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TOP SECRET
MESSAGE TO: CMSR  Sarienn
FROM: HSPR Alaenos s
TIME:  5399.5  MST
IMPORTANT

</MSG/STRT./>
More from our research, sir. The subject died in captivity. We extracted this from her before she died:
>>>...(Subject screams intellegibly. Is bound to chair. When asked to talk about Elementals. subject calmed)
...They watch over their chosen element. They are not alive or dead...
...(Subject passes out, is revived)
...They have complete control of any single eleme...
...(Gasping)...
...thats why they are known as Elementals...
...Subject screams, is subdued. Subject died at this point. Unknown cause. Attempts at further studies prove impossible. No more captives awaiting interrogation left. Fos'Sed prescence still rising in this sector. Request orders immediately. <<<
</MSG/END./>
-Scientific message, found in buried data bunker within the catacombs on Celesta IX.


Jet had lived a sad life. His mother, who was high-ranking at Abbadia at the time, was held hostage when he was my age. He had to kill her before she was tortured and gave out vital information. Any normal man would have blanched, but he did it. Grief-ridden, he destroyed all remnants of his life with her and devoted himself to the protection of Abbadia.
I am called to his rooms late one evening, over a month after my “date” with Abael, as Zaed is now calling it. Jet has been absent lately. I have assumed he was on an assignment of some sort, but I find him on his bed, breathing heavily. A sheen of sweat stands out on his brow, and the stench of vomit and blood hangs in the air. His torso is wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. I kneel beside him, grasping his hand.
He shifts his gaze to me, his eyes yellowed and bloodshot, coughing quietly before speaking.
“Ricasso. I'm dying. Damn Fos'Sed bastard got me. In the chest by the door. Look.” His breath comes fast.
I turn and spot the chest. Oak, with tarnished silver edges and a very large lock. A key rests on top, and is obviously meant to fit in the lock on the chest. I turn the key, and the lid slides open with a creak. Inside, it is lined with deep black velvet, upon which rests a folded cloak and a sword.  I remove the sword, and feel a whisper against my consciousness, a sarcastic voice, like the edge of a blade rasping against my throat.
“Ricasso.”
I jump. Whatever it is, it knows my name. I focus my mind and thoughts. “Who are you?”
“Look at the sword like a good boy.” I look, and the sword *looks* back at me. Without any eyes. I simply feel its gaze.
“Don't worry, you'll get used to me. I'm yours. Not by choice, mind. Your fathers' idea. My name is Veloce.”

In his bed, Jet is almost smiling at my startled expression. He gestures at the sword. “Yours now.  The cloak, too. Owned by your Father. It was given to him during the Tensh'a wars. You need it. I fear we are fighting a losing war against these Fos'Sed, Ricasso.” A strangled cough escapes his lungs, and he closes his eyes.  “Now go fetch Zaed to me. It ends soon. Go!”
I leave in confusion, thinking things are at an all time low. I'm wrong.

Jet dies. His funeral is quiet. A small group of high-ranking leaders from Abbadia personnel attends, along with Zaed, Chardiel ( Jets' wife), Abael, Veloce (whom I think of more as a person than as a weapon) and myself. We burn his body on the cliff edge, like he wanted, and scatter the ashes into the wind when it blows out to sea.
After the funeral feast, I go back to my room and study the cloak and Veloce. The cloak is black, has silver stiching down the sleeves, is ankle-length and very light, yet somehow it manages to keep heat in, like a heavy blanket. When I put it on, my reaction speed seems improved. I can almost pre-determine things just before they happened. The clasps in the front are silver. Stylish – my style. Veloce is similar - his handle is black, large enough to be used with two hands or one, and inlaid with silver. His guard is small, silver and has a slight curve towards the blade, which is double-edged and of medium length. Engraved on his blade is the ancient Greek symbol 'Psi', probably the name of the maker, and a thin thorn-engraved groove runs down the centre. It's perfect. I resheath Veloce, who is apparently “asleep”, store my old weapon, and throw the cloak over the back of my chair before indulging in some much-needed sleep.


*               *               *


The situation deteriorated quickly after Jet passed on. The Defense Initiative (Army, Navy, Airforce and Spaceforce for the entire planet) was depleted after several battles broke out in other cities. All our communications had been cut off almost six months ago. Our entire Spaceforce was destroyed in orbit being called back from duty in other sectors. The enemy took control of our Planetal Defense Platforms, massive antimatter cannons that shoot targets above orbit, and fired them into the fleet; several ships fell onto the planet, killing millions of civilians. Then they destroyed the Platforms, setting off several antimatter explosions. The remainders of the DI fell back into the capital. Our city, the capital, the last stand.
Someone hammers at my door, waking me out of a deep sleep. They shout.
“Patrol duty, West Sector. We're late, Ricasso, hurry!”
Abael runs off down the corridor, her boots thumping on the metal floor. I jump out of bed, dress myself, grab Veloce, who mutters about being woken up, my guns, pack and cloak, and hurry after her, yawning. I hate patrol duty.

It's freezing cold outside. Zaed is with us, as is Hacaros and Jazel. We set off for the western sector, an area of the city that's been bombed heavily lately, scanning the streets for any Fos'Sed dumb enough to attack us. The whistle of shells in the distance as th DI fought some skirmish echoes through the ruins, and a thin veil of battle mist hangs in the air, the smell of gunpowder, blood and burning permeating my nose. We dispatch several groups of Fos'Sed that are crawling about in the ruins with ease. When we go into a fight, Veloce wakes up and becomes a bloodthirsty serpent, balancing in my hand perfectly with every strike to sink his fangs deep into the enemy. No blood clings to him.

We camp out in a ruined Archive Hall for lunch. There are books lying across the floor, their pages flapping in the wind which cuts through the building. Explosions in the distance shake the floor, and dust trickles from the roof. The sound of machine gun and laser fire filters through the windows, echoing around the spacious chamber. We eat, check our weapons, and rest in turns. I sleep first.
A low rumbling, tearing sound is coming from the sky, waking me up, but I can't see anything. The sun is in my eyes. We stand up as a group and leave the Archive Hall for a better viewpoint. I look up to see several military dropships descending through the atmosphere. The ships leave trails of vapour behind them, their undersides glowing red from the atmospheric re-entry, and the dropships ae followed by a small group of drop-pods, two of which streak though the sky to slam into the ground behind us, ripping the road apart. They split open and an armoured tactical assault squad jumps out of each, fanning out into the avenue we're in and sweeping the area with their guns. In the distance, the dropships land in the street. More assault squads spread out from each, some accompanied by larger Hunter-class armoured battlesuit troops, and civilians are quickly being rounded up. Fighters rush by overhead, while several transport ships are descending to land. Finally, some backup arrives!

We walk over to the nearest squad, and I ask the leader “Who are you?”
He turns his helmeted head to look down at me through a mirrored visor.“We're with the Clanship. Your planet has been deemed lost and exterminatus declared. We're evacuating civilians and military personnel to the fleet in orbit before Planetary Bombardment commences. You're military on this planet?”
I give a short laugh. “Ha. You could say that.”
“Where are your commanding officers?”
I give him a dirty look. “I am the highest commanding officer for this army. I effectively govern this planet. Our government officials are dead. The Defense Initiative come under my jurisdiction.”
The armoured leader laughs. “Not anymore. As of three hours ago, you're a part of our clan. We'll look after you. You'll have to choose a tribe later. Right now, we're getting the fuck off this planet. My name is Sergeant Lohene. Come with me if you want to live. Let's move!” He motions for us to follow him with his gun. It's a big gun. We follow.

We move with the squad though the city, fighting off groups of Fos'Sed, to our abandoned spaceport. The dropships ships are waiting, their hatches open, large enough to carry two five man squads and equipment. The engines clustered under the wings and near the tail end are still running, a low rumbling noise that vibrates the ground beneath me.  Lohene ushers us up into a waiting ship, and leads us to the bridge. The Sergeant salutes someone who looks like he outranks Lohene, but it isn't returned.
“Sir. I found some of the elite warriors. I brought them to you as ordered, Lieutenant. This one is apparently the military leader on this planet.”
The Lieutenant, a tall, thin, shrewd looking man with deep grey eyes, nods once to Lohene, and looks out the window. “Carry on, Sergeant.” He doesn't turn to face me when he addresses me. “Name?” he says, in a bored voice.
I hate him already.
“Ricasso.”
He begins to speak in a monotone.
“You are part of the Clanship now. You will be taken up to the fleet soon, where you will be officially inducted into the Clan. Sit down and stay quiet until we get there. Dismissed.”
I glare at him, furious at his audacity. The others do the same.
“Excuse me, but what gives you the right to do this? You can't just come down here, remove everybody and bomb our world, and expect us to just go along with it.” I say.
It seems as if he's said this already. He probably has, at some point. War is repetitive.
“Your planet is lost. We can't do anything about that. But if we want to protect our people, we have to destroy the threat. The biggest threat currently is this planet. It is overrun with Fos'Sed. If we leave them here, they'll spread, and more planets will fall. It's for the greater good.”
I reach for Veloce – I have a thing against “greater good” talks. “Greater good” talks spark off dumb ideas that usually get people killed. Look at the history of Earth and you'll see what I mean. Abael steps forward with Zaed, and speaks quietly but firmly.“We understand. Lets go, Ricasso.” They both grip me by the shoulder and lead me away, giving me  meaningful looks while Hacaros and Jazel follow. I glare at them. I think I glare too much.
“Get you hands off me.”
“Look. We can't do anything. They have us outgunned. We may as well go along with him. It shouldn't be too bad,” says Zaed.
“What do you mean?”
He grins wryly. “We'll still be warriors, Ricasso. Maybe we can gain some recognition. We need to regroup. I think we should take it upon ourselves to sort this war out. We're better than them, and we have the Psyke. Apparently it's less common offworld.”
What the hell. “Fine. I'm in.” Zaed turns andsits with Abael and Hacaros, with Jazel  beside them. Veloce was quiet by my side. The deck shudders under me as the ship lifts off. No turning back now. I say goodbye to my life and sit with the others.

*               *               *

I gaze out of a porthole and watch the capital beneath us. There are several other dropships like ours taking flight, rising through the air slowly, accompanied by the fighters. Cargo ships carry the drop-pods into orbit above. Looking across the city, we can see the army of Fos'Sed in the buildings and streets. Shells impact across the city, and a group of skyscrapers collapse into rubble. People are fleeing the horde, some screaming as they're devoured alive. Men, women and children alike are torn apart. As we watch, massive blue beams of ionic laser lance into the ground from the sky, and shockwaves from the explosions rock the city. Our ship is ascending quicker now, and my view of the city is obstructed by a layer of cloud.
We rise higher and higher, and as we leave the atmosphere a fleet of military-class ships come into focus. There are twenty Cruisers. They're several kilometers long, and are firing their PB (planetary bombardment) cannons at the surface. From across the planet, hundreds of dropships are rising, and docking in the massive hangars aboard the cruisers. There are other ships in orbit too. About forty Carriers, as large as the Cruisers but not as heavily armed, carrying troops, ground vehicles, more dropships, and fighters. Two Destroyers fly escort alongside each Carrier and Cruiser. Over 100 small Patrol Ships about 60 meters long, bristling with guns. 50 Frigates nearly 500 meters long glide between the larger ships. Squads of fighters are screaming amongst the fleet, escorting the returning dropships. There are a few Medic ships, large, Frigate-sized military hospital ships, with large numbers of dropships docked, scattered amidst the fleet almost randomly. Near the centre of the fleet, Troop Transport ships, their hangars open, are receiving dropships back into their hangars, while cargo ships wait near the edge of the fleet. There are about 60 Dreadnoughts as well, firing their own PB cannons into our planet. The display of power is awe-inspiring, as it is meant to be.  

*               *               *

Our ship glides toward a hangar onboard one of the troop transport ships. As we get closer, the military-grey TT throws a shadow across our dropship. Turrets swivel to point their guns at us, and the Lieutenant gives his landing codes. The hangar doors slide open to admit us entry into the belly of the carrier, and bright light flows across us. We land, and the doors close behind us.
I've been noticing a crest on most ships – a blue Fleur-de-lis on a dark background, with red outline and a gold circlet to hold the fleur-de-lis together. Very simple, plastered everywhere in case we forget who we're fighting for. There are no actual uniforms, but the basic armour is standard issue (SI), so everybody almost looks alike. The armour is a deep navy blue, and the crest is displayed on peoples' right shoulderpads and helmets. The weaponry varies, but the most predominant set-up is a automatic rifle, frag grenades, a short, double-edged sword, and a knife. I assume that it is an SI setup, as other people are carrying personal weapons. Armour has been modded in places – spikes, studs, plates and the occasional animal skull can be seen. We exit the craft with Lohene and descend a ramp onto the deck. There are civilians being rounded up in the far end of the hangar, where they are being loaded into another waiting ship.
“Where are they headed?” I ask Lohene.
“They'll be settled on another planet and integrated into the society, of course.”
“Oh.” The answer is standard procedure for a planetary evacuation, but I'm tired, hungry and really, really confused.
“They've decided to brief the new initiates at 0900 Standard Time. We run a 1000 hour  clock here. It's currently... 0087.5 hours. I'll take you to your new quarters for some rest.”
“Thank you... sir.” Despite hating this whole setup, I'm taking a liking to this military packhorse.
“Call me Lohene or I'll hurt you. I can't abide ranks, they get in the way of what's important and usually cause problems. Around me there is no rank. And you will be around me a lot from now, you have been assigned as my new squad. Get used to it.”
“Er... ok...”
Lohene punches me in the arm. “Don't be so serious, it's getting me down. But when we meet the Tensh'a contingent, try to be polite and show some manners. They don't really get the whole relaxing thing – very tense people.”
I do a double take on that. “Excuse me? Tensh'a?”
“Yes. Tensh'a. They joined the Clanship last week. Completely unanticipated. Devoted 5.2 million troops to the fight.”
“How many do we humans have?”
“40.9 billion. Nowhere near enough.”
I give him a funny look, unsure whether he's kidding or not. I'm not convinced the Tensh'a would join us. We almost made them extinct – thats not the sort of thing you forgive quickly, is it? Not that I'd know. I've never been almost extinct before.