Automated relay beacons set to trigger upon the detection of a cynosural field in the Ancbeu constellation will broadcast the same miscellany of communications on a wide band that were sent to the other Syndicate fleets interdicted by the Caldari.
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“This is Governor Evelyn Arnoux. I cannot alter what is about to happen. But I can bear witness to the murder of my kin; and I can carry their memory back to my ; and but one more duty. I am here to relay the final messages from their friends, their families, and everyone back on our stations forced to watch the slaughter of our people. Since I do not have access to secure channels with the fleet, they must be broadcast in the clear. Stand by.”
The localnet begins to be saturated with hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of messages originating from private terminals in the Syndicate region. Most are short, personal missives, of no tactical or strategic significance. Life interrupted, and now, about to be cut short.
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
There is a rowdy crowd in a colorful bar, the background an eclectic mix of patchwork metal welded together and then decorated with gaudy metapaints. This crowd of motley Syndicate riffraff are dockworkers and laborers, ice buckers and algae farmers, of obviously different ethnicities and ages and backgrounds. But right now, they are united, finding solidarity in inebriation and anger and song. They have locked arms, swaying back and forth, voices lifted in a raucous chorus rife with spite and anger: “Ahararta kenorab voraath calamulav…”
(( Intaki for “Trust a snake before a Caldari” ))
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
The feed is of an overfull hospital ward, a tiny little enclosure of suspended sheets instead of a room. In the background, there is a muted cacophony of beeping machines, calm voices valiantly attempting to assert control over a far larger chorus of cries of pain, anger, and fear. But the grainy footage from the camera shows none of that, focused on an exhausted woman with strange geometric tattoos on one cheek and a newborn child cradled in her arms.
“Dovrin… this is your daughter.” She smiles, a brave but heartbreaking fragility to it. “We named her for your grandmother, Araline. Say hello, Araline.” The child gives a mewling cry that could be a salutation, or any of the other various kinds of neonatal distress. “She has your eyes, Dovrin. I…” She scrubs at a tear leaking from a bloodshot eye. “… I just really need you to make it back to us, okay? I don’t know if I can do this alone…”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
Hard eyes stare at the camera from the unflattering face only a mother could love. Her voice is thick with dark emotions she has difficulty expressing. “Isana, I’ve honestly hated your guts since the time you stole my boyfriend back when we were twelve. And then you copied my hairstyle, and did it better… everything always came so ■■■■■■■ easily to you. Just last month, you took that promotion I was gunning for with the ISP, and that plum posting on the dreadnought…” She scowls. “… maybe I should thank you for that, now. But, you know what, Isana? *■■■■ you*. You better make it back here for me to punch in the face. And if you don’t… I’ll hate the ones that killed you, instead.”**
_**_
(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
This transmission is a camera showing the interior of a small apartment. It isn’t large, a small studio belonging to some sort of laborer, with welding equipment visible stacked by a locker festooned with pictures of Caldari pop groups. The perspective is from near the corrugated metal floor, and in the foreground is a small metal bowl. Nothing happens for a long moment, then there is a little brown blur that rushes forward and resolves into a small canine with an underslung body and long, floppy ears. It stares right at the camera and noses the bowl, whimpers, and repeats the action again.
The hungry puppy doesn’t know, can’t know, that their owner is never coming home. But there is a plaintive sadness in those eyes that will stay with more than one person who witnesses it today.
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
There has been so much pain and fear and anguish in these communiques that this one is quite jarring in its mundane normalcy. The feed shows an elderly woman fingers busily knitting as she mumbles absently to a point at least a foot above the camera.
“Darling! I was just talking with the sewing circle about you. They’re all so excited to hear about your latest tour when you come home, and that cute junior officer you’ve been dating. You’re due in next week, and I’m sure I’ll have this shawl finished by then. Just the thing to make an impression on the lad! But you better not have used up all your kisses on him, and still have one left for your grandma’s cheek…” She rambles on at some length in the blithe, careless unreality of those suffering in dementia or denial, it is hard to say which.
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
A girl of perhaps fourteen stares at the camera with naked desperation. Behind her are at least three small children that are at least half-dervish, engaged in riotous play that is causing significant property damage to the furniture. She reaches out and grabs the camera, holding up to her drawn, pale face. “Look, you only paid me through the end of the week. What am I supposed to do? The money you left for food is about to run out, and…” The babysitter is on the verge of tears. “I love your kids, but… I’m just… I don’t know what to do…”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
A dark-skinned man who clearly has Blutor blood to go with his tribal tattoos stares into the camera. He is very much not the sort you’d like to run into in a dark corridor, and his voice sounds like rumbling gravel. “Look, Mecline. You’re into me for forty large. Really know how to pick 'em in the Qetakol, dontcha. And now it doesn’t look like you’re gonna pay me back. But I want you to know, even dying doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You still owe me.” He crackles his knuckles with a philosophical contemplation. “But that ■■■■ is *transferable*. I guess I’m gonna have to beat it out of the next boot-licking State-lover I see.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
A florid, overweight man stares into the vidfeed like a drowning man might view a passing ship. He doesn’t look like he’s slept in two days, at least, and is running on fumes. “Look, Andal, I know you’re on the run and wanted for who the hell knows what, but there are bigger problems than that. Things are ■■■■■■■ chaos down here. I have a thousand mouths to feed and not half the protein I need to do it. I *need* those biomass shipments from planet IV rerouted. I know you’re busy dying and all, but you need to sack up and do your ■■■■■■■ job or…” There is a small chiming notification and the man’s jowls sag with relief. “… thank you. Thank you. And… good luck.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
Security camera footage from what is still recognizable as an Ishukone office shows the place in shambles. A mob is currently in the process of ransacking it with spiteful violence, far more keen on destruction than looting. An impromptu bonfire burns off-center from the screen - the fire suppression systems clearly disabled - with more and more heaped on it every moment, furniture and decorations and equipment added to the pyre with vengeful abandon.
An updraft carries the tattered remnants of a smouldering Caldari flag up towards the camera, embers chewing the emblem of the State into meaningless carbon.
______
(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
A young boy, no more than six years old, squints through the bangs of a truly regrettable haircut. There is an awkward pause, and then he pounds clumsily on some hidden button again. Then his face lights up like a dying star, a gap-toothed grin stretching from ear to ear.
“Au-ray!” He claps chubby little hands together. “Momma says you won’t be over today! But that’s ohkay. You’re flyin’ on a spaceship! That’s so cool. I wish I was there.” His nose scrunches up. “But you’re still coming to my birthday party next week, right? I’ve got that new VR game. Its *so* cool. You get to be this rad -” There is a muffled voice in the background, the words indecipherable but the tone stern. The young boy’s face takes on a guilty look, as he reaches out to fumble at the controls. “… I gotta go. I can’t wait to see you again, Au-ray!”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
The feed opens with an Intaki man and his young son staring at a camera drone in what appears to be a small berth on a ship. The man rests his hand on the boy’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze before he starts speaking. The boy himself looks to be on the verge of tears. “My dearest Haniele, I just received word that the ship with you and our daughter has been stopped and will likely be destroyed. I hope that we do not meet the same fate soon. If this message reaches you…know that we both love you and Crymari. You will not be forgotten and you will always be loved.”**
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
There is no video feed, just the voice of what sounds like a very young boy. “Mom, they said the bad guys got your ship. They said I won’t see you again. One of the soldiers said they will take care of me. So don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I love you.”
__**
(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
A young Gallente woman sits on a balcony overlooking a neon soaked Syndicate station concourse. She’s trying—and failing—to look composed. "Rhett… you said this was just a ‘routine escort.’ You always say that."She laughs, but it’s brittle.“I left the light on in our room. I know it’s stupid, but I thought… maybe if it’s lit, you’ll find your way back faster.” She presses her forehead to the camera.“Please. I don’t care about Syndicate politics or Caldari bounties or any of it. I just want you to come home and complain about the food again.”**
_**_
(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
A video feed opens to an Intaki woman in military fatigues. “My husband and I already said our farewells. This message is to the capsuleers aiding the State. Please stop and think about what you are doing. These people are not fugitives…they are wives and daughters, sons and…husbands. Please I beg you…stop. These are just innocent civilians that you’re slaughtering. Please…stop.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
This transmission is a camera feed consumed with a bright flame and a crackling sound of a quickly melting plastic mass of Caldari Pop idols. One can hear a broken whimper of an older woman off camera as she soon says in a firm tone “My son was on that ship. I will not let the monsters who took them away taint my memory of him”
A video feed cuts to the exterior section of an airlock where male figure clad in a bright orange spacesuit and a rifle at his back. “Thought I just escaped but nooooo we have state forces trying to hunt us down for trying to live. They can try to take me. But I will die on my feet and a rifle in my arms first”. Video feed cuts out as the man turns, facing what one can assume to be a drone staring at him.
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
The video feed blurs as a young mother with a tear-streaked face and an infant at her breast adjusts the pickup. “Baby, everything’s going crazy, everyone’s crazy.” A three-year-old girl looks curiously at the feed, but her mother pulls her close. Staccato blasts of gunfire ring out. The young mother glances over her shoulder, terrified. People sprint by in the background, followed by armed troops in riot gear. “They’re looting everything, there’s nothing, we can’t get off the station! They just pushed us, they almost trampled Kunara.” She hugs the child closer, and stifles a sob. “We’ll keep trying… I know you’ll find a new life for us.” She tries to smile through her tears. “I’ll know you’ll find a way. Don’t stop looking for us.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
This transmission is a series of simple text messages “Ren. You know that bottle of mint extract you were working on?”“The cat knocked it off the counter.”“Plz come back and clean it up”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
An audio transmission crackles to life “Prescription for Haniwara, Sao, is now ready at Lawn Dart pediatric pharmacy. Please pick your items up at your earliest convenience.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
A retransmission of video feed from a dignified Intaki man in a dark formal suit giving a media conference, protected by a rank of armed Intaki Space Police. He is outside on a temperate planet, and a city burns in the distance. “Everyone, remain calm. Return to your homes. We’ll distribute aid as soon as possible. Adults capable of civil service, be ready. I’m negotiating with Caldari fleet authorities, and they’ve agreed to suspend bombardment. When they land, don’t attack, don’t resist them in any way. If you stay calm, we might be able to secure local autonomy. If there’s violent resistance, we’ll lose everything. We’ve come a long way… don’t throw it away, don’t make us lose everything. Our leaders, those who’ve fled… they’re not refugees, they’re not cowards. They’re our ambassadors to the Federation. If they can’t secure Federation aid, I know they’ll be able to gain access for those of us who want to leave. And to all the mercenary capsuleers trying to stop them, ■■■■ You.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
An image transmission comes across heavily pixelated with a pale and dark haired woman sitting upright in what appears to be a hospital bed, cradling something in her arms. The following text message is equally as garbled “I- -all th–s cha-s, mi-acles do ha-pen.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
Shaky video from a tablet device shows the viewport of a Velator corvette. A massive station recedes in the distance. A bright flash of blinding bluish light explodes and winks out. A voice husky with fear breathes, “The Dominix just went up. There’s nothing, we’ve got nothing.” Panicked voices moan, cry, and curse. The video feed turns and shows the terrified exhausted faces of people crammed against each other, ghastly and pale in the emergency lighting of the crew compartment. “They’ll cut us off!” “We don’t have enough water!” “■■■■, maybe we should just surrender.” The husky voice yells above the others. “Shut up, shut up, hold on, the pilot’s aligned, he’s going to hit it!”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
A middle-aged woman with bronze skin and auburn hair tied in a messy bun peers into a comm device. “Shendan…” she whispers, her voice shaking, “Shendan, they took the command center, we couldn’t fight, we didn’t have anything, oh Shen I’m so scared. They’re rounding everybody up, I don’t know what they’re going to do-” The video spins crazily and the device clatters to the floor. It momentarily catches the armored gauntlet of a Caldari space trooper.
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
An audio transmission arrives with the sound of a younger man, old enough to be in college, and his voice briefly fades from clarity. “Yo Ray ray, Crazy stuff I’m seeing while enjoying the hard stuff from Zeyak. People are runnin’ everywhere, buildings are going ka-blewie, and then there’s some armored dudes shouting at the locals. When you get this message, lemme know what you think about it”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
An exhausted ship crewman in a pressure suit stares into the video pickup. “Any Intaki vessel, any Intaki vessel, this is the Ujat Mankat, an Iteron V class hauler. We’ve been blown in half. We have no propulsion, limited battery power, and limited rations. We have more than three hundred refugees aboard… the others, they were lost when we broke up. We’re drifting into deep space. Any Syndicate ship, or any neutral ship, please don’t let us die out here.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
The transmission displays a hawk-faced Intaki man in a high-collared shipboard uniform. His face shows his fatigue, but also bitter determination. “Nehla, by this time tomorrow we’ll reach Federation space. Caldari forces won’t dare to follow us here, but their hired jackals will no doubt be waiting to tear at us. Don’t doubt that they’ll face our guns. Our ships are some of the most powerful the Syndicate has, and we’ll cut through them like the ■■■■ they are. Our people still have a strong presence in the Federation. I know they’ll take us in. Stay safe as best you can. Nehla, please just… survive. I’ll send for you as soon as I can. Always know that I love you.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
This transmission is from an acolyte of the The Penitent Order of St. Charduzir of Assimia Reclaimed, an early Amarr missionary settlement on U4-Q2V III in Syndicate founded during the early days of Operation Dustbowl but later disassociated from the operation. “Brothers! We are now safely underway. Do not mourn. As Scripture says I give to you the destiny of Faith, And you will bring its message to every planet of every star in the heavens.’ And so we shall. Pray for us that our deliverance is at hand.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
This transmission is from a factory worker in the foundries of Saccade to her boss. “Harry! We managed to secure the blue prints and are now enroute. We will meet at the appointed place and time and restart operations. Please send funds.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
“This narrow-band transmission is for Dr. Miren Solari — my teacher, my mentor, the only person I have ever truly looked up to. Seven years we worked side-by-side. The beacon was a trap. The Caldari came in waves the moment we committed to the corridor. Our transports, our labs, every sample we saved — they’re tearing it all apart. I know you’re still fighting to keep the last cryo-capsules stable.I just wanted you to know… I never regretted a single night we spent in that cramped med-bay arguing over gene sequences. You showed me what it meant to serve something bigger than ourselves. Even now, I’m still proud to have been your apprentice. Whatever comes next–” The transmission cuts out.
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
The video feed shows a beautiful Gallente woman with blue lipstick and orange hair. “This is Terillia Batira, freelance correspondent, brought to you by The Scope! I’m in Syndicate space, on board a Sisters of Eve temporary refugee center in orbit around a barren inhospitable planet. We have thousands of refugees already, and more are coming in by the hour. The Sisters of Eve are doing everything they can, but we need help. These people, these defenseless civilians, are completely exhausted and suffering from thirst, hunger, and traumatic breakdown. If you can help these people in any way, contact The Scope and tell them you’re willing to render aid to these people in need. If you want to take a stand against Caldari aggression, we will transport you to this refugee center or one like it to help in any way you can. If you can’t travel, open your home to a refugee family, or even donate as little as a pack of Quafe. It will buy food and medical supplies for these suffering victims of aggression.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
A slim older woman with dark soulful eyes stares into the video feed. “Kashina, oh Kashi, I’m so
glad you got out. The Caldari, they’re here now. They took the station, and they won’t let anyone leave. They’re going to door to door and dragging people out.” She grimaces and covers her eyes, then composes herself. “They all have their ‘orders’, I guess, but they can’t tell the difference between the real Syndicate people and the rest of us. Don’t worry about me. Get to the Federation. Try to meet someone. Build a life for yourself. I’ll come and find you, when I can. Don’t come back.”
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(❍) Intercepted Syndicate Broadcast (❍)
The video from a handheld device show a man’s hand touching notes and papers affixed to a wall. Some of them are printed, some are holographic, and some and handwritten. There are messages from families torn apart, desperate messages from parents looking for children, and notes from people leaving contact information. “She’s not here,” the man mutters, “She’s not here.” The man turns to stop a passing aid worker, and the device pans across the length of the wall. It is covered with thousands of messages.
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The transmissions cease when there are no longer any Syndicate vessels in the system.
(( I probably will not be awake for this last one, but here it is for that as well. Also for reference for anyone who doesn’t want to fish them out of Local Spam. ))