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PW6: Bumper Crop

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Ed2D2	PW6: Bumper Crop		Lead	[-]
Posts: 573 Oct 7 07 5:12 PM	Tags : None Remove this ad Such is the Way of the Universe. Princes and generals rise. They pursue a dream and fight epic battles. They save or take millions of lives. They impact the lives of millions of individuals, millions of reflections of the infinite and unknowable... And then they slip away into the mist of history. Civilizations fall. Great truths and legends become forgotten, known only nominally by the scholars who forge their way into the past, with limited light, exploring shadowy ruins where once stood monuments of glory. And the cycle continues. Season follows season. Era follows era. * "Help me," the old man whispered, his eyes wide with a tired but purposeful light. Donald Strawberry rested a hand on the man's arm and managed an encouraging smile. "The medics are on the way," he said gently. "You're going to be alright." The words felt empty and trite. The man was in a pretty tenuous condition. His face was hollow and pale. He had been bleeding for hours. The old man chuckled. "I don't care if I live or die. But I have something I need you to deliver." He reached under his torn and bloodied shirt and pulled out a necklace. "The Ackiist Sign," Donald whispered. "Do you know how much this is worth?" "Not as much as the collectors think. There are millions of these, if you know where to look." The man paused. "But this one holds a message. And it needs to get to Governor Cherry on Rogue Way immediately." "Rogue Way is an Allied Planets world." Donald frowned. "They'd never let an Organic Federation agent in there." "With that data they will," whispered the man. * "He died shortly thereafter," Lt. Donald Strawberry reported as he addressed the holograhm of Commander Mulberry. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ancient necklace. "And all we have is an ancient artifact." Commander Mulberry frowned, stroking his beard. "And he claimed to be a Follower of Acky... If I remember my history, that sect has been extinct for two thousand years. Their way of life died out during the Great Blight." "That's right, Commander. Around the time of the Fall of the Hands Empire." "Still." A pause. "Given the state the galaxy is in now, I'm not sure what to believe. This galaxy hasn't been unified in over a thousand years, and with all the conflict that's taken place, we don't know very much. Neither about the past or what's going on elsewhere." Donald took a deep breath. "True, but we still need to make a decision. Should I deliver this thing to the Allied Planets? Things aren't exactly squeeky clean between us right now." "I don't see why not. I'll have to get clearance from the General and the Secretary of State, of course, but I can't see any harm coming out of giving them a religious relic. If anything, maybe it would make them more willing to talk to us... And then maybe we could finally end this war."
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Ed2D2	Re: PW6: Bumper Crop	#1	[url]	[-]
Posts: 573 Oct 7 07 5:15 PM	Time out: Looking back, it's been almost four years... Wow It'll be interesting to see how this develops. Time in:
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Acky12	Re: PW6: Bumper Crop	#2	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Oct 7 07 6:06 PM	TO: Man, Edward, you remain a master of words. That opening prologue section was beautiful. TI: "Eesqa non nona door ixx tix!" His head hurt. Actually, a lot of things hurt. He opened his eyes and darkness threatened to overtake him once more, but streams of light, bright burning light, flooded through and an overwhelming number of sensory expressions began. First was the pain - his left arm, feet, aching head. Then came the sense of nausea and disorientation. His eyes burned both from the light but also from what his nose was quickly identifying as smoke. It was thick, likely from a very near-by fire, and reeked of starfighter fuel. His ears were filled with buzzing chatter that he was quickly realizing to be individuals hovering over him. "Tak tak noph?" One of them - his eyes were still adjusting to the light, but the being appeared brown skinned, bumpy, perhaps even scaly, with an over-developed cranial section that jutted up and back from the being's face - leaned in. Again, it repeated the bizarre expression. "Tak tak noph?" Still no comprehension came. Perhaps it was the headache, the likely side-effect from a hard concussion. Or perhaps... yes, the translator device. With great pain, he reached up behind his right ear and removed a small pea-like device. Even without sight, it was clear from touch alone that it had been cracked. He cursed, barely audible, but his throat burned like fire. Dehydration, no doubt... or perhaps some kind of injury that he'd not yet self-diagnosed. "Tak tak noph?" It came again, and he shook his head. It hurt too much to speak, but there seemed no other way to convey the fact that he didn't... couldn't.... understand the creature. But it still remained that he had so many questions... "Where... my ship?" He wheezed; the creature offered what he guessed was the equivalent of a blink from all three of its eyes. "Did you find ... others?" Still no reaction. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; the fire in his throat returned, unleashing a furious series of coughs, which only seemed to compound the pain. Consciousness seemed to slip away, but he fought it with all of his resolve as a single thought, forcing its way through his mind. Who... More coughs; the creature was joined by a second, but both continued to just stare at him, perhaps even slowly backing away, unsure of how to react. The thought prevailed, forming into a question... a question which he realized was more important than anything else... that single piece of information which would determine his existence, his survival, his future. Who am... Another flurry of coughs followed and the pain exploded, quickly crossing the threshold of what he could and could not handle. He tried to fight it, with all of his resolve, all of his remaining strength, but his reserves were gone. He struggled and fought against it, the thought pushed itself to completion... Who am I? ... and darkness returned.
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Iurus	Re: PW6: Bumper Crop	#3	[url]	[-]
Posts: 10578 Oct 8 07 2:50 AM	TO: I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'll do my best... TI: A lone young man sat beneath his humble abode. Through family connections, he could have been wealthy, and married. Instead, he lived alone, with a handful of friends unaware of his family connections. His lifestyle, constantly in motion, had caused him to become skinny and unattractive to the properly plump girls he was once educated with. But he felt no regrets. Arrayed around him was a variety of antique items. At least one was part of a weapon, though it was not intended for war. These items did not occupy his attention. Instead, he thought of the future. No. Thought was not the right word- his mentor would have been outraged. He felt for the future, and over the course of several days the truth became clear to him. He saw the events that would unfold. He saw what would happen to him in the following days. He saw what he would do. He saw what he would become. It was when he saw that, that he plunged even farther into the madness that is isolation.
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Acky12	Re: PW6: Bumper Crop	#4	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Oct 8 07 11:27 AM	An explosion. Fiery and full of flying metal. He pushed the control yoke forward and felt the ship climb up and over the inferno. There, on the other side, was his goal: a large raisin drop craft buzzing with various support ships, from plum fighters to carton cruisers. Laser blasts of varied colors filled space, taunting him to fly across and tempt fate. Engines screeched as he pushed them to their maximum to try and close the gap - he had to get to the drop ship. He jerked the ship every which direction to stay out of the line of fire. The distance began closing - 1000 units... 700 units... he was merely 500 units away from the raisin drop ship. He shoved the control yoke hard to the left, continuing his zig-zag, but the ship refused to comply, instead flipping end over end with a gigantic roar. One of the laser blasts must have hit his engines. Panic set in. Vision began to blur, the controls became unreadable and unresponsive. The raisin drop shift disappeared from the main viewport, replaced by the horizon line of a dust colored planet. Then everything went black. It was dark. Darker than before. His condition must be deteriorating. No, no, that wasn't it. He forced his eyes to open and to begin comprehending his situation. There were walls around him; the natives must have moved him inside. How long had he been out? Minutes? Hours? ...days? He couldn't feel his right leg, but the injuries to his arms seemed to be better. Gingerly testing, he braced his hands against the small cot he had been left on and pushed himself up. There was a sensation of pain, but not nearly as bad as before. The room was sparsely decorated, nothing more than the cot he was on and a small table on the other wall; not that there was any room for anything else. He kicked his legs over the side, the left easily with the right just flopping down next to it. As he shifted his weight onto his legs in an attempt to stand, pain shot up both legs, although the sensation was dulled in his right leg. Hobbling over to the table, he found a basin of liquid and a small pitcher of what he assumed was water. He picked up the pitcher and took a drink, the burning sensation in his throat still quite present, but soothed by the water. He replaced the pitcher on the table and gingerly lowered two of his fingers into the unknown liquid. Immediately his fingers felt like ice, their nerve endings dulled, with a tingling sensation running down his right arm. He quickly withdrew them and a clear gelatinous residue remained and the sense of feeling muted. Finding the sensation difficult to accept, he let his arm drop to a resting position at his side where it rubbed against his right leg. The tactile sensation from touching his leg matched what he was feeling in his hand. The gel must serve as some kind of pain killer; he surmised that the beings had treated his wounds through the gel. That probably didn't bode well for the healing of his leg. He sighed and took another drink of the water, again ignoring the pain. Memories struggled to return... where was he? The short term was no problem. The battle from - well, he didn't know how much earlier the battle had been - before remained present in his mind. He'd been in a small one-person fighter, but as he reflected on it he couldn't picture the design of his cockpit, couldn't discern any writing or configuration about his ship. He knew that he'd been trying to get to a raisin drop craft - that much was crystal clear, he could see the individual lines along the hull, the writing on the side of the craft identifying it as the "V.E.G. Keri." But... why was he trying to get there? He struggled to recall, but nothing came. Was he attacking the craft? Was he trying to protect it? He just couldn't remember. Which side was he on in the battle? What was it being fought over? How could he ever hope for rescue if he was unable to discern between friend or foe? What possibility of returning to his normal life was there if he couldn't remember anything of it?
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Acky12	Re: PW6: Bumper Crop	#5	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Oct 9 07 3:40 PM	He sluggishly opened his eyes. He'd been asleep again. Sleep was coming easy anymore. How long was it this time? His neck wasn't hurting nearly as bad anymore; nor was the rest of his body. The strange gel that the natives had applied to his wounds seemed to be doing the job. He sat up and craned to look out the small slit of a window. It was still quite light out. Had he slept a full day cycle? What he did know, was that he'd not stayed consistently awake long enough to ascertain exactly how long that cycle lasted. He tried to recall: had there only been one star in the system during the battle? Yes. No. There was a second bright object in the system... or had that just merely been starlight reflecting off a metal hull? He strained his memory to focus, but clarity would not come. His short-term recollections were more distant anymore. Now the starships that appeared as he replayed the battle in his head were just as blurry as the controls. It was getting harder to distinguish shapes from each other. There were moments that would pass where he could seemingly just barely remember his name - it seemed right on the tip of his tongue, but some form or distraction always seemed to whisk the moment away. All too often it was sleep, but on at least two occasions the native beings had entered the cot to refill the water pitcher and apply additional gel substances to his leg. Communication with them was still non-existent. He'd tried speaking, and they'd tried replying, but without the pea translator it was wasted energy. Thinking about the creatures reminded him that they'd never brought him any substantial nourishment other than the water. But he wasn't hungry. Could the gel be taking care of hunger as well? Wait - There it was again... his name, something of his past life. Just on the horizon, but... nothing able to be recalled. It seemed so close. This was ridiculous, he decided. To waste away whatever life he had by sitting around this cot waiting for the scalies to do something. That made the decision. He forced himself to stand again, moved to the table and took a quick drink from the glass before heading toward the door. If he was going to make any progress in recovering his life, his memories, seeing if there was anything left of his ship would be the first step. He couldn't recall, however, where his ship was. Not due to memory loss this time, but because of the constant black-outs he was suffering from immediately following the crash. Exiting the hut revealed a number of similar huts, although most of them had some slight decoration and other signs of being lived-in. The village, it clearly was not an accidental gathering, seemed rather methodical in layout. Various members of the scalies were wandering down the streets; none seemed to pay attention nor notice him. Picking a direction would be a necessary first step. He glanced around, scanning the horizon, when the way suddenly became obvious. The still rising thick, black smoke would guide his way.
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Fettster		#6	[url]	[-]
Posts: 1264 Mar 1 08 10:06 PM	A man. No, not a man. A mask. The planet Vegshad, on the rim of the galaxy. Long had the Mask of Fet'antilles been handed down through the generations. Long had the warrior of old been revered on this planet of dust and water, life and death. Long had his return been prophesied, and a promise to return the people to the stars from whence they came. Long had the lies been told. *** "Mother, I need this trip!" Twenty-two years and still living at home. For Adam'ska Melona, twenty-two was far older than he'd ever wanted to be when he finally left the ancestral home. But the Church demanded it. Demanded his life. His soul. "Mother." "Son." Uh-oh. Yula Tomat Melona, wife of Church official Sen Melona, was not in a mood to be trifled with. The trouble had started three days before, when Adam'ska and his lady friend Cornata had learned of a trip sponsored by their college--a year-long trip to the capital city of Pota, home of the only offworld communications center known on the planet's surface. They both wanted it--wanted it desperately, wanted it so badly they would...they would... Adam'ska sighed. Wanted it so badly they would back down when Mother said so. Damn her. Damn the Church of Fet'antilles. Damn the whole slagging planet and its isolationist nature. But most of all...damn me. Edited 3 times by Fettster Mar 2 08 1:28 AM.
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Acky12		#7	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Mar 10 08 12:58 PM	The area had formerly been a forest. Thick stumps and large breadths of foliage lay scattered and charred on the ground. The dirt was scarred and displaced, evidence pointing to a violent crash landing. And there, at the end of the path was a burning hulk, twisted and mangled and gushing smoke toward the sky. He knew it was his ship. The mass was disfigured and unidentifiable, and for that matter he still had not recovered enough of his short term memory to say for certainty what his ship actually had been, but the fact remained: it had been his. Despite his hopes, seeing the wreck did nothing to restore his past. Another few hesitant steps brought him closer to the wreck. He was close enough to feel the heat emanating from the fire, close enough to see disfigured writing on the side of the hull. What remained of the cockpit was shattered on the side of the vessel, a gaping hole in the top viewport. He decided that the aliens had cut him out of the ship, braving the dangers to rescue him. Now, there was a small group of the scalies gathered off to the side, keeping distance and taking cover under the trees that still stood. He watched as another one of the creatures came up a path near the gathering and began to step toward the wreck with visible curiosity. As the scaly stepped out of the tree line, the others reached out toward him, yelling in their incoherent tongue. The being turned toward them in hesitation and was thrown to the ground as another explosion erupted from the rear section of the starfighter. What had happened? Why had he crashed here? Was the battle still ongoing up above? He had to get back there, but clearly this vessel was no longer going to be useful to him. The sun, which had been shining brightly down on him, suddenly went dark, casting shadows on the area. His instinctive response was that the smoke from the new explosion had simply blotted out the sun, but he looked anyway. The trail of smoke billowed in another direction - instead, a large black shape, in a black "w" shaped silhouette had appeared in the sky, screaming toward the surface. Another crash landing? Rescue? Capture? He wasn't sure... there were so many answers he didn't have. But as he watched the vessel grow larger in the sky, it was clear that it had no intentions of slowing. Ignoring the still present, although minimized, pain in his leg, he started off at a run, diving toward the tree line. He'd only been able to take a few steps before the all too familiar sound of laser blasts filled his ears - the new vessel was firing on the wreck, unloading a barrage of fire into the hulk until finally detonating the remaining fuel reserves and sending shrapnel throughout the area. He was thrown off his feet and into the low grass that grew under the cover of the trees. It all came screaming back in that instance. He remembered being in his cockpit, diving ever closer toward the raisin drop ship. He remembered glancing at his scanners and thinking he'd made it, had a clear path the rest of the way. He remembered his elation that it was going to work - that what was going to work? What was his goal, his mission? - and he remembered the screaming of warning sirens, that he'd been targeted. His engines exploded behind him as they were hit and the ship drifted down toward the planet, caught in the gravity pull. He glanced to his left and saw a black shape passing by him, but there, again, was the sun, filling his vision with brightness, blinding him momentarily, and obscuring the identity of the attacking vessel. More important matters drew his attention as he pulled on the control yoke, attempting to stabilize his descent. The forward viewport of the cockpit glowed bright with a red hue, a sign that he'd begun entering the atmosphere far too quickly. Computer diagnostics were either screaming at him to respond, or weakly blinking off as they lost power. His heat shields had to hold. Without other options, he jabbed violently at the main console and attempted to transfer all remaining power into the shielding systems, but even the main display went black and failed. Had it worked? He didn't think so. The dusty planet was growing closer in the viewport now and what had been simply masses of color had begun to distinguish themselves as a small forest. Directly in front of him, in his path, was a village centered around a small stream. Their brown huts were visible now, had his eyes still not recovered from the blinding sun, he suspected that he could have made out the individual materials used to make their roofs. Small figures were present, pointing in amazement toward him, some standing in shock, others turning and running. He couldn't crash into a village... not if he could help it at least. He pulled hard on the control yoke, begging that his power transfer hadn't gone through and that what remained of the engines would respond to his command. The ship tried to give, it leaned slightly, shifting him from a straight descent to an angled approach that would take him just shy of the village. This was it. He wouldn't survive this crash landing, not well at least. He remembered thinking of his loved ones - but who were they? - and wishing he could see them one more time. He counted down from five and when he reached one, the ship impacted on the surface, lurching him forward, smashing his head into the viewport as- He impacted on the ground, his shoulder smashing into the tree and sending him into a heap on the ground. It seemed that luck had prevented any of the large bits of shrapnel from hitting him, but one of the scalies wasn't so lucky. The explosion had deafened his ears, but only momentarily, and the painful wailing was fading into his consciousness. He stood up, bracing himself against the tree to regain his balance and decided that he certainly wasn't helping the healing process on his leg. Another sound began to realize itself: a whirring from repulsor engines hovering over the area. A dark grey cruiser had lowered itself down into the clearing - a slim and exposed body with an enclosed cockpit at the head and a quartet of wings extending down from the top of the body. One pair of the wings extended at a small angle from the top, the second pair was at a near 45 degree with landing struts extending from the bottom that the ship rested on. Below the enclosed cockpit glass, a series of skulls had been painted with slashing lines through most of them. Royal blue stripes decorated the wings and body, with the main stripe running the entire length of the ship. As the ship settled, five black armored troops jumped out of the exposed back-end of the ship and distributed themselves in a point formation around the shuttle. Covering each other, they moved as a group toward where he was standing, watching them. The lead trooper motioned at him and yelled out in a voice filtered by a helmet comlink. "Come on!" He turned and took a few steps toward the troopers: was it the right decision? Were these the right people to be going with? Would it be more dangerous to go with them? "What about them?" He asked, pointing toward the four scalies gathered around the injured and writhing body of their companion. The troopers suddenly noticed the scalies and two of them swung their blasters around to point at the creatures who looked up at them with three wide eyes. "No time, we need to get you out of here, NOW. Our orders were to recover you and get back under cover." There wasn't a better option presenting himself, and he needed to be back in space. Given the option of staying on this planet or going with the troopers to find his identity in space, there wasn't any question which way he would go. With a renewed sense of purpose and drive, he quickly moved into the middle of the trooper formation and the group worked to return to the drop ship. One of the scalies looked up and saw him moving with them and screamed out, running toward the troopers. "Nooooo! Neid ko tige!" Did the troopers understand the language? He guessed yes, but even without translators, the "No" and panicked reaction set off alarm that he wasn't sure how to react to. Why wouldn't the scaly want him to go with the troopers? "Stay back," one of the troopers yelled out over his helmet comm. The scaly continued to run and the trooper opened fire, throwing the scaly off his feet and flying backwards onto the ground. The other three scalies suddenly acknowledged the trooper's presence and turned with a ferocious growl at the attackers. One of the scalies pulled something, a weapon of some sort, from his waist pocket and fired at the trooper. The trooper dropped to his knees on impact and then collapsed onto his side. Two of the other troopers stopped moving and unleashed a flurry of blaster fire at the scalies. He attempted to protest, to yell at them to stop, to explain that this creatures had saved him and healed him, but he didn't get the chance. While one of the other troopers provided cover, the remaining grabbed him under the arms and physically tossed him into the drop ship. He yelled out in pain as he landed on his wounded shoulder and felt the shuddering of the hull as the ship lifted off again. The two troopers that had remained focused on him jumped into the ship and laid down more cover fire. More scalies had emerged from under the cover of trees and were opening fire on the suddenly outnumbered forces. First one, then the second of the two attacking troopers succumbed to the attack. There wasn't even an attempt to recover the bodies, the drop ship just continued to rise toward space and he watched as the scalies poured useless fire into the air after the ship and the image of their desperation would remain forever ingrained into his memory as the compartment sealed in preparation for space travel. He was committed now. He was leaving the planet behind. But for what?
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Ed2D2	Been awhile, huh?	#8	[url]	[-]
Posts: 573 Nov 11 09 3:06 AM	"Arugula Flier, please identify," the gruff voice called dispassionately. Lt. Donald Strawberry cleared this throat and tapped his cuc-link. "This is Arugula Flier 'Last Harvest' requesting landing at the Rogue Way capitol building. I bring a message for Governor Cherry as a representative of the Organic Federation Council. I come in peace. I am unarmed." There was no immediate response. Strawberry leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Do you think they'll let us through?" Strawberry turned toward his copilot, Jane Blue. She had been assigned to him for training that morning. She sat alert against her scanner panels, her newly issued Federation uniform spotless and pressed. "I wouldn't let us through," he responded evenly. "We're at war. Our bombing of Rogue Way last season wasn't exactly the best way to endear ourselves to them." "That's what I thought," said Blue. "So, with all due respect, why are we here? And why weren't we briefed on this?" "Because only you, I, Mulberry, and the Secretary of State know we're here." * "Report." "Ma'am, an unarmed Arugula Flier is requesting an audience with Governor Cherry. They're from the Federation. How should we proceed?" General Radish blinked as she scanned the security board. All scans confirmed that there no weapons onboard. Even so... "It doesn't make sense." "Ma'am?" "Nothing, Commander. Hold for a moment." What am I doing? I'm supposed to be in the Outer Patches leading a fleet. Not stuck on customs duty because the Grand Admiral has an ego problem... "Commander, how many lifeforms are on board?" "Just two, General. No sign they're hiding anything. They appear to be who they say they are." She paused. "Not good enough. Damned if I let any Fed down here after what they pulled last year. Put me in touch with the Governor's Mansion." * Thirty minutes had passed. Blue remained attentive, her posture per regulation. "I don't think we're getting anywhere." What had the old man said? That the necklace would be enough? Strawberry struggled to remember that moment. He had been instructed to hold his cards close to his chest until after he could speak to Governor Cherry himself, but that didn't seem likely. "Open up another channel, Blue. I want visuals this time." Rogue Way Traffic Control was surprisingly receptive to the signal. Strawberry was surprised to see a petite woman in a general's uniform on the screen. Were they so rattled that they had military leadership staffing traffic control boards these days?" "Last Harvest, I am General Radish of the Allied Planets. Your request for an audience with the governor is denied. Please leave immediately." "General, we are willing to submit to inspection if need be." Radish narrowed her eyes. "If the Federation wishes to negotiate, we have ambassadors ready on Cornscant. The Governor cannot speak for the AP." "We do not wish to negotiate, General," said Strawberry. He reached into his pocket and produced the Ackiist Sign. He was rather proud of his dramatic flair. *** Radish gasped. The room seemed to be spinning. She gripped the console next to her. Hold yourself together, Radish... She straightened quickly, a well trained soldier of the fleet. She doubted the crew of the Last Harvest had noticed her discomfort. Her thoughts continued to race. "I see." What are they doing with our sign? Elder Locust said copies of the Sign had been destroyed in the Blight... She turned to the officer at her side, who watched her intently. "Clear the Last Harvest for landing." "Ma'am? At the Governor's Mansion?" "No... At my command center. I wish to speak to them first."
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Acky12		#9	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Nov 11 09 10:43 PM	No matter how hard he tried, the face looking back at him in the mirror just didn't feel like him. But every time he turned around, it was the same face. He tried to identify the smaller features, locking in on the unique elements that made his face, his. Sandy blonde hair at a medium length, slightly raggy and grown out. Something in the back of his memory had a problem with this, that he remembered his hair being much darker, but there was likely more than enough soot and dirt in his hair during the crash that once it had been cleaned, the natural color was quite a bit lighter. And he was slightly horrified by the tinges on the ends of his hair where it had clearly been burned and singed; he could easily remember being fussy about his hair. From there his eyes had no choice but to drop down to the large scar draping down the right side of his face from just below his eye brow level to the jutting shape of his chin bone. Clearly a reward from the the violent crash. The rest of his face, frankly, seemed average from there. A normal sized nose, thin lips, deep brown droplets for eyes. A door hiss from behind him tore away his attention and he turned to see a hardened man in a military uniform - a well decorated military uniform - entering into the room followed by a tall lanky blue-skinned man in doctor's robes. "Welcome back," the military man said. "I'm sorry, I don't understand." "I didn't expect you would." The man in the military uniform led him over to the small diagnostic bed in the medical examination room as the Doctor moved to one of the cabinets, removing several jars and placed them on the counter. "You probably don't remember me, I'm Captain Walter Clark." He settled in and was guided by the Doctor to lie back on the table and for the first time noticed how much his leg hurt. "What's going on, Captain?" Clark frowned and looked briefly at the Doctor. "What's the last thing you remember, son?" "Please," he tried to sit up but the Doctor forced him down, withdrawing a small medical scanner. "I don't even know my name." "You're suffering from one of the worst cases of combat amnesia I've ever seen-" Clark did his best to appear sympathetic, but his face was marked with far too many tests of raw combat and military experience to provide much empathy. "I won't tell you anything without you telling my name." Clark sighed and took a deep breath before continuing. "Dek Artero." He almost stopped, but then added, "Lieutenant Dek Artero." He blinked a few times and would have turned away for a moment of personal collection had he not been restrained on the table. Dek Artero. That was his name. Wasn't it? "That doesn't feel right, Captain. Nothing does right now... I don't like how I remember, that's not what my brain is telling me feels like my name, this place doesn't seem like anything before..." "Trust me, son," Clark stood to allow the Doctor more room to scan Dek's wounds, "it is. It's just going to take you some time. That crash, it did you in pretty well." Dek nodded. "I can remember bits and pieces of a battle before I landed on the planet with those scalies. They covered my wounds in this sticky gel..." "Yes," the Doctor finally chimed in, "that is their trademark. They were trying to heal you. Unfortunately, most of their advances in technology disappeared centuries ago after their great defeat. Their whole culture took steps backward; they're primitives now." "Who?" Dek asked, confused. "Captain, where was I?" "You landed on So'da'ter. Homeworld of the Sodaterians, Dek." Clark grabbed the lone padded chair sitting in the corner and pulled it over next to the examination bed. "We were engaged in a dispute in their skies." "I'm sorry, Captain," Dek again tried to sit up, but was forced back down by the Doctor who had been examining the major wound to his leg, "but I don't remember any of this. What is this place? Who were we fighting? What was the goal?" "Let me try to give you some answers," Clark shifted in his chair, preparing to settle in, "at least, as many answers as I think you can handle right now. You're on board the Crisper, flagship of the third fleet. We're currently en route back to Organia, capital system of the Organic Federation after what we'll call a draw, but will likely be reviewed by history as a loss, for both sides, over So'da'ter. We were fighting the Allied Planets. See, the Allied Planets and us, we're an interesting mix. They control a majority of the systems in the Core Worlds and toward the far eastern arms of the galaxy. We control the Mid Rim and territories along the western edge. That's never been a problem before. "But it was about fifteen years ago... anymore we've lost track who fired the first shot, where that original line was drawn, except that it was in the Outer Worlds. What we do know, is that there was a colony dispute over a worthless, dustball of a planet. Or that's what it is now. Back then, it was a mesa of activity, a perfect paradise. But one of us had laid claim and the other believed it was theirs. A battle ensued, the planet ended up being razed as a side effect of the battle; a large unaffiliated tanker carrying starship fuel that was merely trying to escape the planet when it was shot down and exploded in the atmosphere. Trillions were killed as the fuel combusted and ignited the atmosphere; millions more were left to rot as the biomes of the world began to collapse. From there, blame started being passed to both sides. The fighting had been so chaotic that no one could for sure identify which party had laid into the tanker and thus responsible for the disaster. "Fifteen years later, here we are. The way the common people talk, we're at war. Our governments are peaceful... well, amicable to each other, as all the skirmishes have only ever taken place in the Outer World colonies... each group seeking to lay claim to the next planet in a quest to find more resources and build up their colonies. Personally, I'm not even sure that a state of war was ever officially declared." "How come," Dek interrupted, "the battle hasn't gone into the Mid Rim? Or the Core?" "Oh, it has," Clark continued, "several times, but each time it only served to set both sides back. I think everyone's afraid of causing another massacre that they leave most of the fighting to these outer worlds where no one has too large of a stake yet. That's what really is at risk; if they colonize another planet out here, or if we do the same, suddenly we aren't just fighting the native species of those world's anymore. But things aren't that easy anymore..." "Excuse me," the Doctor slowly looked up from opening the jar he had set on the counter earlier, "but I need to apply this salve before you can continue." Dek nodded, and tried to get a good view of the damage to his leg. It was still bloodied, but it hadn't hurt to walk on it earlier when he had been examining the mirror. Perhaps the gel had done some work. He watched as the Doctor began applying a pale yellow goo to his leg; Dek felt his leg go instantly cold and numb and he howled out in pain. "I apologize," the Doctor passed along much more sympathy than Clark ever could, "the banana jam salve is the best I can do. I was supposed to get a shipment of the midline grape jam salve last week, but there seems to have been a blockade that intercepted our supplies. And our extremely limited reserves of strawberry jam are reserved for only the most absolute critical of patients; it even requires two different Doctors to sign off before being released from the rationing center." "And that's the problem we face now," Clark continued. "There has been a growing intensity of attacks the past few weeks. It's almost like there is a new battlezone popping up every hour. The Allied Planets are renewing their push on the Outer Worlds and staking more claims than we're able to keep up with. An awful lot of talk is getting passed around that they're getting ready to make a push into our populated systems... larger than the one they tried three years ago. Many of us in the military are hoping that our leaders will decide to move forward with the rumored invasion of the Core before the Allied Planets can make their attack. I'm... not sure what's going to happen anymore. The fighting is as bad as I've seen it since everything started, and I've been there since the beginning." A single monotone chime rang out and Clark stood to press a button on a small console next to the door. "Clark; go ahead." "Sir," a hollow voice called out of the speaker on the panel, "we're preparing to drop from hyperspace and pass through the defensive perimeter." "Acknowledged," Clark said with a nod, "I'll be there in a moment." He pressed the button again and stepped back toward Dek. "I'm sorry, I'm needed on the bridge, so we'll have to work to rebuild your knowledge another time. And you need your rest - there are a lot of people that want to speak with you when we get back." Finally able to sit up on the bed, Dek adjusted himself to look Clark in the eyes. "Like who?" "The Secretary of State, for one." Dek's eyes went wide and he couldn't seem to vocalize any response. Clark, merely laughed. "And a lot of the other high politicians will want to speak with you. You're one of the best fighter pilots we've ever seen. Admiral Naab and I took a big risk by attempting a rescue mission after your ship went down." "I had no idea," Dek stammered. Clark simply shook his head with another attempt to appear sympathetic. "I didn't expect you to. But they're not the only ones; your wife and children were eager to hear that you'd been recovered." "I... I have a wife? And children." "I need to go," Clark nodded. "I will leave you to your thoughts and send for you upon our arrival to Organia." Dek watched speechless as Clark and then a few moments later the attending Doctor left the room, leaving him once again with the image of a man he didn't feel quite comfortable with yet, and a slew of memories that seemed to overwhelm more than comfort.
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Ed2D2		#10	[url]	[-]
Posts: 573 Nov 12 09 2:25 AM	Remove this ad TO: Nice weaving. Just like old times. Let's see where this goes TI: General Radish rushed to her chambers and slammed the door behind her. The landing field officer on duty estimated that the Last Harvest would be on the field within the half hour. She would need to move quickly. She unbuttoned her uniform hastily, tossing it onto a chair as she hurried to a locker by the far wall. "Handsa ackiia lushia," she whispered, and the locker swung open, revealing the sole object within, a buggy brown hood lined with silver. By the time she had donned the robe and started the scrambled transmission, the monitors reported that Strawberry would be in the briefing room within twenty minutes. Of all days for traffic control to be efficient. The tall elder's holograham shifted into focus. Given all of the war transmissions, civilian holograham cracker platforms weren't what they used to be. Elder Locust's piercing green eyes were barely visible through the fog of interference. "Priestess Artero," he murmured with a smile. So long since I've heard that name... Hopefully I'll be able to hear it more often soon enough... "May the Harvesters-" "Elder Locust," she managed a smile as well, but it felt forced. "Please pardon my interruption, but I've only got five minutes. I'll give an extra offering to the Harvesters in penance. They will understand." Elder Locust raised an eyebrow. "Not one to break ceremony. I trust you have a good reason. Speak." She told him about the turn of events. About the reemergence of the Ackiist sign, about the mysterious emissaries from the Organic Federation. The elder remained silent after she had finished. Her heart beat rapidly, and she scolded herself for her impatience. Placing his hand over his heart, Elder Locust began to chant in his native language. He lisped out of years of disuse of his mother tongue, but General Radish (or was she Priestess Artero in this moment? Multiple identities were most inconvenient) understood it well enough: "In the sixth season of the war, When the soldiers drive for victory, And drive the known galaxy toward the threat of senseless carnage, The megaverse shall begin to awaken... Emissaries of light shall come, Bearing the sign of Acky, To the planet of the peaceful one." She closed her eyes. "The Last Book of the Oracle Allison." "The final words of our sacred scripture." A pause. "Priestess, I have always told the Council that you are wiser than even our most accomplished elders." Would he be saying that if he had seen me after Grand Admiral Industrialia tied me to this rock? She shuddered at the thought, remembering those hours in tears, those dark days during the planetary assault... If Elder Locust noticed Radish's momentary distraction, he didn't let on. "Simply let the Lifeforce guide you. I will be on Rogue Way within hours. Collect the sign, but do not let the emissaries leave the planet. Do not let word of this reach Governor Cherry. He is not to be trusted." "Yes, Grand Elder." "I think it is a sign that you, who are named after the oracle, shall carry out her joyous prophesies." "You are too kind, Grand Elder. I apologize, but my time is nearly up." "One more thing." Radish's heart raced as she glanced at the monitors. Strawberry and his assistant were already in the waiting room. Her staff was probably stalling wondering where she was... "Your brother is alive." "Dek? He's alive? He's OK?" Elder Locust smiled soothingly. "That is all our priests with the Federation have told me. They can also only reach me in secret. But he is alive and safe." She stood in silence. Elder Locust nodded. "Blessings, Priestess Allison Radish Artero. *** "I apologize for the delay," intoned the carrot droid. "The General is in a meeting, but it has just ended. She shall be with you momentarily." Strawberry frowned. Blue's hand instinctually brushed the holstered blaster at her side. "Not a problem at all."
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Acky12		#11	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Nov 12 09 4:46 PM	TO: Not exactly what I was expecting but I was going to make the recommendation to you that for this round, we get rid of any holds on plots or characters and let each other roll with the punches. That said, I'm secretly cursing you. Just wanted you to know. I think my goal now is going to be to screw you over in each subsequent post. Which I'm sure is yours back to me. TI: It still all felt a little too good to be true. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Dek just didn't feel right. Well, part of that was due to the itchiness of his dress uniform. He'd either put on some weight during his time in recovery, or something had swollen during the attack that hadn't returned to normal sized yet. No matter what it was, he kept tugging at the rough fabric of the uniform. He'd have to put in a requisition to get a larger size. Or find a better tailor. The Crisper had docked with Command Base over Organia only about an hour earlier, but Captain Clark - Wal, as he had later insisted to be called - had wasted no time in taking Dek down to the surface to Organia City. The Secretary of State, it seemed, was rather impatient. Waiting together in the small ante-chamber, Wal sat collectedly on one end of a melon plush couch, but Dek couldn't help but pace. "Would you relax?" Dek turned and sighed. "That's pretty easy for you to say; you've met the Secretary of State lots of times before. I can't even remember what he looks like." "The S-O-S isn't that intimidating," Wal shrugged. "And he's awfully supportive of the Military. He's the descendant of some pretty high power folk. It's just too bad that the President gets in the way." "How so?" Dek finally stopped pacing and gently braced himself on a small sturdy coffee table in front of the couch. "Doesn't the President agree with the war?" "No President wants to commit people to dying." Wal offered a long sigh - part remorseful and part frustrated. "Even if everyone agrees on what we need to do, it still costs lives. In the end, President Leef is more driven by his hopes to win reelection by keeping the people happy. Sometimes that just means prolonging the conflict." "But don't more people die the longer this conflict goes on?" Wal grinned. "If only the people in government thought like you did, Dek. But we're all working on something that might change the course of things. That's part of why you're here." "What?" Dek tensed up slightly and moved to sit forward on the edge of the table. "Oh," Wal backpedaled and tried to look away. "I suppose I've said a little too much." As Dek opened his mouth to demand more answers, the regal main door in the chamber hissed open and a regal man in flowing voluptuous purple robes stepped forward. Captain Clark immediately jumped to his feet and to attention, something Dek realized he needed to follow with sluggishly. "At ease, Gentlemen." "Thank you, sir," Clark nodded and nudged for Dek to do the same. He stepped over to shake Dek's hand. "You must be our rescued fighter pilot." "Dek Artero," Clark nodded and made a strong eye contact with the Secretary of State. Dek glanced out of the corner of his eye and caught this non-verbal exchange, although he had no idea what to make of it. It just seemed that there was something important and unsaid being passed between the two of them. For that matter, the more he thought about it, it seemed like Clark and put an extra emphasis when he had said Dek's name. "Lieutenant?" Dek blinked and realized that in his thoughts he had drifted away. Not a good first impression. "I'm sorry, Mr. Secretary. It's just all still a little overwhelming sometimes... I don't remember much." "We understand," the Secretary responded. "Perhaps I should reintroduce myself, then... I'm Secretary of State Arnold Pear."
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Ed2D2		#12	[url]	[-]
Posts: 573 Nov 12 09 10:54 PM	TO: Bringing a descendant of Grand Admiral Pear into it... Nice. The sad thing is I remember very little of the PW storyline... It's been a while. I'm all about having plot lines be open. Keeps things fresh and interesting. And it makes this little arena more inviting to new-comers. It is now my intention to derail your every intention (while still maintaining the integrity of the story, of course...) TI: To all appearances, Governor Cherry couldn't believe his eyes. "Radish... An Ackiist?!?" But inside, he was much less surprise. Only enraged. How could you be so careless, Allison? I told you scramblers aren't reliable... "So it seems, sir," said the intelligence director darkly as he switched off the intercepted holograham. "The Grand Admiral's instincts were good. General Radish is a traitor to our cause and dangerous... Look, she even accepted orders not to inform you of the arrival of the emissaries." Cherry buried his face in his hands. "But... General Radish. She is like a daughter to me." He raised his head slowly. "She would never betray me." "Governor, face facts." "No," he said simply. "It makes sense. If I were to receive the sign, it would be my duty to report it to the Allied Planets command... And we both know that many in the command do not want to end this war." "She's a traitor." "Commander," Governor Cherry said darkly, "face facts. Things have changed in the last several seasons. This isn't the Allied Planets we grew up to love. Remember how they dropped the ball during the planetary bombardment last year. They're more than willing to throw us under the bus if it means the interests of the Core are served." "You," whispered the commander sharply, "are starting to sound treasonous." "And you are sounding insubordinate." A pause. "Tell our people to give General Radish all the space and privacy she needs. If that Sign of Acky contains the information I think it might, we might just find the peace we desire." The governor hurried to his door. "In the meantime, it's time I meet with the Senate." But he didn't make it out of the room. Instead, he fell to the floor, his face contorted in shock. The commander, head of Rogue Way Intelligence, tucked the blaster into his jumpsuit. As he stepped over Governor Cherry's dying body, the governor murmured his last words: "Eternal Elder Turnip, save us-" *** "We have an emergency on our hands," the commander's calm, soothing voice echoed across the intelligence briefing room. "I caught the governor in an act of treason. He was immediately executed. We have intercepted a signal from Flight Control. General Radish is a traitor and an Ackiist. She is now intercepting information that we will need to win this war. Disrupt her meeting, kill her on sight, and capture those emissaries." "Yes sir." Edited 1 time by Ed2D2 Nov 12 09 10:57 PM.
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Ed2D2		#13	[url]	[-]
Posts: 573 Nov 12 09 11:13 PM	TO: Two in a row... Sorry, realized I didn't mess you up enough... TI: Chief of Stalk Rahm Eggplant checked his comlink. "Curious," he said. "The Secretary of State wants to see you in an hour." "He can wait," responded President Leef. "I have a meeting with the Council." "He says it's an emergency" "Damn." The President stood up and began to button his coat. It was a handsome coat, with silver trimmings and gold buttons. Presidents had customarily worn more contemporary fashion, but Leef fashioned himself as a classical leader, a firm redwood who stood still against the unrelenting winds of history- As always, Eggplant's analysis cut this line of thought short. "Sir, you're day dreaming again." "I am not." "Are so." The President finished buttoning his coat and sighed. "I say, Eggplant, I have big plans for after this war is over. The citizenry is mostly oblivious, but these skirmishes are draining the treasury-" "You don't have to tell me, sir," said Eggplant as began tapping his blackberry, sensing the onslaught of a lecture. "And the Mid Rim is falling to pieces. Remember my tour of Gowwsy the other season? It's supposed to offer the most luxury in the galaxy, and that spaceport is falling to pieces. Before the war, we would have found that unacceptable. But now-" "I hate to interrupt, sir, but the Secretary of State is quite intent. Your shuttle stands ready." "Good." Leef motioned to his guards, who slipped into formation behind him. "I've never been of fan of Secretary Pear. If I hadn't had to pacify our party leadership, I would have chosen Patch Celery. There's a man of culture. Not one of these hawks. Anyway, I was thinking after the war, I'd send Pear to lead some exploratory work in the Unknown Patches. This used to be a multiverse, you know. The 'known galaxy' was seven times the size of what it is now, before it fell apart. Imagine... the Empire of the Hands presided over territory TEN TIMES the size of the Organic Federation. TEN. Imagine what we could do if we could find those planets again... Bring them into our fold. I'd be legendary." "Yes, they'd name some high schools after you. Now go!" As the squadron escorted the President to his shuttle, Chief of Stalk Eggplant smirked. Won't have to deal with lectures much longer...
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Acky12		#14	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Nov 13 09 12:38 PM	TO: I call epic fail. You didn't mess me up at all. My turn. TI: Dek stood silently in the street. A hovercar passed behind him, but he paid it no attention; he was drawn instead to staring at the small dwelling before him. A n average two story home in a small village outside Organia City. Captain Clark had been nice enough to bring Dek here following their meeting with Secretary Pear. Clark had left to continue with his busy schedule. That had been almost twenty minutes ago. Dek just couldn't bring himself to walk through the door. That was such a ridiculous idea; it was his house after all. Another hovercar went down the street; Dek just let the world pass around him. He kept looking at the home, his eyes following every line, every detail. The white exterior and pale blue trim. The strong rake of the roof. The large apple tree filling the front yard. Okay Dek, just do this. Taking a few steps forward he approached the main door and with a wave of his hand over the security console, the door clicked open and he stepped through. * As the door clicked, another similar click sounded as well, this one from inside the leaves of the apple tree. Once Dek had closed the door behind him and entered into the house, the tree rustled as a small three legged robot dropped to the ground. The droid perched itself on three legs and a small camera lens that had been extended out of the front of its circular housing retracted inward. It turned and took off running down the street and rounded a corner where a pair of arms reached down and gathered it up. The man, dressed inconspicuously in black, carried the camera droid and crossed over to a waiting hovercar. Dropping the droid in the passenger seat, he moved behind the consoles and sped off. * "Dek, is that you?" Dek, lost in thought, put down the picture he had been staring at that depicted himself with a woman just slightly shorter than him with long curly brown hair who must have been his wife, as well as two small boys that bared a striking resemblance to their father. He turned and came face to face with the woman from the picture. "Thank the Harvest," she wiped a single tear from her eye as she quickly moved to embrace Dek, something he gently and reluctantly returned. His hesitation was noticed and she backed away. "What's wrong, Dek? It's me... Ishari." Dek shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't remember." "Yes," Ishari nodded sympathetically, "Wal warned me about this. The crash amnesia." "I'm sorry," Dek said again. Ishari reached down and took Dek's hand. "Don't be. I'm just so glad your back safe and sound. The boys and I were so terrified when we heard that the battle over So'da'ter had gone poorly. I've promised Wal a lavish dinner in return for bringing you back to us." "Where are the boys now," Dek reluctantly asked as Ishari led him over to a small wicker couch in the corner of the room. "Tax and Moya are at school. They'll be home in a couple hours. Talk with me until then, maybe I can help you remember." * "I'm sorry to bother you General, but you asked to be told as soon as your contact reported in." "That was much faster than I thought," Radish stood and quickly excused herself from her meeting with Strawberry and Blue. As she moved down the short hall to her office, her aide had to practically run to keep up with her. "When did it come in?" "Just before I came to get you, General," the aide answered. "They got him just outside of the capital city." Radish strode into her office and hastily sat down at her desk. She tapped on the computer and brought the console to life. Blinking on the screen was a new notification, just as the aide had said. "Thank you for this. When I heard that my brother was alive... I just needed to see him." "Shall I leave you alone?" The aide took a step away from the desk. "No, you're fine." Radish selected the folder of pictures and opened up the shot that the camera droid had taken from the apple tree. There he was: Dek Artero standing on the front steps of a house. Radish couldn't believe it; she felt a lump grow in her throat. Last she knew, Dek had been killed during one of the Outer World skirmishes. Now to suddenly find out that he was... Wait. She furrowed her brow and grabbed for the controls on the console. With a few key strokes, the image zoomed in and amplified his face. She frowned and changed to the next image in the set. "What's wrong, General?" Another flurry of keys and the second image zoomed in on his face and again Radish sat confused. "I don't understand. There must have been a mistake; your contact on Organia must have photographed the wrong person." Her trusted aide shook his head, "no, ma'am. That's Dek Artero." "No, it's not." Radish stared again at the screen. "The hair is the same, the clothing. But the face... Dek's eyes were not that round and his nose was larger than that. And I've never seen that house before..." Radish hit the console buttons again, flipping to the next image, the next, then the next, but her resolve never changed. "That is not my brother." She felt her aide's hand brush her shoulder and as Radish turned to look at him, the aide fell into her lap, a knife protruding out of his back. Looking down in horror, the next thing she knew, a silenced blaster bolt found its way into her chest and she went limp, dropping onto the floor in a heap. As black tendrils worked to overtake her vision she looked up to see a shadowy figure standing above her: a blaster in one hand and the Ackiist Symbol hanging from the other. * "Daddy!" Dek turned and stood as the front door to their home opened and Tax and Moya came barreling in. He felt the wind leave his chest as the boys tackled him on the couch all while Ishari laughed. "You're back!" Moya, the older of the two, smiled up at Dek while Tax continued to hold on to the embrace for dear life. Running a hand through Tax's hair, Dek looked over at Moya and smiled. "I'm glad to be back, son." "Boys," Ishari worked to pry Tax off of his father, "why don't you go upstairs and change out of your school clothes." On the order from their mother, the two scampered off, leaving Dek and Ishari alone on the couch again. "Are you starting to remember?" Dek shrugged. "A little... everything is still a little fuzzy, but it's starting to become easier." Ishari smiled and put an arm around her husband. "I love you, Dek." He looked deep into her eyes and moved to kiss her. "I love you, too."
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Ed2D2		#15	[url]	[-]
Posts: 573 Nov 13 09 6:42 PM	Training... Protocol... Seven... Blue's classmates had often poked fun at her for being "by the book." Many a young man's dreams had been dashed by Jane Blue refusing to enter the male dormitory because of "protocol." Samuel Spade, one of the more persistent suitors, commented to his buddies, "I can't figure out if she's oblivious, uptight... or if she just has unrealistically high standards." One of those buddies, now her fiance, had reported this to her over coffee in the Union, one of the few places where male and females were allowed to co-mingle off-duty. To which she responded with laughter to her secret beau, "High standards it is." While this annoyed her many admirers to no end, she was always the first to be chosen for mission simulation teams, not because of her stunning beauty, but because she did everything right. Samuel Spade, that heart-broken soul, commented to those same buddies, "She may be crazy, but she could win this war all by herself." That was after every single member of her team had "died" in simulation and, ignoring coach suggestions that they start the scenario over, she single handedly took over a Sun Destroyer. The most amazing part of the story, often told unembellished ("Who the hell could exaggerate that?" Sam said to a poker buddy), is that she was a prisoner in the simulation. Meaning that she won the mission while filled with a military-grade drug used to stimulate multiple stun bolts. Unfortunately, real stun bolts were a lot stronger. But Blue concentrated, remembering the new techniques her instructor had taught her. Just think about one thing at a time... And as the muffled clip of a silencer echoed through the corridor, she immediately knew what she had to do.
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Acky12		#16	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Nov 13 09 10:27 PM	TO: I'm so intrigued by world/culture building in this new PW... same galaxy, but it all feels so different than the universe so many generations prior. This is all far too much fun. Each time I think I need to step away for a couple days to get a fresh story take, I get a new idea. Now we just need to get some more cohorts to help make the mix even more interesting. But that's dangerous too - we're so much more detailed in terms of the world right now... I'm having to keep going back to old posts to keep it all straight. If there were more people down here... yikes! TI: Screeeeeee... Accompanying that shrill alert siren, the lights in the security command room dimmed - bathing the room in darkness aside from the red glow that suddenly began emitting from all the computer screens. Three rows of fifteen security officers, sitting at individual console screens, began swinging into work mode and the sound of furious typing almost seemed to even overtake the siren. "Shut that damn thing off," ordered Colonel Davin, entering from his attached office. "Report." "Shots fired on board," one of the technicians called out. Davin moved a few steps away from the large display on the back wall of the room and folded his arms across his chest. "Eriks, Browning." The double doors on the other side of the room hissed open and two uniformed security officers stepped in. "Sir?" Eriks turned to look at the nearest console screen. "Get over to section 12 area b and find out what the hell is going on." *** Robin Eriks halted his dead run, causing John Browning to nearly run into his back. "What?" Browning asked. Eriks pointed and they both quickly turned right into what they soon realized was the office of General Radish. Neither expected to find the General and her aide collapsed on the floor in a glowing pool of blood. "Damn," Browning said as he started to look around the room. Eriks moved to the wall comm and keyed up the security center. "General Radish is dead, Colonel. She's been shot." "Any sign of the attacker?" Davin called back. "No, sir," Eriks shook his head, well aware that Davin couldn't see the gesture. "We don't see-" "There!" Browning called and Eriks spun around to see him taking off at a dead run, a man clad entirely in black suddenly taking great haste and rounding the far corner of the hallway. Eriks slammed his palm into the wall comm, closing the channel and only slightly apologetic for not explaining the situation to Davin. He started to following Browning, but stopped and thought for a brief moment. The black clad man had gone left at the end of the hallway. There were a lot of things people didn't know about Robin Eriks. One of them was that to be the best security officer he could, he would wander the corridors of the complex at night while blindfolded in an attempt to be completely familiar with the layout. That resulted in a lot of bruises as he ran into unexpected walls, but also provided him with the knowledge that by turning left at the ahead juncture, the assailant was heading down a hallway that would eventually loop back around to the area just outside the General's office again. Provided that the man didn't take any surprise turns and jump into unknown doorways, he'd be coming right back this way. Eriks turned around and took off running toward the hallway juncture behind him. It didn't take long for him to see the black clad man - the guy was much faster than Eriks would have guessed, although he was running down the hallways not hindered by a blindfold. The man, however, was not expecting to run into another security guard and barreled past Eriks who took a quick sidestep and slammed into the wall just in time to not be tackled. This however, caused Eriks to silently curse himself; getting tackled was exactly what needed to have happened. It would have slowed the attacker down and allowed for his capture. Eriks gathered his balance and turned around; if the man got much further they'd lose him. There wasn't much other choice now... Eriks raised his right hand and a sudden invisible energy pushed through the air, impacting squarely with the back of the attacker, sending him crashing into the nearby wall before tumbling to the ground unconscious. One of the other things people didn't know about Robin Eriks was that he was a Jedi. No one knew because it was Robin's closely guarded secret. Not always by his choice, but he understood the necessity for it. Jedi seemed to almost not exist anymore in the galaxy. Which was exactly how the Masters wanted it to be. Eriks remembered hearing stories when he was a child about how millennia ago the Jedi had saved the galaxy. Of course, there were also the stories about how it was a Jedi that had caused the galaxy to need saving to begin with. Something had happened though several centuries prior, something that wasn't recorded in any of the history books he had read nor answered by anyone he had tried to ask, that had caused the Jedi to fall in number and grown out of favor in the general populace of the galaxy. The Jedi had become feared and shunned. What remaining Jedi there were hadn't gone into exile, but had gone into hiding. Hiding in plain sight. The Order at that time had instructed the remaining Jedi to stop using their powers, to blend in naturally with the people of the galaxy. To the denizens of the galaxy, the Jedi Order had fallen, an event taken to much celebration. But that was hardly the case. The Order just took on a new structure. Eriks' master, a middle aged human female known to him as Master Telana, was the only other Jedi he knew. He had suspicions that she had several other students as well, but couldn't get her to confirm that fact. Which was for the better in the end. Each Jedi only knew the Jedi that they specifically reported to. In case of discovery or capture, no single Jedi could root out the entire Order as no Jedi had any idea of how large the new Order was or how far it reached. The only handful that did, we strong enough that they wouldn't be able to be captured, and if they were, would be able to resist any type of mind control techniques that the harsh new world of Jedi-distaste had brought on. Oh sure, there were plenty of beings who were friendly to the Jedi. Many times military commanders saw the truth and had gone on record as wishing the Jedi Order were back, that the Jedi might provide the necessary edge to finally end the war. But no matter how hard they tried, public opinion was far too strong. The politicians and government officials (the non-corrupt ones) who attempted to renew the positive Jedi stance, only seemed to find themselves losing in the next election. This led most of their supporters in government to go silent. But they provided assistance through other means. Shelter was provided, covert training locations, limited amounts of funds to help the Order in their missions. Even a galaxy overwhelming against the Jedi was being helped by them without being aware of it. Eriks didn't know many of these supporters, but Telana had dropped enough hints once during one of Eriks' rants on the Organic Federation that made him realize that their Secretary of State had a long family history of supporting the Jedi. Eriks, like all other Jedi, trained only in seclusion. The Jedi had had enough time to figure out how to make their system work to protect the longevity of the Order while being inconspicuous. He didn't carry his lightsaber when on duty; he was back in his quarters inside a perfectly sealed box that could only be unlocked by a Force wielder. Protecting the secrecy of the Order was any Jedi's primary mission. Which is why it was so risky for Eriks to have used the Force to stop the attacker. But if Radish was dead - assassinated, there was something bigger going on in play and it was Eriks' duty as a security officer and as a Jedi to get to the bottom of it. "What happened!" Browning - panting heavily - came running around the corner. "He... he must have tripped." Eriks stammered. "He knocked me over and the next thing I knew when I looked up he was on the ground." Browning stepped over to the wall comm. "Colonel, we've got him." Eriks started to cross closer to the black clad assailant, but his attention was drawn to the small symbol that was lying just out of grasp of the man. It must have been grasped pretty tightly in his hand, only dropped by the force of crashing into the wall. The trinket was ornately designed yet simple at the same time. Eriks seemed to recognize it from something Telana had shown him in his training, but he couldn't placed his finger on it. He reached down to pick it up, but when he hand was a few inches away from grabbing it, a few tendrils of electric blue energy shot out from the object and into his hand. He pulled back with a small "yelp" and shook his hand out, trying to make the numbing go away. He felt, for that one moment, an incredible pain shoot through his arm, but in the same moment, he felt a sudden mental clearness; an awareness and clarity that heightened his focus and he felt more attuned to the Force than he'd ever been during in training with Telana. But it was all fleeting, fading. "What in the world was that?" Browning asked and Eriks silently cursed; how would he lie out of this one... hell, he didn't even know what the truth was. Of course, not knowing the truth would probably make it easier to create a lie. "I don't really know," Eriks said, standing back up and taking a step away from the object. "Static electricity?" Static electricity? Really? Browning bent down and slowly moved his hand toward the object and, confident that all the static electricity had been discharged into Eriks, wrapped his hand around it and stood back up. He turned the object over in his hand and looked at it with a careful eye. "Oh my fruits and vegetables," he stammered out, "do you know what this is?" Shaking his head, Eriks moved to close the gap between him and Browning but still kept a few steps distance between them. "No, do you?" "This is an Ackiist Symbol." Browning had to bring up his other hand to wrap around the one holding the ancient artifact to keep it from shaking. "This is probably older than anything we've ever run into." Dammit, an Ackiist Symbol. I should have known that. Why the hell has one of these surfaced? "We need to get this to Colonel Davin," Browning took off immediately, followed closely by Eriks. Suddenly the unconscious body of the black clad attacker didn't seem so important. *** From her vantage point in the shadows of one of the doorways of the hall, Blue silently cursed under her breath as she watched the Ackiist Symbol again change hands and go out of her reach. Apparently it was time to come up with Plan B... or was that C?
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Ed2D2		#17	[url]	[-]
Posts: 573 Nov 14 09 2:56 AM	TO: I like to think we're both older and wiser. This is more textured and more character-driven. At least so far. Things might change when somebody comes up with a great pun and the plot goes to heck. The more the merrier! You're right thought... This feels like more work. More details... But I like it. TI: Blue hesitated. Even simulations weren't this messed up. For one thing, her head now pulsated with strain of her resistance to the stun bolt. Something would have to give. She couldn't persist for long enough for her fried nerves to recover. On the other hand, she seemed to be in the middle of a larger scenario than she had been prepared for. If conditions changed and it wasn't feasible to gather intel... the regulations said to abort mission. (If only she had actually been briefed before the mission... Then maybe she would actually know what she was supposed to expect. Isn't that what protocol is for?) So, as much as it pained her to do so, Blue found herself preparing to retreat, returning quickly to Strawberry's side, checking his signs. No pulse. Not good. Then again, if Lt. Strawberry had the heartiest pulse in the world, she probably wouldn't have been able to detect it, given how numb her hands were becoming. What kind of stun bolts were these? Even the drugs used in simulation never did this... She sneaked around the corner to catch a glance at the scene of the crime. Radish's aide was in terrible shape. Blood had seeped all around the floor beneath him. Blood soaked Radish's hands and uniform. Radish coughed. She was alive. Blue's thoughts raced. What regulation protocol covered this? Why can't I be more spontaneous like everyone else? Maybe Samuel was right. My head's so caught up in the book that-. Then she remembered two things. First, a scene in the cafe, with her boyfriend, in their favorite booth. It was the night before Nicholas Carrot had proposed. It had been a rough day, one of the few times she had failed in simulation. She had forgotten the proper protocols. She froze up and was shot, whereas her comrades (who, instead of studying the night before, had gone out drinking) bumbled their way into accomplishing the mission through the fog of their hung-over creativity. She had been sitting with her head on the table, trying to fight tears, as Nicholas reassured her. "Blue" (he called her that. At first, when they had first started dating, she thought he was making fun of her, but at one point he wrote her a poem about her deep blue eyes, so she didn't mind it so much). "You're a great soldier, but you're not a robot... Nobody expects you to be perfect all of the time. Even if you are perfect most of the time." Then he jokingly added that in ten years she would be leading the fleet, whereas her comrades would be court martialed for drunkenness and behavior unbefitting of an officer. Which was already now half true... She wasn't leading the fleet yet, but Bobby Hopps and Terrance Barley were no longer in service. The second thing she remembered... was Alternate Protocol 7.2.3c. It wasn't actually taught in coursework, because it was technically a Diplomatic Corps Protocol, but she read it anyway one day "just in case." Samuel had made fun of her for it. Nicholas had defended her gallantly. Protocol 7.2.3c: If, in the course of negotiation with a representative of the enemy, the representative suffers an assassination attempt by his own faction, you shall rescue the said representative, provided that doing so would not endanger your crew. Suddenly, the effects of the stun bolt weren't so bad. Blue hastily slung the general over her right shoulder, wincing at the thick drying blood that began to brush off on her own uniform. Covered with blood on my first mission. Not a great start to my career. It wasn't too hard to grab Lt. Strawberry and to toss him over her left shoulder. Blue thought about the pain she would likely wake up to the next morning, but if carrying two people larger than she across the docking pad was too much for her small frame, her nerves were fried enough that it wasn't too painful just then. It was trickier to buckle each into a seat as she started up the ship. She was relieved to hear Strawberry cough lightly. The ship would be shuttling no dead... just two badly wounded, and one who would probably need nerve therapy for a week to heal from the strain of resisting the effects of a stun bolt... She buckled herself in, then started the take-off sequence for the unarmed vessel. Hopefully the trip off-planet wouldn't be too rocky... *** "Report." "There's the Colonel now," said Browning reassuringly. He clicked his comm unit. "Browning and Eriks here, sir. We have some news-" "So do I. We have received word from intelligence. Ran a damned operation without telling us. Cherry and Radish are being charged with treason. Their agents were sent to arrest Radish. I guess they made a mess of it. I hate intel. Think they run the whole damn galaxy. Stand down, report back. Intel tells me there was some piece of jewelry nearby. Bring it here." The colonel let fly a couple of other choice words, then clicked off. Both agents froze. "Wow." Browning shook his head. "Wow..." Eriks felt a disturbance in the Force. When the Colonel mentioned the treason charge, there was a ripple... "No," he said firmly. "Something's not right." "Doesn't make sense to me either, but traitors surprise everyone." "No," said Eriks. "If they were arresting the General, why the knife in her aide's back? Why the surprise? You saw the General... She was sitting in her chair... Hadn't even struggled" Browning clicked his comm. "Colonel, we'll be right back. We'll go back to the general's body to get that jewel." He grinned tightly at Eriks and glanced mischievously toward the Ackiist sign. "A lie." "Yeah, you're right. This is fishy. Let's check this out." When they reached the General's chair, they paused in shock. "Where did the general go?" Eriks sprinted to the outside corridor, into the meeting room... "The emissaries from the Federation... They're gone." "They must have taken her... I'll bet they're involved. Let's try to get to them before they take off!" Eriks and Brownings drew their blasters and hurried to the hanger bay. The Arugula Flier still stood there silently. "They must be inside. Let's go!" They sprinted toward the ship, and had no trouble boarding and moving with haste into the ship's main corridor. A snap, a whirl... "Someone's in the cockpit... Hurry!" Eriks motioned to the cockpit door. Brownings grabbed the handle. Locked. Just as the entrance to the ship, their only means of escape, clicked closed. Suddenly both guards were thrown backwards by the abrupt jolt of the ship's ascent. Eriks tried to brace himself against the cockpit handle, but flew backwards, stumbling several steps, then hitting his head on one of the corridor's side panels. And as the whirl of the engine grew to a roar, Eriks saw his field of vision fade to black...
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Acky12		#18	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Nov 15 09 9:43 PM	Eriks blinked himself back to consciousness to find himself tied up in a chair in the main hold of the ship. Well today isn't going to plan. His feet were free and he was able to spin around to spy Browning on the other side of the room, tied up in a similar predicament. There were no other signs of life in the mostly empty hold, just crates and supplies. Their captors had certainly been busy. He wondered how long they'd been out; where they were; how many people they were facing. But the bigger problem was deciding if it was "they" or Eriks alone. "Psst," he called out to Browning under his breath, but didn't get a response. He must still have been unconscious. Which made things harder, and at the same time, considerably easier. Rolling his eyes back in his head and dropping into a deep level of concentration, Eriks called upon the Force and reached out with its tendrils to slowly untie the ropes wrapped around his torso. As perseverance paid off, the binds fell away and he stood up, slow enough to reaffirm his personal gravity center before glancing over at Browning again to make sure that his partner was still unconscious and unaware. So far so good. He looked around for anything in the hold to use as a weapon after finding his own sidearm gone and cursing himself for not having his lightsaber. Finding nothing appropriate, he carefully stepped out into the hall. The layout of the ship was rather simplistic and standard... predictable. The hallway around the main hold curved along the breadth of the ship. In the middle of the hallway, was the step up into the cockpit suite; at the far end, the boarding ramp. Eriks, at his current point, could either go left toward the cockpit - likely locked and guarded by an armed pilot, right toward the boarding ramp - likely useless if they were currently in space. Everything else was farther down the hallway past the cockpit and he didn't dare go toward the more populated portions of the ship. Which meant his remaining choice was to the single door across the hall from where he exited the hold: the infirmary. Normally, not a great option, but the muffled beeping sounds intrigued him. On a ship like this, the infirmary would normally be shut down unless absolutely necessary to conserve power. There must be injured on board. There was a small chance that someone conscious was in the infirmary, but a quick scan of the Force told him that there were two beings, both of which were knocked out cold although alive. Not wanting to dawdle any longer in the hall, he slapped the wall control and slid through the door as it hissed open. Letting it shut again, Eriks took a look around. The first being he fell upon was a man hooked up to quite a bit of monitoring consoles. Not recognizing the man, Eriks continued his sweep of the room before he found the thing that made him stop in his tracks. He crossed over, unable to believe his eyes. General Radish. Alive. This suddenly had not just become a matter of escape but a rescue mission. Eriks didn't have time to dwell on it as the door hissed open again and a woman's voice floated through. "Lieutenant, I could really use conscious right now... scanners just identified two frigates on our tail. I need-" The voice drifted off as Blue stepped into the room and came face to face with Eriks. While he worked to regain his guard, Eriks suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of his own blaster.
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Ed2D2		#19	[url]	[-]
Posts: 573 Nov 15 09 11:04 PM	Eriks evaluated his options. He could attempt to fight. He could probably take out the young woman easily, even unarmed, but then what? He wasn't even sure if she was the enemy; her uniform was clearly standard issue from the Organic Federation Starfleet, but the colonel said that it was Rogue Way Intelligence that shot at the General, so she clearly wasn't responsible for the shooting. Then again, if the General was really a traitor and this officer was helping her escape, Eriks would need answers. Something didn't make sense... Hell, I don't even know who the enemy is now... Then again, for the Jedi, that's always true... Blue was not so indecisive. There was a textbook method for handling this situation. Scenario E57. (Which was, she noted smugly, optional reading. Take that, Samuel Spade.) "Hands up. Let's move," she said. Her voice betrayed neither hostility nor surprise, simply the disinterested assertion of an officer accustomed to keeping order. The ships shook with the impact of a laser bolt. Eriks winced, Blue remained unfazed. "You can answer my questions when we're out of here. In the meantime, you're going to come with me to the comm station and assist us in leaving this scenario behind?" Whoever this officer was, she spoke strangely. Must be right out of the academy. Not much personality. Eriks complied, climbing up the stairs to the cockpit suite with a blaster to his back, his eyes darting about for anything that might help him gain the upper hand. Nothing. If only I had brought my lightsaber... If Blue was as by-the-book as she seemed to be, he would have little to worry about. He couldn't sense any deception in her... "Here's your assignment," said Blue in her calm law enforcement voice. "Use your contacts to get those frigates off of us. I'll plot a course away from here." Eriks winced. Being a prisoner of war was no fun, but being coerced into deceiving his own side... Aren't there treaties against this sort of thing? "Alright," he said evenly. "But only if I choose the star system." Blue blinked. Scrapping Scenario E57... Now for Scenario... I should have done the extra reading for "Negotiating With Prisoners." Damn. What would Samuel Spade do? Damn, I'm stooping to his level... "You're not exactly in a position to bargain with me." "If I don't help you," said Eriks, "then we're all dead. I took a pledge to loyally serve Rogue Way. The only way I'm going to help you is if we get the chance to talk about this. In neutral space. As equals. Otherwise, I'll die with the ship." The ship shook with another direct laser impact. A tomato torpedo exploded nearby and a loud bang echoed through the hatch in the floor. Alarms blared, coolant steam wisped into the air from the deflector shield generators. "Agreed," said Blue quickly, her voice cracking softly. So the robot has feelings... "Name the system." "Gardenore." "Veto. Unaffiliated planet, still Allied Planets space." A siren sounded. There go the shields... "Fine." Eriks thought quickly. "Elm." "Elm. Unaffiliated, uninhabited," Blue read off her navigation pad. Yes, uninhabited... except for Master Telana. Eriks had meant what he said about the negotiating, but back-up would be nice, too. "I'll do it. Get these frigates off our backs." Eriks punched the comm pad. "This is Guard Eriks of Rogue Way security. Stand down! Browning and I are onboard." A pause. The laser impacts stopped. "Eriks, this is Colonel Davin. What the * of are you doing out there?" "The two emissaries were helping the general escape. We have the cockpit, but we don't have them subdued yet." "Eriks, this is a damn ** of a **** you've got yourself into. What's your ETA?" Before Eriks could answer, the Last Harvest had jumped into hyperspace, heading toward the peaceful sphere of Elm. Master, I hope you're there... "Now," said Blue tiredly, pressing the blaster to Erik's temple, "for some answers."
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Acky12		#20	[url]	[-]
Posts: 16140 Nov 17 09 3:42 PM	Remove this ad As much as he lied and told people that everything was starting to feel more comfortable again, sitting inside the cockpit of a starfighter felt almost just as foreign. It wasn't that he didn't know how to fly; that came screaming back to him like a lost chlid excited to see a loved parent, but nothing felt right. Every time he went to grab for a control, his hands drifted to the wrong place. His response time was sluggish because he kept having to consciously think about where his hands were going. And Dek didn't like that. Captain Clark had convinced him to get back into the cockpit; he hadn't wanted to, he wanted to spend more time with Ishari and his boys, to feel more comfortable in regular life before sitting down behind the controls of a starfighter. But Clark had argued and been persuasive. Dek was - before the accident - one of the most accomplished pilots Clark had seen (of course, if he were so good, how did he get shot down in the first place?) and the Doctors hoped that by flying again, maybe it would help to force some of Dek's memory back. But as he missed rounding yet another of the basic training bouys thanks to punching the controls to open his attack wings rather than control his engine power, Dek cursed loud enough that it would have been heard far outside the cockpit of his grapefruit fighter had sound been able to travel in space. "It's okay, Dek" came Clark's voice over the speakers built into Dek's helmet. Maybe he had heard the exclaim. "But it's not okay," Dek bit his lip and grabbed for the yoke to pull him back around onto the course. "This is an exercise for first year pilots. You told me yourself." "Maybe I shouldn't have done that." No, you shouldn't have. Way to kill the confidence of your pathetic new recruit. "It shouldn't have made any difference if you told me or not. I'm supposed to be a veteran pilot, Wal. I used to be able to do this stuff in my sleep, but it just doesn't feel the same." "You still are a veteran pilot." "Who can't seem to fly a simple training course." Dek sighed and pulled hard on the stick; this wasn't going to help him, he might as make the jump back to Organia and log some more simulator hours. Completing his climb, he dropped the nose of the grapefruit down, bringing it back across the horizon line of the nearby star and flooding his cockpit momentarily with light. As he fell out of the shine-zone, space was suddenly filled with a criss-cross of laser fire and multiple starship contacts. What had just happened? He grabbed for the stick and reached only air; had he missed it again? His hand drift slightly to the right and found the missing controls while his left hand went instinctively for his side buttons and before he could even think about it, the fighter's shields were up and weapons were coming online. Targeting crosshairs displayed in his Heads Up Display, projected from his helmet's computer uplink to the starfighter's memory core. Dek didn't waste anytime in finding one of the red marked targets and squeezing the trigger. As the laser fire exploded from the tips of his weapon embankments and hurtled across space toward the enemy fighter, Dek suddenly felt alive. Before he knew it, he'd vaporzied two enemy fighters with only one laser having been able to actually hit him and even with that one - a strong direct strike to his engines, Dek had flown his free hand over the controls and dealt with his problem before the starfighter's droid computer could even alert him to the damage. Flying through the next explosion, Dek brought the fighter up and around and saw a new indicator on his HUD: central control was directing him to a new target, something much larger than the single-person fighters he had been targeting. A quick pull of the stick sent him on a sweeping arc around the outside of the battlezone and he came up into view of a large raisin drop craft. As he dove in for a quick scanning pass to identify the weak points of the craft, the identification letters on the side came into view: VEG Keri. Wait. Something tickled in the back of Dek's mind and as he continued his flight he began to become more aware of his surroundings. He looked down consciously for the first time since that sun had blinded his vision and saw a cockpit and set of controls that were completely unfamiliar to him, certainly not the same as the grapefruit he had been training in, and yet at the same time, they were oddly familiar. Not once during this battle had he been forced to think about what to press or where to reach. It had all been second nature. Just like Clark had said it would be. Not in the grapefruit, but in whatever kind of ship this was. VEG Keri. That was the name of the ship he was flying toward just prior to the crash that had taken his memory. He'd been targeting the Keri, that much he was now sure of. A warning siren sounded behind him and the next thing Dek knew, he was being pitched forward as a direct hit landed on the back of his ship: the impact that had sent him spiraling down to the surface of So'da'ter. The glowing clouds of an explosion filled his vision and as they washed away, Dek settled back into the slow decent he had previously been flying in his grapefruit. "Dek? Dek are you okay?" He blinked and to his disappointment found that his hands were back wrapped around the unfamiliar - and in hindsight, frankly clunky - controls of the grapefruit. How long had Clark been trying to radio him? How long had Dek retreated into his memory? "Go ahead, Captain." "You didn't respond; is everything okay?" "It's fine... I was just having some difficulties." He'd make a mental note to explore more about the battle over So'da'ter; he had to find out exactly what was of such interest on the VEG Keri that he'd been assigned to target it. And he had to know of a bigger curiousity, what he had been flying that had brought him so much success as a pilot. "I hope it's nothing that you can't blink away. We've got new orders. A distress call has come in. Form up on me and prepare to make a jump." Dek grabbed for the control stick and yanked it hard; this ship wasn't very maneuverable in comparrison. "You've got to be kidding. I can't fly a basic training course and you want me to respond to a distress call." "The rest of the third fleet is back in space dock with their tail between their legs still licking wounds from the failure at So'da'ter. By the time they got pilots back and maneuver their ships out of drydock... we're several lightyears outside of Organia and closer to respond." "But we're two grapefruits. One and a half, really." Dek noticed that Clark had sent a set of coordiantes. "We're intercepting more than distress; not sure exactly what we're going to run into. Should be a small freighter, but I'm not sure what kind of trouble they've gotten into." "No audio?" Dek asked. "No information. It's a secondary distress call; a silent alarm. Low pulse signal sending a coded SOS back to Command." Dek looked down at the screen and noted their location. "Elm." "Uninhabited. I've got a bad feeling about this, Dek. Punch it." Despite the unfamiliarity of the cockpit, Dek found the visage as the stars retreated into starlines and the momentary G-force pushing him backward into his chair as comforting as it ever had been. He really was at home in a fighter, even if it wasn't this one.
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