. [3] For lack of more amusing pastimes, Kaleb watches the radar.

Blip.

Blip.

Blip.

Bloop.

Oh, .

::

Smith, by virtue of proximity, has been stuffed into a gun emplacement. The azimuth turret, in fact--by no mean his favorite haunt during a dogfight. He hopes Kaleb can kick their asses before they get too close. Kaleb's good at that sort of thing. No sweat.

Smith spends a few moments getting used to the controls. He accidentally fires a missile. Oops. Samuels asks him what the  he's trying to do. Slipped, sir. Well don't slip again, the Black Scorpion Crew is a tight bunch. Yes sir. Funny, they're usually amicable to IGAC ships. Yes, sir. You have nerves, citizen? Whatever you say, sir. I'll leave you to your gunning, then. Yes, sir.

He checks his radar. Three red three red thingies and one green thingy. A flash of light from the portal and then there're only two red thingies. Way to go, Kal, except now the other two are headed my way. Smith follows one of the pirate interceptors with his sights and looses a few potshots but they go wide. The fighters disappear from plain view--they must have gone under the ship.

Smith continues to watch on his radar. He hears torpedoes being fired from somewhere else in the ship and one of the red dots makes an abrupt course shift but keeps flying. The green dot is herding the other red dot away from the ship...

They're in view again. Kaleb is tight on that pirate's tail. Smith sights, gets a missile lock, fires. Flames. The Fortune rocks a bit from the shockwave.

Smith watches Kaleb peel away and go after the last interceptor, which is attempting a breakaway. Kaleb's dogging him hard, too close for comfort for all but the best of pilots. The Scorpion fighter attempts some fancy maneuver but Kaleb stays on and then it looks like the two ships are almost going to touch each other, the pirate tries a barrel roll--

--and his engine block explodes for no apparent reason.

_Oh yeah. Kaleb's got psi._

::

"Exemplar Stai, Shelby, Williams, Cole, you are assigned to the away team. Soldier Group A, as are you. Citizen Smith acts as official observer. Citizen Kaleb pilots, should the Purity be resurrected. Scanners show life support is down. You'll be wearing full suits. Execute."

Beat a tattoo to the airlock. Tramp through the umbilical. Set a few charges (Weren't there more? Must have miscounted) and the team is in.

Sixteen white plastic full body space suits float into a cavernous hangar bay. Gravitics, like life support, is apparently not operational. Kaleb looks around. There are corpses everywhere. A handful are tethered to working belts, bobbing in the slight draft from auto-fans. At least a dozen more float free. Deathly pale faces can be seen through the portals of some of the docked interceptors and shuttles.

Kaleb rebounds of the ceiling, shoots towards a transport that Smith and a solder have entered. He climbs in too. The soldier is scraping a thin, bluish film off of a corpse's exposed forearm and carefully sealing samples away in airtight plastic tubes. Smith snags one and pockets it.

Headsets crackle. "Conners speaking. Your search plan is as follows: Smith, Cole, and Group A are to make their way to the bridge and attempt to regain control of the helm. Stai, Shelby, Williams, Kaleb: you're to head towards engineering. See if the problem is rooted there."

A chorus of Yes Sirs and Hais.

"Conners again. Smith, we're on a secure line. In a few minute's we'll be starting the coup. You think you can take on your contingent?"

"Head to head? No sir."

"Be subtle, then."

"It's what I'm best at."

"Right. Keep me posted. Conners out."

Smith and the soldier pull themselves to the transport's hatch using handholds and then kick off, landing in a spacer's crouch on the ceiling of Corridor 1A--direct line to the bridge. Cole and the rest of Group A drift in over the next few seconds. Magnetic boots are activated and they troop off.

Smith sees Cole's head jerk sharply. Following the motion with his eyes, he sees a bluish sheet of gauze flicker through an access tube. Perfect opportunity. He whispers Cole's numerical secure line code.

"Cole."

"Listening."

"Did you see that?"

"I think so."

"I'm going to take Monitov and Tank to check it out."

"Granted, Observer. Meet us at the bridge."

"Acknowledged and out."

He alerts the two soldiers over the public line and the three deactivate their clamps and push off. Smith makes sure that his companions go first. When Tank looks back, after they've emerged into corridor 7B, Smith's nowhere in sight.

And then his space suit and chest have been pierced by a hollow nosed shell. A punctured lung labors to draw oxygen from poisonous air. His corpse drifts into Monotov's with a muffled clunk amidst a fine spray of red droplets.

"Smith here. Something's up. It's got Tank and Monotov. It's--oh, ."

Because that's when Smith realizes that he's not lying. At least half a dozen shimmering sheets of bluish gauze flash through the air in the blink of an eye to suckle at the holes in the space suits of the two soldiers. One, not finding an opening, twists in midair and begins to drift towards Smith, its movement almost lazy.

Smith puts three bullets into it before he has time to think. The recoil sends him spinning a dozen yards and almost breaks his arm. [4] On the upshot, the gauze ruptures and dissipates.

"Smith, this is Cole. Are you all right?"

"Barely. I'm on my way."

::

[1] By molder, he means that he has the power to shape matter without exerting any actual force. Normally this power is relegated to the user's physical touch. However, it is particularly synergetic with telekinesis: anything that the Exemplar touches telekinetically may be considered to be touched physically for the purposes of Molding.

[2] Quite a bit more than a run-in: Smith used to _be_ an Infiltrator, or member of a rather shadowy guild of psychic assasins. He's (as far as he knows) the only man ever to leave that particular Order alive.

[3] Most communications in the world of Exemplar take place over radio. However, interplanetary and intergalactic distances can make this impractical, due to the slowness of light. Psicasters solve this problem quite conveniently, not being bound by the laws of energy. However, they are rather bulky and require a great deal of power to function.

[4] Remember, kids: when in zero gravity, use your microwave pistols.

--Jeff


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