Edward sat at an empty table in the mess hall, prodding with a fork at the glob of slop slowly congealing on his edible tray. He was a big eater, sure, and not too picky about most foods (save one), but this?

He let out a loud, exaggerated sigh, sprawling out across the bench. The red cloth of his coat fanned out on both sides of him, slithered down to touch the floor. He hadn't been able to find any of the others, which meant they were still in the pods. At the very least, he'd been assured that Alphonse's soul would be safe. As long as he was in stasis, anyway. That had to be the one bright spot in this nightmare.

Come to think of it, the whole last day had been like being a front-row spectator in an inevitable, slow-motion car crash. Sure, there was stuff here he couldn't explain. And everyone seemed to believe, to varying degrees, the whole Ohm story. But then there was the mention of mysterious meetings and shadowy enemies and the laughable (to him) reassurance that as long as they played by the rules, their universes could be 'restored'.

By who? And how?

He glanced back up at the slop and made a face. At least the water here was normal.

[Ed's open to conversation, but at this point will probably be hostile towards any mentions of previous Edwards on the ship. Fair warning!]

Who: General Trudy and YOU!
Where: Sensoriums, Earth c22nd century, US Marine outdoor firing range at Quantico, VA
Summary: High-powered automatic rifles. Shooting things is good for the blood pressure.
Warnings: Language, knowing Trudy

( Trudy wasn't a terrible shot, but she was far from a Hawkeye candidate... )

The Shodan incident had left more than a foul memory, in fact, it was so bad that the details were hazy.

But he knew he'd gone rogue, and he knew that he caused a lot of damage... and hurt people he cared about. There was no excuse, this was were he belonged. That however didn't make it any more depressing. He'd missed the new crew members, and he would miss much of the going ons but Splicer was used to being alone...

He had his team back after all, even if they were back at home. For now, he'd simply sit there, slumped against the cell wall and think of the thing's he'd done.

Man... this is the shit that the other Spectres got killed for... way to lose it cowboy...

Sneaking through corridors armed to the teeth was something she'd gotten depressingly used to over her time on Stacy, but Trudy didn't think much of the latest threat. For one, the invasion was scattered across all decks of the ship, giving the crew small pockets of robots intent on taking over key areas. It made it easy to fall back to Level 1 and Level 6, respectively, to regroup.

Contagion was a safe zone for now, and Trudy intended for it to stay that way. In fact, she intended to retake this whole deck very shortly, once they had enough manpower to do it. Medical seemed to be handling themselves fairly well on their own, and the only spot that threatened to be overrun was Special Weapons.

"All right people, listen up, here's what we do. Move anything you can to barricade the windows to Contagion - we don't want them to know how many people we've got in here. We'll wait until we have a fairly sizable force and then we'll push out into the corridor and retake Special Weapons. From there, we'll push forward to Level 2 and try to force them out of the pod caverns. Fortify this position as much as you can and keep an eye on the corridor. Friendly target, pull them in. Unfriendly target, eliminate with extreme prejudice."

She didn't want any surprises, but she did want as many people on her side as could be had.

Another podpop meant another round of simulations to see what the new potentials could do. At 1500 hours, the squadrons were just finishing up their sortie and combat exercises - the inside of the Sensorium showed the Quarter's main hangar, with the pilots coming down the landing ramp to store their craft.

"Company dismissed!" Trudy said, her voice carrying over the comms and the hangar with just enough volume to make herself heard. "Clear out and make way for the recruits - you're welcome to stay if you don't have other duties, but no heckling."

Trudy was in her duty uniform, the green bomber jacket with its General's stripes and Rogue Squadron's patch on the sleeve. She turned to face the 'door' of the Sensorium, which in the simulation just led further into the starcraft carrier itself, and stood at parade rest. If the new recruits were worth anything, they should be there any minute.

The Ohm had retreated. The various GIA forces on Lirath were withdrawn.

Refugees were being treated and dropped off at the refugee camps, and the crew that had been left there was gathered up. There hadn't been any other outbursts of Catastrophist attacks--it seemed that all of them had either been taken out or killed. Those that had been captured quickly self-detonated their neural explosives to avoid questioning, though the bodies still remained for investigation. Plenty of dead Ohm were there for study as well. Perhaps now the forces aligned against the bug menace could get some answers.

Currently, the Trans 9 was in orbit around the planet the camps were on while Stacy regenerated, allowing them access to and communication with the GIA. Several of the surviving GIA ships were orbiting, making similar repairs. It would be there only briefly before moving out.

Life went on.

Except, of course, when it didn't.

There was no time to recover the countless bodies lost in battle and it wasn't safe to stay on Lirath after the attack. The Ohm could possibly come back in greater force. Only one body was gathered up, with great respect and dignity, and carried up to the Transmigration 9--Superman's.

However, despite the people lost on Lirath--refugees, soldiers, and crew alike--the Ohm had been hurt badly this day. A full invasion force had been defeated, sent running.

They could be beaten, after all.

This was it. Endgame. The crux of the battle, the turning point, those crucial moments that would decide if the crew won or lost, that would decide if the Ohm would reign victorious or go running with their chitinous tails between their legs.

Did the crew have enough grit to win? Could they defeat a full Ohm fighting force?

With the flagging confidence of the GIA forces, it'd be up to the crew to turn the tide.

And one of the crew would pay the ultimate price to make sure the others walked away alive.

[ooc: everything is up!]

Run by: Tetra
NPCS: Everyone

 The battlefield in the space above Lirath was a tumultuous mess. being both inviting targets for barrage in and of themselves, and also forcing the GIA ships to stay in close to protect them instead of allowing for more maneuvering room. The ice ring around Lirath had been blasted apart, resulting in giant chunks of ice drifting through fire- and sight-lines, providing opportunities for both cover and ambush as well as destruction for the dog-fighting ships weaving in and out of their treacherous paths. The wreckage of GIA and Ohm ships made movement through the battlefield downright hazardous -- who knew if there were still live weapons aboard any of them, just waiting to be tripped by an unwary pilot? The gravitational forces of the nearby planet Kehoe were an unwelcome addition to an already chaotic battlefield, making navigation difficult.

Ohm shrikes strafed the bare handful of GIA capital ships present, causing soundless explosions in the vacuum of space and killing who-knew-how-many allies of Transmigration 9's crew in the process.The GIA fighters seemed barely able to dent the massive Ohm Leviathans that brooded over the planet like bloated, predatory spiders, and those that were still flying were massively damaged, hulls scorched by plasma fire, some barely held together with parts of them vented into space. In some places there were things that looked like clouds of specks-- groups of dead GIA crewman, lost to the void.

Before long, new Ohm bioforms would enter the fray, ones created to compensate for the ship's mecha.

In this scattered and scorched battleground, Starfighter Command would have to fight Ohm ships side by side with the exhausted forces of the GIA, braving massive chunks of ice, wreckage, and of course, the seemingly never-ending forces of the Ohm.

And the tide of battle was already turned against them.

[ooc: wait for subthreads to be set up before posting.

Subthreads open: 
First Wave and Second Wave, both open!]

Allenby had waited a while before asking to speak to Trudy, despite the crew being back from Galilee. She'd been too pissed and worried before then to really think about what she ought to say, and she needed time to figure it out.

Like... how to say it without getting Trudy mad again by mistake. Though frankly, she was pretty angry herself to learn that I won't touch your Gundam actually translated to your Gundam is getting stuffed full of mothballs until I say you can have it back.

That was if the condition--getting Trudy to sign off--wasn't actually a nasty code for kiss your Gundam goodbye, troublemaker. But Allenby was going to trust her crewmates and think that Leon and Trudy were too honest for that.

Its time to unwind, relax and receive news of home. A pod pop occurred while some were on a mission and it's time to meet up with new friends, drink well with old, and relax.The Drunken Dragon has opened its doors and stands ready and willing to assist in forgetting the trials those on the mission experienced.




OOC: If you want a specific barmaid, just put their name in the subject. Otherwise, enjoy, intermingle and do as you like.

Having seen more of the 'Verse than most people would dream possible in his rather eventful life, Mal had also been a patron of just about every type of drinking establishment there was. From upscale Core World bars to shacks out on the very Rim held together with mud and prayers, it was very likely Mal had at least stepped into it for a drink, and possibly a nice fight. Bars and Taverns were where you could learn a great deal about a person, just by watching how much they chose to abandon their own restrictions and self control in the presence of others. They were also where there was information, business deals, and new contacts to be found, all present in one neat central location, one that many communities revolved around. Whenever he stopped in a new port of call, Mal always made sure to pay the bar a visit sooner rather than later.

Of course, with all his experience with watering holes, he had to admit that the Drunken Dragon was something very new. On the surface it could almost be mistaken for a Rim world bar, with its rough and almost primitive design motif, almost comical dragon decoration, and lack of all the da bian luxuries the Alliance insisted marked them as civilized. Mal had been in enough of those dives, however, to realize that the Dragon was far more well maintained than most of them could afford to be, and that the design itself was not the result of a hodgepodge of whatever materials they could scrounge. It looked more like something out of an ancient Earth That Was picture book. Setting foot inside, Mal took the time to survey the layout of the place, memorizing the locations of all the tables, staff, and exits just in case he needed to leave in a hurry.

Not that he expected to have to do so, given Kaylee and Wash's assurances about the respect the patrons paid the owner of the tavern, but old habits died hard, and if he let them die then he expected he would soon follow. Still, it seemed like he'd arrived a bit early, and with time to spare before the person he was meeting arrived he made his way across the tavern to a place where he could sit with his back to the wall and watch the door. Of course, once he sat he needed a moment to get used to the fit of his suit, as he had for the past few days. He was rather glad the ship had seen fit to save the coat that was a symbol of his continued defiance against the now dead Alliance, but he had to wonder if it would have really hurt to save his pants and shirt too.

[OOC:This thread is mostly for if characters who Mal had arraigned to meet for drinks at the tavern, but if you want to thread with him feel free to have a character run into him while he's waiting. Individual threads can be set at different times too.]

Being in command meant having to make the hard decisions.

Trudy knew that, but having to dishonorably discharge a talented pilot like Allenby still crawled under the collar and itched. Her shoulders took on a distinct slump as she walked through the hallways of the ship, mouth set in a hard line, going over the confrontation in her head. Could she have done anything differently?

Probably not. Allenby had been hell-bent on what she was doing and no amount of logic was going to dissuade her from flying down to the planet with just her Gundam and a small crew. Trudy was satisfied that she'd manage to stop her from getting herself and others killed... but the incident was a black mark on Starfighter Command and her ability to control her pilots.

These were the times that she hated her job.

Her boots hit the grass of Hydroponics and she made a beeline for the beer tree. She probably would have had better company at the Drunken Dragon, but company wasn't what she was after. Not right now, not after what had just gone down in the hangar.

Knowing this ship though, company would find her whether she wanted it or not.

So the captain and Trudy and... okay a lot of people had started yelling not to do this on the comm. People had also started talking calmly and reasonably, which was worse. Well, they could protest all they want--until they started doing something, Allenby was going to go ahead with her plan.

Admittedly? She was having some real second thoughts about this. But anything was better than sitting uselessly in orbit while god-knew-what was happening to her friends down on Galilee. Zouichi, Jr., Sakura, Zetta... not to mention everyone else down there! It was a big group of people! That would make getting them out complicated, but if the Galileeans had such great technology, they were sure to have some kind of spacecraft able to hold that many people.

She also had a feeling that this was the sort of plan Domon would come up with if he was around. There were enough people who'd replied that could help her out, and she was sure the crew on the surface was smart enough that they could make contact once things started getting hairy. Allenby wasn't going to let herself doubt. She just focused on her tools and looked up repeatedly to see if anyone was coming as she continued modifying the X-Wing into a platform.

[ooc: So there will be two subthreads: one for people helping out and one for the subsequent intervention and yelling-at. Feel free to tag Allenby separately or join in on a conversation!]

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers. After the revelation that their worlds are gone, many of them are even more eager to see people they knew from home.

Several people are set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicoms and comm rings. New crew-mates might see a tall man in green armor and snake girl among their number. There are also several authoritative-looking figures ready to introduce themselves.

There's a lot to tell the new people. It's going to be a lot to take in.

[ooc: Only new characters and Command Staff can start new threads for introductions, to limit the number of threads. Everyone else, just tag in and have your guys greet the newbies.]

So, the hostages had been rescued successfully and were recovering. The crew members affected by the clock were back to their proper age.

Sherry was back to her proper age. Something which was both a great relief and tremendously heartbreaking at the same time. He was glad she was back to being his little linefacer, but getting a chance to see her when she was so small, during all the years of her life that he hadn't been a part of.

At least he took plenty of pictures.

Though, while a couple of problems were solved, there were still plenty more to deal with. The map; whether or not the GIA set them up at NiSaris; the Ohm; replacing repodded personnel... Though he was taking a break from that now. Or was trying to, at least. Not an easy thing to do with a ton of stuff weighing on his mind.

To help clear his mind, he went down to the City (which reminded him, at some point, he needed suggest to the Council that they actually give the City a name), and at the moment was hanging upside down from a tall fence doing one sit up after another. He wasn't out of shape, still barely having an ounce of fat on him, and by no means rusty, but the rescue mission had made him realize he had been out of the field and behind a desk for too long. Being some distant, hands off executive wasn't his style. And whatever was about to come their way next, he'd need to be at his best to help.

Despite how he argued that he was fine, despite how he displayed a range of motion with his wounded shoulder (complete with pained facial expressions and one yell of agony), Medical insisted on tossing Luis in for treatment as soon as they were all back on the ship. His wound was infected and there was a process Stacy needed to go through to clean it all up and make sure it wouldn't turn gangrenous and fall off. That explanation made him a bit more cooperative.

So Luis sat on his bed in the Med Bay, laying on his side, glaring at the ceiling and extremely uncomfortable as a hose-like tentacle contraption was attached to the front and back of his shoulder, placed over the wound like a suction. Yeah. Creepy.

And he'd been caught up and around the place trying to do something productive one too many times, so there was a restraint around his ankle preventing him from standing up or even changing positions too much.

Could they at least have given him a book? This was worse than being trapped in a cave.

Luis was getting the feeling his tank of snails was becoming something of a joke around the Science Department, but he didn't care much. They were too fascinating to just give up his research on. They came in a rainbow of colors and glowed in the dark, and also had the ability to weave beautiful and intricate webs of brightly-colored spider-like silk. They were like... spidersnails. No way would he pass up on that opportunity.

He walked through the crew quarters on his way back from Hydroponics, a small holding tank of the creatures under his arm to start a second population. Walking by the doors, he quizzed himself on who lived in each one, partially just to test his memory and partially to see if he could remember which one was his.

As he passed Trudy's quarters, though, he remembered all the hubbub of the dogfights a week or so ago, and recalled hearing that she'd gotten a bit banged up. His mouth narrowed, and he was at her door a moment later.

"Knock knock," he said, adjusting his glasses. "There's a handsome doctor here to see you, General."

After everyone and all of their ships were properly loaded the Quarter had launched successfully. The journey from Stacy to the Trojan Asteroid field trailing NiSaris took several hours, but they managed to approach the field with the people of the nearby world being none the wiser.

The problem was that the NiSarians weren't the only ones watching the skies.

As the Quarter approached and entered the asteroid field, all was quiet. But it was only going to be a matter of moments before that would change.


((ooc: See this post for instructions, but otherwise, have at it, and have fun.))

PT finished at 0700, and the pilots and new recruits got a half hour to cool off before they got into the cockpits of their assorted craft. In the two hours since 0500 they ran several miles, did push-ups, sit-ups and pull-ups, and then a hundred jumping jacks to get the blood pumping. "You don't even want to think about how much force you put on your body when you're piloting," Trudy said at the start of the exercises. "Pilots need to be in peak condition to handle it."

Those who were used to doing the training five days out of the week would be out of breath but not exhausted. Anyone new, however, might have a little trouble getting their wind back.

"All right everyone, gather around. We have a few new recruits today, so we're not going to be running the Zokez scenario. I know you're all heartbroken." She kept a straight face, but that was a definite joke. She was sick of running the Zokez scenario. "We'll be doing some standard training exercises - maneuverability and gunning practice."

The track and exercise equipment melted away, and in its place the hangar of the Macross Quarter materialized with all its fighters and mobile suits. "Outside is a standard sim course. I'm going to have the recruits run it first to see how they handle and then the squadrons will go out as a unit. Recruits, let's put you in birds."

((OOC: This log is for anyone who signed up to fly a mobile suit, a VF or an X-wing and is not already in Starfighter Command. The flight sim is like something you'd see out of the training missions on Star Fox - fly through the rings, shoot the enemies, avoid the obstacles it throws at you like sheets of scrap and asteroids. EDIT: Subthreads for the squadrons are now up!))