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Vaal'Ok Dasmar felt like shit.
He had been rotting in this hospital bed for a couple of days now where the medical staff was treating his wounds. Typical wounds and concussions were a breeze to fix, but a crushed spine did require a bit more time. Unless you wanted to go the implant route. This wasn't an option for Vaal'Ok. he had simply refused it, as would have any self-respecting Itani.
Though, the feeling of selflessness was not the the cause of his sentiments. Nor was the fact that a 7 year old kid had actually knocked him out cold. Sure, she didn't use her hands. She was way too frail for that. But by rocking the ship at the precise moment he was walking inside the cargo bay, she did manage to yank crates out of their locking pins to stomp him.
He felt like that because one of his clients, who had been assured Vaal'Ok was absolutely reliable, would end up destroying his reputation because of a small kid. And now, he was supposed to bring the mother, Vionka Velaio, to safety. Himself. But in his current condition, there was no way he could move her.
Sure, his client would have dispatched someone else. had he known Vaal'Ok was in such a bad shape. But vanity was one of Vaal'Ok's weak points. He had to deal with the situation himself or loose any standing he might have in the face of his clients.
Things had worked out well for the last few months but this time, he had to fix the situation and make damn sure the fewest number of people knew about this. Vaal'Ok needed to move Vionka. And he thought... perhaps some discrete outside help was required.
Vaal'Ok picked up the business card left on the desk by a visitor. How did that visitor allowed in to see her was not really important. If he was there, in this particular Itani station on this particular floor, then he was OK to deal with.
The business card was inserted into the terminal on the table next to him and gave this guy a call.
"Nolan? I have a job for you.
- How can the CDC help you sir?
- I need to transport out of here. I'm too messed up to fly. I wont be alone. We need on transport, two light fighters. I can provide one of those. He owes me.
- Why so much hardware? The CDC can guarantee delivery.
- Because we need to exit out of here, un-followed.
- Alright then, no reason not to do it your way. What is the cargo, pickup, and destination?
- Cargo is myself. And the lady. The rest of the cargo are home furniture crates. They're going in one direction with the escort while we will slip out of sight and secure that woman. What's left of her.
- ... woman... Do you mean..?
- Yeah. Hush hush. Plenty of coins for it if you keep it private. This detail is between you and I alone.
- Wouldn't have it any other way. Are you with ITAN then?
- I'm... a contractual. For someone inside ITAN.
- Fair enough. Just so I know I'm not kidnapping the woman. Where and when, I'll be there with some friends.
- Meet me back here tomorrow. I'll give you the details.
- Very well. See you then."
Vaal'Ok wasn't too sure of that move. But, CDC was listed as an ally to his client. He would then test the relationship.
He had been rotting in this hospital bed for a couple of days now where the medical staff was treating his wounds. Typical wounds and concussions were a breeze to fix, but a crushed spine did require a bit more time. Unless you wanted to go the implant route. This wasn't an option for Vaal'Ok. he had simply refused it, as would have any self-respecting Itani.
Though, the feeling of selflessness was not the the cause of his sentiments. Nor was the fact that a 7 year old kid had actually knocked him out cold. Sure, she didn't use her hands. She was way too frail for that. But by rocking the ship at the precise moment he was walking inside the cargo bay, she did manage to yank crates out of their locking pins to stomp him.
He felt like that because one of his clients, who had been assured Vaal'Ok was absolutely reliable, would end up destroying his reputation because of a small kid. And now, he was supposed to bring the mother, Vionka Velaio, to safety. Himself. But in his current condition, there was no way he could move her.
Sure, his client would have dispatched someone else. had he known Vaal'Ok was in such a bad shape. But vanity was one of Vaal'Ok's weak points. He had to deal with the situation himself or loose any standing he might have in the face of his clients.
Things had worked out well for the last few months but this time, he had to fix the situation and make damn sure the fewest number of people knew about this. Vaal'Ok needed to move Vionka. And he thought... perhaps some discrete outside help was required.
Vaal'Ok picked up the business card left on the desk by a visitor. How did that visitor allowed in to see her was not really important. If he was there, in this particular Itani station on this particular floor, then he was OK to deal with.
The business card was inserted into the terminal on the table next to him and gave this guy a call.
"Nolan? I have a job for you.
- How can the CDC help you sir?
- I need to transport out of here. I'm too messed up to fly. I wont be alone. We need on transport, two light fighters. I can provide one of those. He owes me.
- Why so much hardware? The CDC can guarantee delivery.
- Because we need to exit out of here, un-followed.
- Alright then, no reason not to do it your way. What is the cargo, pickup, and destination?
- Cargo is myself. And the lady. The rest of the cargo are home furniture crates. They're going in one direction with the escort while we will slip out of sight and secure that woman. What's left of her.
- ... woman... Do you mean..?
- Yeah. Hush hush. Plenty of coins for it if you keep it private. This detail is between you and I alone.
- Wouldn't have it any other way. Are you with ITAN then?
- I'm... a contractual. For someone inside ITAN.
- Fair enough. Just so I know I'm not kidnapping the woman. Where and when, I'll be there with some friends.
- Meet me back here tomorrow. I'll give you the details.
- Very well. See you then."
Vaal'Ok wasn't too sure of that move. But, CDC was listed as an ally to his client. He would then test the relationship.
Nolan Faux showed up bright and early at the mother's hospital room. A little too early, because Vaal'Ok had not yet arrived.
It gave him another chance to feel Vionka staring at him. The minutes seemed like hours. Why so much judgement?! "Cheer up, we're getting you out of here."
Nolan was brought back to reality when Vaal'Ok Dasmar entered, not moving under his own power but instead with a powered chair. For his part, he seemed startled to see Nolan so promptly. His jobs never required he work with someone bearing Nolan's brand of aggressive professionalism, though. Vaal'Ok dismissed the thought in favor of I damn well hope he knows how to fly and keep his mouth shut. Nolan now understood why he'd been called to 'help.'
The flight was underway within the hour. It seemed so routine, ran utterly flawlessly, just like Dasmar's last mission had until...
The child wasn't along this time to make a mess. Riding in Nolan's vessel beside what was left of Vionka, Vaal'Ok finally allowed himself to think about something other than what might go wrong.
Nolan proved to be a better choice than he had hoped, for unexpected reasons. When the time came for the convoy to split, Nolan was not only not followed, but would have been evaded. His reputation usually preceded him as an escort pilot, and not the man with the cargo. Mere habit made Nolan's flight pattern around the decoy aggressive and protective. Vaal'Ok Dasmar considered with mild displeasure that the CDC pilot might just engage a hostile heedless of his cargo. Real tension was only short-lived during the flight, however, while a completely innocent Itani pilot briefly shared a sector with the convoy.
For his part, Nolan would have engaged had a threat appeared. His aversion to unlawful pilots was almost pathological lately. Balancing professionalism with bloodlust required effort now. It didn't help Nolan's disposition to be this deep in blue space either, not when he'd not seen his Itani girlfriend for a week now.
No one was the wiser when Nolan docked at the final destination. Vionka Velaio and Vaal'Ok Dasmar were discretely moved from Nolan's vessel to her new temporary home, now deeper in Itani space and off the beaten path enough to be forgotten. A weak handshake was exchanged.
"You'll find the payment in your account. This will not be forgotten." Vaal'Ok Dasmar admitted to himself that his statement ended with a lie, probably.
"We'd be happy to work with you again in the future," Nolan replied routinely. Nolan looked at Vionka for a moment, thoughtfully, then went back to his ship. He would need something else on his mind if he wanted to forget that look enough to sleep tonight.
It gave him another chance to feel Vionka staring at him. The minutes seemed like hours. Why so much judgement?! "Cheer up, we're getting you out of here."
Nolan was brought back to reality when Vaal'Ok Dasmar entered, not moving under his own power but instead with a powered chair. For his part, he seemed startled to see Nolan so promptly. His jobs never required he work with someone bearing Nolan's brand of aggressive professionalism, though. Vaal'Ok dismissed the thought in favor of I damn well hope he knows how to fly and keep his mouth shut. Nolan now understood why he'd been called to 'help.'
The flight was underway within the hour. It seemed so routine, ran utterly flawlessly, just like Dasmar's last mission had until...
The child wasn't along this time to make a mess. Riding in Nolan's vessel beside what was left of Vionka, Vaal'Ok finally allowed himself to think about something other than what might go wrong.
Nolan proved to be a better choice than he had hoped, for unexpected reasons. When the time came for the convoy to split, Nolan was not only not followed, but would have been evaded. His reputation usually preceded him as an escort pilot, and not the man with the cargo. Mere habit made Nolan's flight pattern around the decoy aggressive and protective. Vaal'Ok Dasmar considered with mild displeasure that the CDC pilot might just engage a hostile heedless of his cargo. Real tension was only short-lived during the flight, however, while a completely innocent Itani pilot briefly shared a sector with the convoy.
For his part, Nolan would have engaged had a threat appeared. His aversion to unlawful pilots was almost pathological lately. Balancing professionalism with bloodlust required effort now. It didn't help Nolan's disposition to be this deep in blue space either, not when he'd not seen his Itani girlfriend for a week now.
No one was the wiser when Nolan docked at the final destination. Vionka Velaio and Vaal'Ok Dasmar were discretely moved from Nolan's vessel to her new temporary home, now deeper in Itani space and off the beaten path enough to be forgotten. A weak handshake was exchanged.
"You'll find the payment in your account. This will not be forgotten." Vaal'Ok Dasmar admitted to himself that his statement ended with a lie, probably.
"We'd be happy to work with you again in the future," Nolan replied routinely. Nolan looked at Vionka for a moment, thoughtfully, then went back to his ship. He would need something else on his mind if he wanted to forget that look enough to sleep tonight.
Three ships carrying Mogul Velaio's widow had passed quickly, jumping out at the 3000 meter mark towards their final destination.
The lone Itani, a miner, checked his account and confirmed the 1,500,000 credit transfer. Sure he'd been paid, he disengaged the five beams from the huge, dirty ice roid and quickly left the sector. All that remained were hundreds of cargo pods and a dense cloud of gray-ish fog.
After a few minutes a stream of ions, solar wind from the nearby star, dispersed the heart of the cloud. The spreading fog revealed a ship.
It was a matte-black Valkyrie X-1.
The experimental fighter hung adrift, still surrounded by whisps of the mining fog that had obscured it while the convoy passed. Its pilot finished processing the data recorded and transmitted by the miner. "How easily one can find sanctuary here! Merely fly a black ship and entwine your requests with not-so subtle references to the Akanese mission," the pilot chuckled to himself, "and you'll find someone to do your bidding, no questions asked."
And his bidding had been done indeed: the raw data from the mining ship's sensors allowed for an accelleration analysis, which in turn revealed an oddly heavy escort fighter, registered to one Nolan Faux.
The dimmed black-light of the controls made his teeth glow ever so slightly as he smiled in the dark. "Vionka cannot run much further, and soon I will have her." The thought was enough to make Dr. Lecter hope that Mogul Velaio was indeed looking on from the after-life.
"How amusing to think of him! So completly aware, so utterly impotent. And with all eternity to remember."
The X-1 swung around and coursed towards the jump-out point.
The lone Itani, a miner, checked his account and confirmed the 1,500,000 credit transfer. Sure he'd been paid, he disengaged the five beams from the huge, dirty ice roid and quickly left the sector. All that remained were hundreds of cargo pods and a dense cloud of gray-ish fog.
After a few minutes a stream of ions, solar wind from the nearby star, dispersed the heart of the cloud. The spreading fog revealed a ship.
It was a matte-black Valkyrie X-1.
The experimental fighter hung adrift, still surrounded by whisps of the mining fog that had obscured it while the convoy passed. Its pilot finished processing the data recorded and transmitted by the miner. "How easily one can find sanctuary here! Merely fly a black ship and entwine your requests with not-so subtle references to the Akanese mission," the pilot chuckled to himself, "and you'll find someone to do your bidding, no questions asked."
And his bidding had been done indeed: the raw data from the mining ship's sensors allowed for an accelleration analysis, which in turn revealed an oddly heavy escort fighter, registered to one Nolan Faux.
The dimmed black-light of the controls made his teeth glow ever so slightly as he smiled in the dark. "Vionka cannot run much further, and soon I will have her." The thought was enough to make Dr. Lecter hope that Mogul Velaio was indeed looking on from the after-life.
"How amusing to think of him! So completly aware, so utterly impotent. And with all eternity to remember."
The X-1 swung around and coursed towards the jump-out point.
Less than two hours later, he had narrowed his search to the system's final station. A quick check of the docking records confirmed that Nolan's light fighter had been here and left only an hour before.
Dr. Lecter guided the distinctly non-IDF Itani military vessel into the nearest docking bay. Prior to disengaging the one-way mirrored canopy, he changed into a hooded black robe, chuckling about the irony of his disguise: "Those Itani here who don't know the Akanese assume I'm one of them, and those who know I'm not can hardly explain why they're so sure."
He left without a word to the clearly nervous deck crew, heading for the most secluded of the station's hospital decks.
Upon arrival he found only two patients currently admitted: neither name was reconizable to him... or the Itani national registry he accessed through his implants. He addressed the lone receptionist from beneath his hood.
"I think I have finally come to the right place. That's my cousin there, how is she?"
Clearly wary of the overly tall and still-hooded figure, the receptionist answered in clipped tones, "She's fine, just resting. Whatever has affected her is causing a great deal of stress; she has been medicated and visitation is denied."
"Ah, I see. Of course I will not disturb her if it could upset her condition. Might I enquire again later," the Doctor schmoozed.
"Check back in two days, no earlier"; the receptionist returned to her work with a dismissive twist in her chair.
"Thank you," Lecter murmerred, also turning slightly. "One more thing: a friend of hers and an... acquaintance... of mine came in with her. How is he?"
Obviously annoyed at the further interruption, the receptionist twisted back in her chair and rose slightly. "He was in terrible shape on arrival and is still in surgery; he won't be out anytime soon. Now, you really need t..."
It was all he needed to know. "No, I really do not."
Whatever suggestion she had to offer was lost in a red-bubbling gurgle. The forged blade of an Akanese sword shot up, entering her chest just under the xyphoid. On its way to exiting through her seventh cervical vertabrae, the broad oval cross-section destroyed her diaphram and trachea. Without even a whisper of suction, Dr. Lecter whipped the sword out of the receptionist. She collapsed under the counter, leaking slightly as she bled out internally. The corpse gurgled gently as air escaped through the wounds.
Moving quickly now, the Doctor grabbed an injector and two vials: a stimulant and a sedative. He paused at the sleeping Vionka's bedside, trying to make up his mind.
"Sedate and take her? Risky, but it would be a good deal more fun," Dr. Lecter mused to himself. "On the other hand," he considered, "we're quite alone at the moment: a heavy dose of stimulant could make her last few moments acutely memorable."
After half a moment, inspiration struck. A quick injection ensured Mogul's widow wouldn't awaken at an inopportune moment. The nearest medical supply container, at 2cu of space, was a tight fit. But five minutes later, Vionka was snugly secured in the X-1's tiny cargo hold and he was departing the sector just as station chatter spiked on his channels. Someone had found his left-over shish-kebab.
Nearly beside himself at the whimsey of the idea that struck him in the medical suite, Dr. Lecter glanced at his cargo's vital signs and messaged the computers at home.
Several systems away, machinery in the basement lab of his Pacifica estate glowed and bubbled to life. The cloning tanks warmed up as the DNA archives prepared a file for processing and composition.
The name on the file read "Toine Velaio".
Dr. Lecter guided the distinctly non-IDF Itani military vessel into the nearest docking bay. Prior to disengaging the one-way mirrored canopy, he changed into a hooded black robe, chuckling about the irony of his disguise: "Those Itani here who don't know the Akanese assume I'm one of them, and those who know I'm not can hardly explain why they're so sure."
He left without a word to the clearly nervous deck crew, heading for the most secluded of the station's hospital decks.
Upon arrival he found only two patients currently admitted: neither name was reconizable to him... or the Itani national registry he accessed through his implants. He addressed the lone receptionist from beneath his hood.
"I think I have finally come to the right place. That's my cousin there, how is she?"
Clearly wary of the overly tall and still-hooded figure, the receptionist answered in clipped tones, "She's fine, just resting. Whatever has affected her is causing a great deal of stress; she has been medicated and visitation is denied."
"Ah, I see. Of course I will not disturb her if it could upset her condition. Might I enquire again later," the Doctor schmoozed.
"Check back in two days, no earlier"; the receptionist returned to her work with a dismissive twist in her chair.
"Thank you," Lecter murmerred, also turning slightly. "One more thing: a friend of hers and an... acquaintance... of mine came in with her. How is he?"
Obviously annoyed at the further interruption, the receptionist twisted back in her chair and rose slightly. "He was in terrible shape on arrival and is still in surgery; he won't be out anytime soon. Now, you really need t..."
It was all he needed to know. "No, I really do not."
Whatever suggestion she had to offer was lost in a red-bubbling gurgle. The forged blade of an Akanese sword shot up, entering her chest just under the xyphoid. On its way to exiting through her seventh cervical vertabrae, the broad oval cross-section destroyed her diaphram and trachea. Without even a whisper of suction, Dr. Lecter whipped the sword out of the receptionist. She collapsed under the counter, leaking slightly as she bled out internally. The corpse gurgled gently as air escaped through the wounds.
Moving quickly now, the Doctor grabbed an injector and two vials: a stimulant and a sedative. He paused at the sleeping Vionka's bedside, trying to make up his mind.
"Sedate and take her? Risky, but it would be a good deal more fun," Dr. Lecter mused to himself. "On the other hand," he considered, "we're quite alone at the moment: a heavy dose of stimulant could make her last few moments acutely memorable."
After half a moment, inspiration struck. A quick injection ensured Mogul's widow wouldn't awaken at an inopportune moment. The nearest medical supply container, at 2cu of space, was a tight fit. But five minutes later, Vionka was snugly secured in the X-1's tiny cargo hold and he was departing the sector just as station chatter spiked on his channels. Someone had found his left-over shish-kebab.
Nearly beside himself at the whimsey of the idea that struck him in the medical suite, Dr. Lecter glanced at his cargo's vital signs and messaged the computers at home.
Several systems away, machinery in the basement lab of his Pacifica estate glowed and bubbled to life. The cloning tanks warmed up as the DNA archives prepared a file for processing and composition.
The name on the file read "Toine Velaio".
upper case was running in the corridors, dashing for his office, amidst the crowd of disgruntled pilots and civilians being brushed aside to make way.
closing the door, upper case pulled out the vibrating ceramic bullet out of his pocket and hooked it up to the terminal.
"Well that took a while, Mr. Do It Pronto! said the synthetic reconstruction of Mogul Velaio.
- what are the results? find anything?
- Oh no. I didn't find them yet. I'm still sorting through their terminals. That station is a total mess! Totally disorganized! No wonder Gerira Rutilus is not a big tourists attraction! said the synthetic Mogul.
- geira? you found them in geira?
- Oh Eo no! Geira Rutilus is a big sector. As big as any. I'm still looking in this station for clues as to where they may be?
- what station?
- Geira Watch! Right by Deneb! That's where the bullet transponder got connected. Oh.
- you're really a worthless piece of software you know that?" said upper case as he waited for deliberator to reboot smogul, the artificial intelligence subprogram that ran a pseudo reconstruction of mogul velaio.
this one came back online after a few seconds and resumed it's conversation:
"Hey Upper! Guess what? I found them! They're in Geira Rutilus O-4! Geira Watch!
- no shit." replied upper case as he plucked the bullet transponder off his terminal.
upper case hit the on-screen quick dial for the skygge vakter group. this time, he had a location to send them to. along with all the fleet he could amass.
closing the door, upper case pulled out the vibrating ceramic bullet out of his pocket and hooked it up to the terminal.
"Well that took a while, Mr. Do It Pronto! said the synthetic reconstruction of Mogul Velaio.
- what are the results? find anything?
- Oh no. I didn't find them yet. I'm still sorting through their terminals. That station is a total mess! Totally disorganized! No wonder Gerira Rutilus is not a big tourists attraction! said the synthetic Mogul.
- geira? you found them in geira?
- Oh Eo no! Geira Rutilus is a big sector. As big as any. I'm still looking in this station for clues as to where they may be?
- what station?
- Geira Watch! Right by Deneb! That's where the bullet transponder got connected. Oh.
- you're really a worthless piece of software you know that?" said upper case as he waited for deliberator to reboot smogul, the artificial intelligence subprogram that ran a pseudo reconstruction of mogul velaio.
this one came back online after a few seconds and resumed it's conversation:
"Hey Upper! Guess what? I found them! They're in Geira Rutilus O-4! Geira Watch!
- no shit." replied upper case as he plucked the bullet transponder off his terminal.
upper case hit the on-screen quick dial for the skygge vakter group. this time, he had a location to send them to. along with all the fleet he could amass.
Dr. Lecter docked the Valk at his home on Sol II, Pacifica province. Mindful of his cargo, he was none too gentle with the landing. "Well worth the expense of repairing 20% of an X-1 hull over here," he laughed to himself.
After making sure the bay doors and field had sealed and locked behind him, Lecter headed into the massive house itself, the glassy black stone of the archway comfortingly familiar to him.
"Unload the cargo crate, Joyce Mk II, and turn its contents loose in cell beta," he told the clone as he entered the living room. The Joyce clone straightened from its task of feeding the fire that roared up the chimney in the great-room and headed for the basement levels to prepare the cell for Vionka.
Dr. Lecter settled into his favorite Itani-hyde chair and rested his feet on his ottoman. Not the one he'd had made from Itani hyde and long bones to match the chair, this one was oblong, made of polished wood. It was the casket of Toine Velaio.
A Miharu clone came in with a glass of chilled d'Yquem, recovered from the same freighter that had carried LeberMac's crates of tequila from Earth, and some seared Itani foie gras. He'd had a devil of a time overcoming the gag reflex inherent in Itani while he experimented with a way to fatten their livers. Dr. Lecter had finally settled on a technique that bypassed the problem: he ripped a large, cauterized hole in their neck below the reflex trigger and stuffed the feeding tube in there.
After savoring the wine and liver for a moment, he instructed the clone: "Make sure the Joyce model has secured Vionka in cell beta. Then go and move the new Toine clone into cell alpha." Lecter paused; "Make sure she sees Toine getting dragged into the adjoining cell, hmm." With a nod, the Itani servant departed for the basement.
"Now," he thought, staring at the fire and enjoying the botrytis taste of the wine, "is it more horrible for a parent to have to kill their child... or die by the child's own hand?"
After making sure the bay doors and field had sealed and locked behind him, Lecter headed into the massive house itself, the glassy black stone of the archway comfortingly familiar to him.
"Unload the cargo crate, Joyce Mk II, and turn its contents loose in cell beta," he told the clone as he entered the living room. The Joyce clone straightened from its task of feeding the fire that roared up the chimney in the great-room and headed for the basement levels to prepare the cell for Vionka.
Dr. Lecter settled into his favorite Itani-hyde chair and rested his feet on his ottoman. Not the one he'd had made from Itani hyde and long bones to match the chair, this one was oblong, made of polished wood. It was the casket of Toine Velaio.
A Miharu clone came in with a glass of chilled d'Yquem, recovered from the same freighter that had carried LeberMac's crates of tequila from Earth, and some seared Itani foie gras. He'd had a devil of a time overcoming the gag reflex inherent in Itani while he experimented with a way to fatten their livers. Dr. Lecter had finally settled on a technique that bypassed the problem: he ripped a large, cauterized hole in their neck below the reflex trigger and stuffed the feeding tube in there.
After savoring the wine and liver for a moment, he instructed the clone: "Make sure the Joyce model has secured Vionka in cell beta. Then go and move the new Toine clone into cell alpha." Lecter paused; "Make sure she sees Toine getting dragged into the adjoining cell, hmm." With a nod, the Itani servant departed for the basement.
"Now," he thought, staring at the fire and enjoying the botrytis taste of the wine, "is it more horrible for a parent to have to kill their child... or die by the child's own hand?"
Behind closed doors of the Deneb War Room, the pilots bearing the tatoo [ITAN] muttered among themselves over the final plans of their next missions. Athran, a master at the art espionage and reconnaissance, approached the podium.
As a pilot flipped through the projected slides of old war maps, Athran said, "Stop!"
"But sir," the young pilot said, "The current battle map is not this way. This is showing the wrong battle."
"This is the battle!" roared Athran.
The other pilots stopped talking, intrigued. Everyone knew that ancient battle map. It was the first border skirmish between the Itanis and the Sercos. Everyone knew the great commanders who directed battles in the ancient Teradons. It was time when space was dominated by Centurions Itani Border Guardians. A time that marked the end of space as innocent pure. A time when those graduating out of high school flew weaponless Wraiths with their prom dates after the party instead of Ragnoraks armed to the teeth.
"That time is over," whispered Athran to himself. The pilots watched quietly as Athran took out an ancient pocket watch to wind up on the hour as always. He was infamous with that object. Rumor has it that behind the cover was a picture of his long lost love. Others believe it was the only thing that they found of his great-great-great... grandfather who fought in that first border skirmish. That man promised his son that he would return, and for generations after generations that promise was never kept.
Athran knew what it means to keep his words to others. He knew what it means to be in debt to someone, espically someone who is long gone.
"This map shows not only the beginning of the war. It was the beginning of broken promises. Our ancestor fled to live once again. They promised to their children and their children's children that no wars would ever be fought again. Heck, did you know Centurions were once built for shows? Now they're all armed. Promises after promises were broken....
Everyone in that room knew what this missions means to the commander. Athran waved his hand for the pilot to switched to the current battle map.
"Gentlemen, get your navcomp out and make sure you got your roles right. This is no ordinary extraction mission. Within a few minutes of the first strike force wave, there is a chance the *SMV Nemesis will jump in. HAC standard procedure is to protect the station at all cost. She'll be close to the station, making extraction difficult. I want three Ragnorak MKIIIs to eliminate this threat. Be sure to stay BVR until the HAC has jumped in. Eliminate it and jump out once you're winchester.
"What's the worry? You've already blown two up already! Last time you've even took over a main battery and caused havoc around the very station they wanted to protect!"
Athran didn't say anything. He was responsible for the deaths of all those who manned the Serco HAC. They may have been on the opposite sides of the same coin, but they were still fine men. Men that he would gladly have fought with had his coin landed on the same side as theirs. A shame what contempoary warfare has lead to these day. No rooms for those who linger in the past.
"And for that comment, besides your regular responsibility as a pilot, you got deck duty.
"So here's the plan: Rags will jump into GR and immediatly unleash all missiles and rockets towards the station. Rags, once you are winchester, jump out and switch to your regular fighters. Out of splash radius, Strike Force X-1 will follow closely behind these rockets and missiles, which will provide temporary radar cover for them. Upon impact, SF X-1 will terminate the immediate reactionary Serco strike force.
"During this time, our main force of fighters and the transport will stay hidden among the asteroid field that surrounds the station. As the first Serco strike force and the X-1 are being engaging in battle, we have a small time span to get into the small space the GR station has at its center. We will provide cover as the transport slips into this small space. Make sure all entrances to this space is covered as well.
"We will fight as long as necessary, so use your rockets or missiles wisely. The marines from the transport will cut open a space into the station and from there own rescue the girl.
"Any questions? No? Good."
"Gentlemen, " he said, "Let's Roll!" And to himself he said, "And may promises be kept."
As a pilot flipped through the projected slides of old war maps, Athran said, "Stop!"
"But sir," the young pilot said, "The current battle map is not this way. This is showing the wrong battle."
"This is the battle!" roared Athran.
The other pilots stopped talking, intrigued. Everyone knew that ancient battle map. It was the first border skirmish between the Itanis and the Sercos. Everyone knew the great commanders who directed battles in the ancient Teradons. It was time when space was dominated by Centurions Itani Border Guardians. A time that marked the end of space as innocent pure. A time when those graduating out of high school flew weaponless Wraiths with their prom dates after the party instead of Ragnoraks armed to the teeth.
"That time is over," whispered Athran to himself. The pilots watched quietly as Athran took out an ancient pocket watch to wind up on the hour as always. He was infamous with that object. Rumor has it that behind the cover was a picture of his long lost love. Others believe it was the only thing that they found of his great-great-great... grandfather who fought in that first border skirmish. That man promised his son that he would return, and for generations after generations that promise was never kept.
Athran knew what it means to keep his words to others. He knew what it means to be in debt to someone, espically someone who is long gone.
"This map shows not only the beginning of the war. It was the beginning of broken promises. Our ancestor fled to live once again. They promised to their children and their children's children that no wars would ever be fought again. Heck, did you know Centurions were once built for shows? Now they're all armed. Promises after promises were broken....
Everyone in that room knew what this missions means to the commander. Athran waved his hand for the pilot to switched to the current battle map.
"Gentlemen, get your navcomp out and make sure you got your roles right. This is no ordinary extraction mission. Within a few minutes of the first strike force wave, there is a chance the *SMV Nemesis will jump in. HAC standard procedure is to protect the station at all cost. She'll be close to the station, making extraction difficult. I want three Ragnorak MKIIIs to eliminate this threat. Be sure to stay BVR until the HAC has jumped in. Eliminate it and jump out once you're winchester.
"What's the worry? You've already blown two up already! Last time you've even took over a main battery and caused havoc around the very station they wanted to protect!"
Athran didn't say anything. He was responsible for the deaths of all those who manned the Serco HAC. They may have been on the opposite sides of the same coin, but they were still fine men. Men that he would gladly have fought with had his coin landed on the same side as theirs. A shame what contempoary warfare has lead to these day. No rooms for those who linger in the past.
"And for that comment, besides your regular responsibility as a pilot, you got deck duty.
"So here's the plan: Rags will jump into GR and immediatly unleash all missiles and rockets towards the station. Rags, once you are winchester, jump out and switch to your regular fighters. Out of splash radius, Strike Force X-1 will follow closely behind these rockets and missiles, which will provide temporary radar cover for them. Upon impact, SF X-1 will terminate the immediate reactionary Serco strike force.
"During this time, our main force of fighters and the transport will stay hidden among the asteroid field that surrounds the station. As the first Serco strike force and the X-1 are being engaging in battle, we have a small time span to get into the small space the GR station has at its center. We will provide cover as the transport slips into this small space. Make sure all entrances to this space is covered as well.
"We will fight as long as necessary, so use your rockets or missiles wisely. The marines from the transport will cut open a space into the station and from there own rescue the girl.
"Any questions? No? Good."
"Gentlemen, " he said, "Let's Roll!" And to himself he said, "And may promises be kept."
He watched the petri dish through an unbelieveably detailed nano-scope. The stem cells, now extracted from the girl, grew steadily in the culture, arranging themselves in configurations not dissimilar from the configurations that Camillia's ships would arrange themselves in. Almost crystalline in their beauty, the neural cells self-organized and created incredibly efficient transmission structures, growing now in exponential fashion.
Lexicon was reasonably sure that the neural cells were able to tap into quantum probability effects due to their peculiar microstructure. A useful mutation in the girl, but of course, the mutation would be even MORE useful in his hands. Being able to not only read the probability effects, but also to write them into existence would prove to be powerful, indeed.
He smiled to himself as he completed the final steps in his holy experiment, performed for the uplifting of The Great Lady. Filling the hypo-syringe with the stem cells, he said a small prayer to Her. She had not spoken to him in some time, but certainly with his newfound powers, he would not only be able to communicate directly with her, but lead her armies in glorious conquest of the resisting races. Pleased with himself, he laid back in the medlab's surgical chamber.
Suddenly, he purposefully jammed the 15cm long xithricite-enhanced needle deep into his skull and depressed the old-style plunger, injecting all of the cells deep into his own mind.
Lexicon blacked out.
The hidden medlab in Geira Watch continued to function normally absent his presence. The itani girl, Camillia, breathed regularly and the sedatives began to wear off. Except for a patch of shaved skull, she seemed to be none the worse for wear. The small warning alarm that began to sound, indicating that the sedatives were wearing off, was heard by no one at the moment.
Lexicon was reasonably sure that the neural cells were able to tap into quantum probability effects due to their peculiar microstructure. A useful mutation in the girl, but of course, the mutation would be even MORE useful in his hands. Being able to not only read the probability effects, but also to write them into existence would prove to be powerful, indeed.
He smiled to himself as he completed the final steps in his holy experiment, performed for the uplifting of The Great Lady. Filling the hypo-syringe with the stem cells, he said a small prayer to Her. She had not spoken to him in some time, but certainly with his newfound powers, he would not only be able to communicate directly with her, but lead her armies in glorious conquest of the resisting races. Pleased with himself, he laid back in the medlab's surgical chamber.
Suddenly, he purposefully jammed the 15cm long xithricite-enhanced needle deep into his skull and depressed the old-style plunger, injecting all of the cells deep into his own mind.
Lexicon blacked out.
The hidden medlab in Geira Watch continued to function normally absent his presence. The itani girl, Camillia, breathed regularly and the sedatives began to wear off. Except for a patch of shaved skull, she seemed to be none the worse for wear. The small warning alarm that began to sound, indicating that the sedatives were wearing off, was heard by no one at the moment.
"Sir? Sir? Can you hear me? Just nod... or squeeze my finger... yes... that's good. Don't try to speak: you are intubated. It will only make it more uncomfortable." said a nurse.
Vaal'Ok felt like shit. It seemed like every chapter in his life began this way. This time, though, he thought things couldn't get worse. He was in a hospital. The remnants of the anastasia made it hard for him to put back recent events in order and figure out why he was lying in a recovery room. He remembered having his spine crushed in his own cargo bay. Yes... that was it... the kid had jerked his ship as he tried to sedate her... sending cargos crashing down on him.
This was a routine operation... why was he intubated?
Slowly and painfully, frowning and waving his index at the pluming coming out of his face, Vaal'Ok muttered something incomprehensible that clearly meant to ask "wtf?".
"Oh... we had an emergency situation in the hospital deck... criminals came in stabbed one of the staff. They took medecine and... er... left. We had to stop your operation to try to save her but alas, it was impossible to resuscitate her. By the time we got back to you, we realized you had contracted a virus and... well, we had to clean it up from your spine. It turned a simple procedure into a hours long one. You'll be all right. Try to rest for now. I will be back shortly, said the nurse.
- Uhrrh uh-hu? said Vaal'Ok as he pointed to his wiggling toes.
- Oh no! Don't worry. You can walk. Just give time for the meds to wear off and your cauterized spine wound to seal and you should be out within two days.
- Rhuu? asked Vaal'Ok, pointing at his wrist.
- The time? It's 18 hours local time.
- Rhuu!! Urrh-ruuh!!
- The date? Ah... yes, you've been out for a couple of days now. Today is saturday.
- Rhuuu!!! Urh-hu ruh- hu-urh? asked Vaal'Ok, pointing at the corridor.
- Your friend? Well... hum... rest up mister. We'll discuss your friend later ok? Take care of yourself for now, said the nurse as she augmented the sedative dose.
Vaal'Ok's last few instants of lucidity were filled with the anxiety of knowing what had happened to the murdered staff, why she had been murdered... and most importantly... why the nurse didn't want to talk to him about Vionka...
Vaal'Ok felt like shit. It seemed like every chapter in his life began this way. This time, though, he thought things couldn't get worse. He was in a hospital. The remnants of the anastasia made it hard for him to put back recent events in order and figure out why he was lying in a recovery room. He remembered having his spine crushed in his own cargo bay. Yes... that was it... the kid had jerked his ship as he tried to sedate her... sending cargos crashing down on him.
This was a routine operation... why was he intubated?
Slowly and painfully, frowning and waving his index at the pluming coming out of his face, Vaal'Ok muttered something incomprehensible that clearly meant to ask "wtf?".
"Oh... we had an emergency situation in the hospital deck... criminals came in stabbed one of the staff. They took medecine and... er... left. We had to stop your operation to try to save her but alas, it was impossible to resuscitate her. By the time we got back to you, we realized you had contracted a virus and... well, we had to clean it up from your spine. It turned a simple procedure into a hours long one. You'll be all right. Try to rest for now. I will be back shortly, said the nurse.
- Uhrrh uh-hu? said Vaal'Ok as he pointed to his wiggling toes.
- Oh no! Don't worry. You can walk. Just give time for the meds to wear off and your cauterized spine wound to seal and you should be out within two days.
- Rhuu? asked Vaal'Ok, pointing at his wrist.
- The time? It's 18 hours local time.
- Rhuu!! Urrh-ruuh!!
- The date? Ah... yes, you've been out for a couple of days now. Today is saturday.
- Rhuuu!!! Urh-hu ruh- hu-urh? asked Vaal'Ok, pointing at the corridor.
- Your friend? Well... hum... rest up mister. We'll discuss your friend later ok? Take care of yourself for now, said the nurse as she augmented the sedative dose.
Vaal'Ok's last few instants of lucidity were filled with the anxiety of knowing what had happened to the murdered staff, why she had been murdered... and most importantly... why the nurse didn't want to talk to him about Vionka...
Lexicon awoke. He felt... new.
He sat up from the surgical chair and pulled the syringe straight out of his head as he examined his hands. Wait.
Both of his hands were in front of him. He slowly looked around and saw the syringe hovering in midair. Shocked, he cried out, and the syringe fell to the floor with a clatter.
He stared at the syringe as it rolled in a small circle on the metal flooring, making the only noise in the room. He willed the syringe to stop... and it did.
He willed the syringe to roll in the opposite direction, and it did. Slowly at first, but with increasing velocity as Lexicon introduced new quantum probability fluctuations, making the syringe spin, twirl, and finally stand on the pointy end, swaying.
It had worked!
He dropped the syringe and plunged mentally into the datanets to find the Lady Serco. He waded through all the old haunts that he would frequent during his respawning times. He looked in the archives, calling her name; he peered into the sub-dimensional storage matrices of SkyCommand, crying out for her attention, but she was not to be found. Had she abandoned him? Her voice, which had calmed him, comforted him, guided him through his endless battles in Deneb, was silent.
He knew that regardless, he had been given a gift, and he would use his gift to fulfill the objectives of his Goddess. Perhaps when he succeeded, she would awaken and shower him with her praises. A beeping interruption brought him out of his reverie.
The girl's alarm beeped insistently. She would awaken soon. It was unimportant - the deed had been done and the powers that she had unwittingly given Lexicon would allow him to control vast fleets of ships that could easily overwhelm the existing forces of the Itani and Serco.
"The time has come." Lexicon said, and proceeded to the docking bay, where he planned to take control of the ships and use them to bring the word of the Lady Serco to all who inhabited this galaxy. First the Itani, then the UIT, and then... back to old Earth to spread the enlightenment there as well.
He sat up from the surgical chair and pulled the syringe straight out of his head as he examined his hands. Wait.
Both of his hands were in front of him. He slowly looked around and saw the syringe hovering in midair. Shocked, he cried out, and the syringe fell to the floor with a clatter.
He stared at the syringe as it rolled in a small circle on the metal flooring, making the only noise in the room. He willed the syringe to stop... and it did.
He willed the syringe to roll in the opposite direction, and it did. Slowly at first, but with increasing velocity as Lexicon introduced new quantum probability fluctuations, making the syringe spin, twirl, and finally stand on the pointy end, swaying.
It had worked!
He dropped the syringe and plunged mentally into the datanets to find the Lady Serco. He waded through all the old haunts that he would frequent during his respawning times. He looked in the archives, calling her name; he peered into the sub-dimensional storage matrices of SkyCommand, crying out for her attention, but she was not to be found. Had she abandoned him? Her voice, which had calmed him, comforted him, guided him through his endless battles in Deneb, was silent.
He knew that regardless, he had been given a gift, and he would use his gift to fulfill the objectives of his Goddess. Perhaps when he succeeded, she would awaken and shower him with her praises. A beeping interruption brought him out of his reverie.
The girl's alarm beeped insistently. She would awaken soon. It was unimportant - the deed had been done and the powers that she had unwittingly given Lexicon would allow him to control vast fleets of ships that could easily overwhelm the existing forces of the Itani and Serco.
"The time has come." Lexicon said, and proceeded to the docking bay, where he planned to take control of the ships and use them to bring the word of the Lady Serco to all who inhabited this galaxy. First the Itani, then the UIT, and then... back to old Earth to spread the enlightenment there as well.
Wave after wave of rockets hit the station. In the corridors, normal lighting was no longer in use; instead, red emergency lighting was the only illumination. Handrails were the only way to walk at this point. It took everything in Burwell Everson to keep from flying into the thick of the attackers. He promised himself that he would do some extra combat action to try and counter the fact that... he was their plan.
No one else knew this much, and Burwell didn't lie to himself that he should either. Over the past few weeks he had made contact with members of all sides. Lexicon, Borb Sarken, and uppercase were all on the list. Everson had become an enabler for all sides, his true allegiance known only to himself. Burwell was not dishonest by nature. To keep his actions from eating away his mind, he would need a distraction. For the moment, nothing could be done. There was no time.
*** ooc: post splits at this point, depending upon the thread.
First things first, the child. Burwell had the location, courtesy of [itan]. The level was trashed, medibots everywhere, all awaiting orders. A table with a young girl was the only object in the room that caught Everson's attention. That was when one of the exterior bulkheads exploded. It was a boarding party, their ship was attached to the station, preventing de-pressurization, they had just needed a door.
"The level is secure, blues." Burwell called to them, all of which had levelled their weapons at the Serco by now. "The girl is over here, looks like she is waking up."
"You're Everson?" asked the assault team's NCO.
"Yes. Take her and get off my station."
The Itani recoiled for a moment. "You're not a traitor at all. Why are you helping us?"
"You're joking, time for questions? By now our guys are on their way to repel your incursion. Get a move on."
The blue assault force left with the girl in tow. The NCO addressed Burwell Everson one last time. "Here is a package we'd like you to deliver to Lexicon. You know the details?"
Burwell accepted the bottle of Tequila. "Yes. Travel safely, I wouldn't want to fly out there right now."
No one else knew this much, and Burwell didn't lie to himself that he should either. Over the past few weeks he had made contact with members of all sides. Lexicon, Borb Sarken, and uppercase were all on the list. Everson had become an enabler for all sides, his true allegiance known only to himself. Burwell was not dishonest by nature. To keep his actions from eating away his mind, he would need a distraction. For the moment, nothing could be done. There was no time.
*** ooc: post splits at this point, depending upon the thread.
First things first, the child. Burwell had the location, courtesy of [itan]. The level was trashed, medibots everywhere, all awaiting orders. A table with a young girl was the only object in the room that caught Everson's attention. That was when one of the exterior bulkheads exploded. It was a boarding party, their ship was attached to the station, preventing de-pressurization, they had just needed a door.
"The level is secure, blues." Burwell called to them, all of which had levelled their weapons at the Serco by now. "The girl is over here, looks like she is waking up."
"You're Everson?" asked the assault team's NCO.
"Yes. Take her and get off my station."
The Itani recoiled for a moment. "You're not a traitor at all. Why are you helping us?"
"You're joking, time for questions? By now our guys are on their way to repel your incursion. Get a move on."
The blue assault force left with the girl in tow. The NCO addressed Burwell Everson one last time. "Here is a package we'd like you to deliver to Lexicon. You know the details?"
Burwell accepted the bottle of Tequila. "Yes. Travel safely, I wouldn't want to fly out there right now."
Downstairs, standing at the computer terminal in his lab, Dr. Lecter popped the final copy of the tape out of the recorder, sealed it in a diplomatic pouch and finished the address: ‘ATTN: Former Commander [ITAN], upper-case.’
He tossed it into the outgoing mail pile for the next day, where it joined two identical packages intended for the now-MIA [CDC] pilot Nolan Faux and the suddenly alive LeberMac. Nolan’s went with a note that read ‘Thanks! Next time, check out that innocent Itani pilot, genius.’ Leber’s simply said ‘The cost of your return: welcome back.’
After routing the .vid file to play on his upstairs monitor and requesting the current Joyce C. clone to finish searing the foie gras and bring him his dinner at his chair, Lecter headed back up the stairs and through the arched doorway into his living room. After pausing for a chilled tumbler of heavy, sweet botrytis-ridden wine at the liquor cabinet, he settled into his Itani-hyde chair in front of the fire.
The clone laid out the food on a table to the chair’s right, removed his silverware from the warmer and retreated into the kitchen. This particular model had become somewhat taciturn and mousey, he noticed with some annoyance. No doubt because of what it had seen recently in the basement cells, Lecter thought… he’d have to have it slaughtered for meat soon, and have the lab churn out a fresh one. “No sense in having sullen servants.”
After finishing his Itani foie gras and half his wine, Dr. Lecter hit play and the ready screen switched to a display of Vionka Velaio’s last moments. As he cut himself a bite of medium-rare roast Vionka, he saw her struggle with the emotions of seeing the Toine clone appear in her cell. It seemed as if she thought it could actually be her son; she rushed over, drew up short, then touched the boy’s face with both hands. Then, to Lecter’s distinct amusement, Vionka pinched herself.
When she was apparently convinced it was real, she burst into sobs and embraced the still-silent child. Toine held still for a minute and then drew back. His programmed behavior kicked in, and he began talking in a plaintive voice: ‘mommy, help me!’ At the same time, however, he drew out a curved, serrated blade from his robe and advanced on his ‘mother’ with viciously deliberate purpose. She tried to run, but his height was perfect to hamstring her.
Dr. Lecter finished his roast and wine, and then checked his watch. Vionka had lasted approximately forty-six bloody, agonizing minutes; her vocal attempts to reason and plead with her ‘son’ were as loud, heart-rending and never-ending as they were futile. Despite the damage the clone was doing, Vionka never raised a hand to the child. The file finished playback and the screen went black.
Lecter retrieved a tumbler of scotch and settled back into his chair, staring into the fire. He raised his glass. “Mogul Velaio, if the dead may see the living, I hope you enjoyed your wife’s demise. I could not invent a more delicious end for her than the terror of being slowly tortured to death by her own long lost child. That’s four of you Velaios down… and one more to go.” Dr. Lecter drank deeply, threw the tumbler against the fire-back with a crash, and headed out into the Void at the helm of his Valk.
He tossed it into the outgoing mail pile for the next day, where it joined two identical packages intended for the now-MIA [CDC] pilot Nolan Faux and the suddenly alive LeberMac. Nolan’s went with a note that read ‘Thanks! Next time, check out that innocent Itani pilot, genius.’ Leber’s simply said ‘The cost of your return: welcome back.’
After routing the .vid file to play on his upstairs monitor and requesting the current Joyce C. clone to finish searing the foie gras and bring him his dinner at his chair, Lecter headed back up the stairs and through the arched doorway into his living room. After pausing for a chilled tumbler of heavy, sweet botrytis-ridden wine at the liquor cabinet, he settled into his Itani-hyde chair in front of the fire.
The clone laid out the food on a table to the chair’s right, removed his silverware from the warmer and retreated into the kitchen. This particular model had become somewhat taciturn and mousey, he noticed with some annoyance. No doubt because of what it had seen recently in the basement cells, Lecter thought… he’d have to have it slaughtered for meat soon, and have the lab churn out a fresh one. “No sense in having sullen servants.”
After finishing his Itani foie gras and half his wine, Dr. Lecter hit play and the ready screen switched to a display of Vionka Velaio’s last moments. As he cut himself a bite of medium-rare roast Vionka, he saw her struggle with the emotions of seeing the Toine clone appear in her cell. It seemed as if she thought it could actually be her son; she rushed over, drew up short, then touched the boy’s face with both hands. Then, to Lecter’s distinct amusement, Vionka pinched herself.
When she was apparently convinced it was real, she burst into sobs and embraced the still-silent child. Toine held still for a minute and then drew back. His programmed behavior kicked in, and he began talking in a plaintive voice: ‘mommy, help me!’ At the same time, however, he drew out a curved, serrated blade from his robe and advanced on his ‘mother’ with viciously deliberate purpose. She tried to run, but his height was perfect to hamstring her.
Dr. Lecter finished his roast and wine, and then checked his watch. Vionka had lasted approximately forty-six bloody, agonizing minutes; her vocal attempts to reason and plead with her ‘son’ were as loud, heart-rending and never-ending as they were futile. Despite the damage the clone was doing, Vionka never raised a hand to the child. The file finished playback and the screen went black.
Lecter retrieved a tumbler of scotch and settled back into his chair, staring into the fire. He raised his glass. “Mogul Velaio, if the dead may see the living, I hope you enjoyed your wife’s demise. I could not invent a more delicious end for her than the terror of being slowly tortured to death by her own long lost child. That’s four of you Velaios down… and one more to go.” Dr. Lecter drank deeply, threw the tumbler against the fire-back with a crash, and headed out into the Void at the helm of his Valk.
The present instant felt like veiled souvenirs. Time was elastic, without anchors or predictable intervals. Moments that happened just earlier felt as if they were happening out of sync with time itself. Our of sequence with each other. The present, futur or past were intertwined together making it more difficult, still, to make out memories from present events.
Her skin was numb and her limbs seemed alien to her. As if looking at a strange creature for the first time. Medibots crawled around her, hovered above her, nurtured her. Her head felt oversized, too heavy for her neck to support. Her movements made slow and awkward by the sluggish feeling one feels when waking up after medical anesthesia.
A flash of light, a loud bang and a jolt of tremor momentarily pulled her back to reality. There stood a tall figure. Too tall. Like a moving statue. It was one of them monsters. Out of the flash of light walked in smaller statues. No. Those were human. Some wore clothes similar to her uncle's. Uncle case. They were going to rescue her. Kill the monsters. She remembered. She has been taken by a monster. That monster perhaps. She couldn't remember his face. They talked and raised their guns. They talked some more and the guns came down. Were they retreating? Many against one? She couldn't make out what they were saying. Things were still too confusing. Was she dreaming still? She felt helpless, like watching herself being picked up by one of the men. A human. She was afraid, still. The monster was there looking at them. But he didn't move. It added to her confusion.
The whole scene jerked and bounced up and town... turned at times. She was being carried. Perhaps. Or was she tumbling down in the confusion of her souvenirs? Down a level. A left corridor. A right. Another left. More flashes of light. Humming sounds. People tripping, disappearing like water balloons around her. Then she realized she stood in a pool of sticky goo on the floor. Red goo. Some grey, some white too. Dead monsters and dead humans all over the corridor. She was the last standing, except for the monster ahead of her, turning around looking for more targets until he took aim at her. Was it happening? Was she remembering it had happen? How to tell, she didn't know. A flash of light came from behind her. A wave of heat warmed her right ear. Hair curled up. The monster burst like a bubble, sending a wave of cooked, coagulating blood at her. It felt strange. She turned back and saw a human, face down, holding a phase blaster, in convulsion on the ground. It lasted minutes. Or a few seconds. She couldn't tell. Then it stopped. She had witnessed him die. After he had probably saved her.
She remembered. She was being saved. What from, again, she couldn't remember. Then she saw one of the monsters on the ground. Ah... yes. She had been abducted by one of those. A tall one who kept mumbling about taking over things. Assimilating... someone or some people. Who was the lady he kept talking about?
Like a drop of oil falling on a hot plate, sound suddenly came back. It was chaos all around her. The stench of war was all around her. The emergency lights strobing all along the corridors. The space station shook on a regular intervals, coinciding with loud explosions. Her skin felt normal for an instant. An adrenalin rush had puller her to reality. In the present. Time had a scale. A palpable feeling. She was alone in a station crawling with monsters. Ahead of the hallway, a launch deck. She could see ships in there. She could feel them. She could touch then with her thoughts. Yes. She recognized the ships. She had been taken in one of them. And she was angry. Angry at her present situation. At the reason for her situation. Her fright.
Reaching out like an octopus' tentacles... she felt her way around the hangar. From one ship to another. Looking for a recognizable one. None. And then she felt him. Yes. It was the monster. She felt his way to pilot the ship. She could feel the controls of that ship as it exited the launching bay. Rage took over her. Like waves crashing on the shore on a violent storm, blood rushed in her head at an increasing rate. Pounding her thoughts like a siege machine ram knocking down the walls of reasons. Overpowered by the rage, everything around her disappeared. She was nowhere. She was no one. She was an octopus playing with model ships. 15 ships... even more at times. Driving them from afar. Sending them like darts on a board. A moving board. A board baring the marks of Lexicon. He was moving. Fast. Turning and twisting. She could feel him at the controls. But she couldn't intervene: he was blocking her. So the other tentacles tried to whip him with the toy ships. She sent wave after wave of ships at him... trying to crush him... she couldn't get to him. She was too slow. Too many ships. To many arms. Some vanished. Stung by other ships she didn't control. Like hatchets severing her tentacles. And then he disappeared... the monster was not palpable. She felt dizzy. It was too hard... too exhausting to keep up... one by one, the tentacles of her thoughts vanished. Soon, she would be a little helpless girl again... no... she already was... lying on the floor... panting, unable to move.
Her grasp on time was playing against her. She laid there for long minutes. Monsters ran by her a couple of times... she appeared dead to them. She felt dead. She wished she was.
Then she moved. She knew she was being picked up. Her head rolled to face her savior. It was the monster. She panicked, but couldn't move. Couldn't shout. Couldn't cry. All she could do was look at it. It wasn't the monster. He looked a lot like him. But no. He was smaller... a little frailer. Didn't have implants and stank of alcohol. With a twist of lemon.
"Hi Camillia! Remember me? It's uncle LeberMac! I was a friend of your father. Remember me at your birthday party? I brought you a minibar play set! You ok Mimi? We're leaving now. You'll be home soon! I promise!" he said.
He was running. Running with her in one arm. Holding a phase blaster in the other. She was saved. She was rescued. This time, it was for real.
Her suprarenal glands couldn't keep up. They were exhausted. Out of adrenalin. And shut down. Camillia fainted.
Her skin was numb and her limbs seemed alien to her. As if looking at a strange creature for the first time. Medibots crawled around her, hovered above her, nurtured her. Her head felt oversized, too heavy for her neck to support. Her movements made slow and awkward by the sluggish feeling one feels when waking up after medical anesthesia.
A flash of light, a loud bang and a jolt of tremor momentarily pulled her back to reality. There stood a tall figure. Too tall. Like a moving statue. It was one of them monsters. Out of the flash of light walked in smaller statues. No. Those were human. Some wore clothes similar to her uncle's. Uncle case. They were going to rescue her. Kill the monsters. She remembered. She has been taken by a monster. That monster perhaps. She couldn't remember his face. They talked and raised their guns. They talked some more and the guns came down. Were they retreating? Many against one? She couldn't make out what they were saying. Things were still too confusing. Was she dreaming still? She felt helpless, like watching herself being picked up by one of the men. A human. She was afraid, still. The monster was there looking at them. But he didn't move. It added to her confusion.
The whole scene jerked and bounced up and town... turned at times. She was being carried. Perhaps. Or was she tumbling down in the confusion of her souvenirs? Down a level. A left corridor. A right. Another left. More flashes of light. Humming sounds. People tripping, disappearing like water balloons around her. Then she realized she stood in a pool of sticky goo on the floor. Red goo. Some grey, some white too. Dead monsters and dead humans all over the corridor. She was the last standing, except for the monster ahead of her, turning around looking for more targets until he took aim at her. Was it happening? Was she remembering it had happen? How to tell, she didn't know. A flash of light came from behind her. A wave of heat warmed her right ear. Hair curled up. The monster burst like a bubble, sending a wave of cooked, coagulating blood at her. It felt strange. She turned back and saw a human, face down, holding a phase blaster, in convulsion on the ground. It lasted minutes. Or a few seconds. She couldn't tell. Then it stopped. She had witnessed him die. After he had probably saved her.
She remembered. She was being saved. What from, again, she couldn't remember. Then she saw one of the monsters on the ground. Ah... yes. She had been abducted by one of those. A tall one who kept mumbling about taking over things. Assimilating... someone or some people. Who was the lady he kept talking about?
Like a drop of oil falling on a hot plate, sound suddenly came back. It was chaos all around her. The stench of war was all around her. The emergency lights strobing all along the corridors. The space station shook on a regular intervals, coinciding with loud explosions. Her skin felt normal for an instant. An adrenalin rush had puller her to reality. In the present. Time had a scale. A palpable feeling. She was alone in a station crawling with monsters. Ahead of the hallway, a launch deck. She could see ships in there. She could feel them. She could touch then with her thoughts. Yes. She recognized the ships. She had been taken in one of them. And she was angry. Angry at her present situation. At the reason for her situation. Her fright.
Reaching out like an octopus' tentacles... she felt her way around the hangar. From one ship to another. Looking for a recognizable one. None. And then she felt him. Yes. It was the monster. She felt his way to pilot the ship. She could feel the controls of that ship as it exited the launching bay. Rage took over her. Like waves crashing on the shore on a violent storm, blood rushed in her head at an increasing rate. Pounding her thoughts like a siege machine ram knocking down the walls of reasons. Overpowered by the rage, everything around her disappeared. She was nowhere. She was no one. She was an octopus playing with model ships. 15 ships... even more at times. Driving them from afar. Sending them like darts on a board. A moving board. A board baring the marks of Lexicon. He was moving. Fast. Turning and twisting. She could feel him at the controls. But she couldn't intervene: he was blocking her. So the other tentacles tried to whip him with the toy ships. She sent wave after wave of ships at him... trying to crush him... she couldn't get to him. She was too slow. Too many ships. To many arms. Some vanished. Stung by other ships she didn't control. Like hatchets severing her tentacles. And then he disappeared... the monster was not palpable. She felt dizzy. It was too hard... too exhausting to keep up... one by one, the tentacles of her thoughts vanished. Soon, she would be a little helpless girl again... no... she already was... lying on the floor... panting, unable to move.
Her grasp on time was playing against her. She laid there for long minutes. Monsters ran by her a couple of times... she appeared dead to them. She felt dead. She wished she was.
Then she moved. She knew she was being picked up. Her head rolled to face her savior. It was the monster. She panicked, but couldn't move. Couldn't shout. Couldn't cry. All she could do was look at it. It wasn't the monster. He looked a lot like him. But no. He was smaller... a little frailer. Didn't have implants and stank of alcohol. With a twist of lemon.
"Hi Camillia! Remember me? It's uncle LeberMac! I was a friend of your father. Remember me at your birthday party? I brought you a minibar play set! You ok Mimi? We're leaving now. You'll be home soon! I promise!" he said.
He was running. Running with her in one arm. Holding a phase blaster in the other. She was saved. She was rescued. This time, it was for real.
Her suprarenal glands couldn't keep up. They were exhausted. Out of adrenalin. And shut down. Camillia fainted.
time minus 15 minutes. upper case opened up a private channel.
"athran? i have a mission for you. still have one of them proms? he asked
- Oh? What for? I'd be much faster on a light ship! athran replied.
- i need a strong ship. one that can take the heat. it's time we send a message to lexicon. to let him know we're not happy with what he's done to leebs.
- Oh? What do you have in mind?
- take this, upper case said as he dropped cargo in front of athran. make sure you drop that ahead of lexicon."
athran laughed out loud. he understood exactly what that meant. and he couldn't agree more. he moved to capture the few cargo crates floating in front of him and discussed operation details. they were simple: move in, drop, take a pounding and try to leave the scene. athran was a good pilot. never afraid of a mission. he was certainly lieutenant material and upper case knew that.
time minus 10 minutes. upper case was juggling the communication channels like shiva the fate of the operation. he had received word from his contact in geira. an unlikely ally. an ally of convenience. a covenant out of the blue. taking a gamble with fate, he decided to trust him. he had no choice really. an operation like this had rarely been achieved without some major screw-up. may eo guide him, he thought. burwell had said he's clear up the deck for upper case's infiltration party. that he'd deliver a special package. a poetic, nostalgia-filled sabotage, consisting of a bottle of tequila, to be smashed at the control of lexicon's resuscitation chamber. a message. a souvenir. a last revenge for it's previous owner.
time minus 5 minutes. a signal was sent to the allied fleet and upper case moved out to warp position. the plan was simple. but no less dangerous. an allied strike force was to move into geira, unleash hell on any fighting ship in there, clearing the path for the infiltration party whose purpose it was to grab camillia from the clutches of lexicon's laboratory. clearing the path to athran's special delivery.
time minus 2 minutes. a scout ship came back from geira, dragging into deneb a fleet of serco strike force...
"Sector clear. No trace of a heavy assault cruiser." he said. he, was niki.
famed and cursed pilot altogether. a pirate by many accounts. few proven. nonetheless an ally. a representative of [itan]s most-trusted ally force: [skv]. other guilds were present too. allies. official and officious ones alike.
time minus 30 seconds. coordinates were punched in. no return path. the escape pods would deal with that, if necessary. their mission: occupy the opposing forces. clear the path... clear the path was all that counted.
time.
ships moved in synchronously, triggering alarms all over the sector. strike forces moved in. ten at first. twenty. then more than was sane to count. opposing forces where there too. lexicon moved out the station. he sounded confident on the open channels. lecter was there too. of course. and other serco pilots too, all there to prey on the smurfs, as they referred to the itanis. whatever a smurf was.
the initial attack wave was short for upper case. he expected that much. too busy watching his six for the incoming strike force, turbo-ing in direction of lexicon, taking aim, taking shots, upper case neglected his flank. the harsh reality of escape pods brought him back to safe arbour: the itani research station in deneb. jumping into an x1 ship, he signaled athran, then returned geira side.
tactical exchanges were made and as upper case was poping strike forces to clear a path to the following infiltration party, got confirmation from athran:
"Commander, the package is dropped! Lexicon ran straight into the tequila crates!! Dr. Lecter got some too." he said.
upper case smiled and led the infiltration team to the station, providing cover to them. they crash-docked inside after a volley of rockets, clearing out the deck.
battle raged on outside. upper case was circling the station, expecting to see the infiltration team rush out. just as he thought they had been killed and expected to have to crash-land himself, upper case got confirmation the infiltration party had the kid. and that burwell was, in fact, there to greet them and hand out the kid. that they were on their way out. the risky plan was working. upper case moved into position and waited for the infiltration party to exit. but they weren't. long seconds passed and as upper case approached the exit bay to see what was holding them, a ship came out. it was a serco vulturious fighter. a twitch, a moment too late, sent a rocket crashing on the station, narrowing the exiting ship. it registered.... lebermac.
upper case was confused... how could lebermac be there? he was dead. worse yet: he was lexicon... no... he was there, battling lexicon... a one on one duel amidst the chaos of war. one sobered up drunk battling his nemesis: himself. the evil part of himself. his alter-ego that no one liked... not even the great lady serco.
confusion reigned on the channels. lexicon poped. soon after, lebermac was back inside the station. lexicon screamed from his sabotaged resuscitation chamber--the infiltration party had given the bottle of tequila to burwell. and burwell had apparently sabotaged and flooded the chamber as agreed to. lexicon was hated by everyone indeed. as lexicon screamed in a puddle of malformed bodily tissue and urgh-bleh-ed in the channels, lebermac was out again, sending private repetitive hails to upper case:
"I got the kid! I got the kid! Cover me! Cover me!" he hailed as he dashed out the station, clipping one of upper case's x1 phase cannons.
confused, upper case gave chase to the vulture, trying to provide cover. the ships moved out of the sector and headed to deneb itani barracks. an escort followed, providing cover.
upper case's and lebermac's ships docked. lebermac handed out the little passed-out girl to upper case. she was alive. upper case's knees were about to falter as he eyeballed lebermac. it was him. the real lebermac. scent included.
"how? how could it be?
- Later friend. Take her to safety. I'm heading back in Geira... scores to settle."
both men climbed back into their ships and parted again. upper case was greeted by allied pilots outside. members of [pa], [skv], [tgft] and free pilots as well. a course was laid out and ships rushed towards divinia, to the itani capitol. a scout was warning of storms and hostile presence. lecter had been seen entering deneb...
the light fighters dashed and eventually reached the capitol. against all odds, the plan had worked. better yet, lexicon was reportedly dead. and a long lost friend reappeared of nowhere... glasses would be raised tonight. bottles opened. friendships celebrated again.
but first... one thing remained...
/guild invite lebermac
"athran? i have a mission for you. still have one of them proms? he asked
- Oh? What for? I'd be much faster on a light ship! athran replied.
- i need a strong ship. one that can take the heat. it's time we send a message to lexicon. to let him know we're not happy with what he's done to leebs.
- Oh? What do you have in mind?
- take this, upper case said as he dropped cargo in front of athran. make sure you drop that ahead of lexicon."
athran laughed out loud. he understood exactly what that meant. and he couldn't agree more. he moved to capture the few cargo crates floating in front of him and discussed operation details. they were simple: move in, drop, take a pounding and try to leave the scene. athran was a good pilot. never afraid of a mission. he was certainly lieutenant material and upper case knew that.
time minus 10 minutes. upper case was juggling the communication channels like shiva the fate of the operation. he had received word from his contact in geira. an unlikely ally. an ally of convenience. a covenant out of the blue. taking a gamble with fate, he decided to trust him. he had no choice really. an operation like this had rarely been achieved without some major screw-up. may eo guide him, he thought. burwell had said he's clear up the deck for upper case's infiltration party. that he'd deliver a special package. a poetic, nostalgia-filled sabotage, consisting of a bottle of tequila, to be smashed at the control of lexicon's resuscitation chamber. a message. a souvenir. a last revenge for it's previous owner.
time minus 5 minutes. a signal was sent to the allied fleet and upper case moved out to warp position. the plan was simple. but no less dangerous. an allied strike force was to move into geira, unleash hell on any fighting ship in there, clearing the path for the infiltration party whose purpose it was to grab camillia from the clutches of lexicon's laboratory. clearing the path to athran's special delivery.
time minus 2 minutes. a scout ship came back from geira, dragging into deneb a fleet of serco strike force...
"Sector clear. No trace of a heavy assault cruiser." he said. he, was niki.
famed and cursed pilot altogether. a pirate by many accounts. few proven. nonetheless an ally. a representative of [itan]s most-trusted ally force: [skv]. other guilds were present too. allies. official and officious ones alike.
time minus 30 seconds. coordinates were punched in. no return path. the escape pods would deal with that, if necessary. their mission: occupy the opposing forces. clear the path... clear the path was all that counted.
time.
ships moved in synchronously, triggering alarms all over the sector. strike forces moved in. ten at first. twenty. then more than was sane to count. opposing forces where there too. lexicon moved out the station. he sounded confident on the open channels. lecter was there too. of course. and other serco pilots too, all there to prey on the smurfs, as they referred to the itanis. whatever a smurf was.
the initial attack wave was short for upper case. he expected that much. too busy watching his six for the incoming strike force, turbo-ing in direction of lexicon, taking aim, taking shots, upper case neglected his flank. the harsh reality of escape pods brought him back to safe arbour: the itani research station in deneb. jumping into an x1 ship, he signaled athran, then returned geira side.
tactical exchanges were made and as upper case was poping strike forces to clear a path to the following infiltration party, got confirmation from athran:
"Commander, the package is dropped! Lexicon ran straight into the tequila crates!! Dr. Lecter got some too." he said.
upper case smiled and led the infiltration team to the station, providing cover to them. they crash-docked inside after a volley of rockets, clearing out the deck.
battle raged on outside. upper case was circling the station, expecting to see the infiltration team rush out. just as he thought they had been killed and expected to have to crash-land himself, upper case got confirmation the infiltration party had the kid. and that burwell was, in fact, there to greet them and hand out the kid. that they were on their way out. the risky plan was working. upper case moved into position and waited for the infiltration party to exit. but they weren't. long seconds passed and as upper case approached the exit bay to see what was holding them, a ship came out. it was a serco vulturious fighter. a twitch, a moment too late, sent a rocket crashing on the station, narrowing the exiting ship. it registered.... lebermac.
upper case was confused... how could lebermac be there? he was dead. worse yet: he was lexicon... no... he was there, battling lexicon... a one on one duel amidst the chaos of war. one sobered up drunk battling his nemesis: himself. the evil part of himself. his alter-ego that no one liked... not even the great lady serco.
confusion reigned on the channels. lexicon poped. soon after, lebermac was back inside the station. lexicon screamed from his sabotaged resuscitation chamber--the infiltration party had given the bottle of tequila to burwell. and burwell had apparently sabotaged and flooded the chamber as agreed to. lexicon was hated by everyone indeed. as lexicon screamed in a puddle of malformed bodily tissue and urgh-bleh-ed in the channels, lebermac was out again, sending private repetitive hails to upper case:
"I got the kid! I got the kid! Cover me! Cover me!" he hailed as he dashed out the station, clipping one of upper case's x1 phase cannons.
confused, upper case gave chase to the vulture, trying to provide cover. the ships moved out of the sector and headed to deneb itani barracks. an escort followed, providing cover.
upper case's and lebermac's ships docked. lebermac handed out the little passed-out girl to upper case. she was alive. upper case's knees were about to falter as he eyeballed lebermac. it was him. the real lebermac. scent included.
"how? how could it be?
- Later friend. Take her to safety. I'm heading back in Geira... scores to settle."
both men climbed back into their ships and parted again. upper case was greeted by allied pilots outside. members of [pa], [skv], [tgft] and free pilots as well. a course was laid out and ships rushed towards divinia, to the itani capitol. a scout was warning of storms and hostile presence. lecter had been seen entering deneb...
the light fighters dashed and eventually reached the capitol. against all odds, the plan had worked. better yet, lexicon was reportedly dead. and a long lost friend reappeared of nowhere... glasses would be raised tonight. bottles opened. friendships celebrated again.
but first... one thing remained...
/guild invite lebermac
She looked upon the stratospheric shuttle with a smile. Yet, this smile hid an infinite sadness. The only person she knew on this planet was leaving. She knew she could count on him if the need arose but until then, she would have to live the life of a monk.
Secluded in this oasis of peace, she would learn to control her temper. Her abilities. She would know peace and not have to move again. She would learn to be happy again.
She contemplated the ceramic bullet in her hand. She knew, now, what it really meant, and that her father still had stories to tell. But they would have to wait. That fake bullet would be her anchor to her past. But for now, she was ready to look forward.
A monk looked at her in silence and tilted his head in disapprobation. Camillia understood, and released the stratospheric shuttle from it's spiral ascent, letting it resume a more normal path to orbit.
Inside, a man was laughing. At his window, he waved good-bye at the girl he had sworn to protect.
"goodbye kiddo. i'll see you in a bit."
Secluded in this oasis of peace, she would learn to control her temper. Her abilities. She would know peace and not have to move again. She would learn to be happy again.
She contemplated the ceramic bullet in her hand. She knew, now, what it really meant, and that her father still had stories to tell. But they would have to wait. That fake bullet would be her anchor to her past. But for now, she was ready to look forward.
A monk looked at her in silence and tilted his head in disapprobation. Camillia understood, and released the stratospheric shuttle from it's spiral ascent, letting it resume a more normal path to orbit.
Inside, a man was laughing. At his window, he waved good-bye at the girl he had sworn to protect.
"goodbye kiddo. i'll see you in a bit."
after a celebration, upper case decided it was time for him to reunite with another long lost friend...
<ooc> the 3 posts previous to this one have been finally edited. thread concludes here and splits back (in parallel) into shades of salvation.
<ooc> the 3 posts previous to this one have been finally edited. thread concludes here and splits back (in parallel) into shades of salvation.