|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
dogscoff, I had not been on to read this before. Chapter 18 is, most enjoyable! I too await for the next addition.
<font color=purple>mlmbd http://www.shrapnelgames.com//ubb/icons/icon6.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/shock.gif </font> |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
So where's the next installment?
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
uhhh... in development.
Truth be told, my creative energies have been going more into graphics than words lately, since I recently got myself a graphics tablet and have been doing race portraits for people and infantry pics for the neo-expansion pack. Also, I've got a really compelling solo Proportions game on the go just now. Anyway, O&C are always at the back of my mind, and ideas gradually build up into a little pile there. When the pile gets too big, it spills over and I have to start writing to catch all the thoughts. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon10.gif My pile is fairly full at the moment, so maybe I'll try to get chapter 19 finished this afternoon. I also have a totally unrelated sci-fi project building up at the back of my mind too, and I have to discipline myself to direct my energies toward O&C and not that. I find it really hard to write just one story at a time=-) |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
OK, after slaving all day... chapter 19 is up. Just click the banner in my sig.
Feedback please... |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Nice as it is, but incongrous. The story is already a bit fragmented by the leaping between narrators, but this is out of place after the arrival on the Marilyn has already been described, and we were left with the cliff-hanger of an obvious attack. Move this to chapter 16 or something? http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon7.gif
[ March 07, 2003, 01:31: Message edited by: Baron Munchausen ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Baron, thanks. I wasn't sure if I should do it like this. I've been (more or less) alternating the narrators for about 8 chapters now, with Cane fraternising on board the Marilyn and Othaglot 3 or 4 weeks behind him on the colony, revealing pertinent infomation about the killer.
From now on (because they are now in the same place, obviously) the story will proceed more or less chronologically, and there won't be any more narrator-swapping for a long time. I have 2 problems with putting chapter 19 further back: First, i wanted to hold onto the suspense of Chapter 18's cliffhanger for a bit http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon10.gif , and the second is that it would spoil the surprise of the Endeavour's arrival. That's actually quite important, since the fact that Cane and Singh are interrupted by the boarding is significant, and I think if the reader knew what was going on they wouldn't get swept through that chapter in quite the same way. What does anyone else think of this? If lots of you agree with Baron M, I'll find a way of pushing it back a few chapters. Quote:
[ March 07, 2003, 08:48: Message edited by: dogscoff ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
dogscoff, I agree with the Baron. I love the story, as you know. But it has seemed to be drifting some.
<font color=purple>mlmbd http://www.shrapnelgames.com//ubb/icons/icon6.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/shock.gif </font> |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Quote:
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
doscoff, with the changing narrative, it seems to drift. There is not a straight line or semi-straight line, to follow. Does that make more sense?
<font color=purple>mlmbd http://www.shrapnelgames.com//ubb/icons/icon6.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/shock.gif </font> |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Oh yeah, I see what you mean. Most other books/ stories will follow more than one character or storyline at a time. Do you think it doesn't fit the O&C story? I guess most detective stuff tends to stay with the protagonist.
Hmm, i think I need to read more detective stories... |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
It's fine to have several threads in your story. But quit doubling-back in the story line! Chapter 19 would be a good chapter 16, and that would not 'spoil' the surprise. The surprise is in Chapter 15. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon7.gif
But we're left wondering who is attacking the Marilyn and we want answers - not reminisces of the already past story line! [ March 08, 2003, 19:39: Message edited by: Baron Munchausen ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
doscoff, I think that multiple story threads is fine. The threads do not seem to move from one to the other with a smooth transition. Your suggestions of rearranging the chapters seems to work well.
Quote:
<font color=purple>mlmbd http://www.shrapnelgames.com//ubb/icons/icon6.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/shock.gif </font> |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
OK, I've looked back over it and I think I might swap 16 & 17, then swap 18 and 19. Would that be better?
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
OK, you'll be happy to hear that from here on in (for a while anyway) we will have one narrator and one thread. You'll also be happy to hear that I've finished chapter 20 and I'm posting it here, now.
So come on, who can tell me where she is this time? I've left at least three possibilities open in the text of this chapter. ============================================== Othaglot & Cane Chapter 20 ( read chapters 1-19 here ) ============================================== I hate zero gravity. I watched Cane float at the opposite end of the room. He was unconscious, having been sucked toward the doorway by the decompression. The door had then closed, and he had struck it head first. I was tired and hurting, but I had to go to him. Unconsciousness in zero-g carries certain medical risks for Cappans and I had to assume the same for humans. With a sigh I pulled out the tubes recently inserted into my tentacles and pushed myself away from the bed on an intercept. Once you launch yourself from a surface in zero gravity, you are set upon an unalterable course until you collide with something else. It is this lack of control that I dislike, but I ignored it as I coasted toward Cane, wrapping a few tentacles around him as I passed. My movement interrupted by the interaction, we fell into a tumble until I brought us to a mostly-controlled halt on the far wall. His breathing was unobstructed, so I secured the stricken human to one of the beds with a length of medical dressing. My energy was all spent and my old wounds were hurting nearly as much as my new ones. Despite my best efforts to stay awake I soon drifted into senselessness, dreaming of being swept up in an irresistible tide. I came round after a long time under, taking some time to remember where I was. I was also gently tied with bandages in just the way I had secured Cane, and he was floating freely in the far corner, wrapped tightly in the skinsheet that had previously been on a frame in the corner. He smiled briefly at my groggy confusion, then adopted a more stern countenance. He confirmed that he wasn’t badly hurt, but seemed reluctant to talk about anything else. I told him how dangerous it was for me to lose consciousness without gravity, and he told me he would stay awake and monitor my breathing. I quickly slipped back into sleep. When I awoke for the second time he told me that 20 or more hours had passed, and that there had been “a lot of noise from the walls”. He explained, rather indifferently, that it was either the remains of the ship breaking up, which would mean certain death, or a rescue attempt. He then said he’d like to sleep if I was able to stay awake. The noise turned out to be the Endeavour rescuing us, although I learned later that it was a difficult process. Although it carried independent life support, the medbay had no airlocks and because we lacked spacesuits inside it, the only way to get us out without fatal exposure to space was to bring the entire medical unit into one of the Endeavour’s pressurised cargo holds. Unfortunately, this meant cutting the room free of the Marilyn’s remains, because the cargo bay doors were only just big enough to admit it. Apparently we had been almost thirty hours in there. I was feeling slightly improved when the doors were forced open and we were greeted by Commander Lock, the Endeavour’s second in command. He briefed us on recent events. “Your fugitive closed the plasma venting apparatus on that old hulk’s engines. Engines built in those days were made to withstand just about anything, so they contained a massive pressure build up before they finally blew and ripped the ship wide open. Of course there should have been safety overrides and warnings, but she disabled them. We think that’s why she killed the junior engineer on the bridge.” “How many casualties were there?” Asked Cane. “We have you two, and two survivors from the Marilyn’s crew. One of those suffered severely from exposure and probably won’t ever regain consciousness. The Endeavour wasn’t damaged, but we had a lot of crew over there assisting with the search. Most of them were armoured or at least suited so casualties weren’t as bad as they might have been. Still, many of our people were close to the engines at the time of the bLast or hit afterwards by debris. We’ve confirmed eleven deaths from our crew, including the Captain. We still have a half dozen unsuited personnel still missing. Without the communications equipment on their suits, they will be very hard to find.” There was a pause. I had built up a certain amount of respect for Lock during my time on the Endeavour, and although he made no outward display of it I could see that the loss of his Captain and other comrades grieved him greatly. I didn’t know what to say or do, and the silence became awkward. His mouth twitched briefly before he continued. “About half a minute before the explosion we detected one of the Marilyn’s escape pods launching. It was heading toward New May.” Cane started visibly, and my mind darkened. “That’s weeks away. You could catch her easily in this ship.” Said Cane. “It’s a decoy. We scanned the pod and it’s empty. Twelve seconds before the explosion, a second escape pod launched back toward the Outlier point, and that one was definitely occupied. We’re guessing she hoped to slip out unnoticed in the chaos and send us chasing after the decoy.” “Even so, you would still have time to catch the decoy, turn around and capture her.” “You’re right, but it was a desperate manoeuvre from a cornered criminal. She’s inventive and completely ruthless. I can see why you’re so determined to find this woman, Mr Othaglot. I’m certainly looking forward to catching up with her.” There was a predatory glint in his mind as he said this, but it disappeared in an instant. “Where did she learn how to detonate the engines like that?” I asked. “The timing of the escape pod launches indicate that she knew almost exactly when the explosion would occur. That implies a very precise knowledge of some antique alien technology.” “Stevv gave us tours.” Said Cane. “He was very proud of that antique alien technology. He was a good man.” Cane looked away angrily. He was still not in control of his emotions, and seemed to be laying much of the blame for recent events on me. Sensing the hostility, Lock changed the subject. “While the cutting crew was working to bring you aboard, we had a second team repressurise the Marilyn’s bridge section. It has its own airlock, so it will serve as a base of operations for the search team we’ve left behind to recover our Last six crewmates. We’ve been in pursuit of the escape pod since bringing you aboard. She’s got twenty-eight hours’ head start on us, but the Endeavour can be on her in fifteen hours or less. Now you two should probably get some medics to look you over and then try to relax. Mr Cane, I must ask you to forgive me. I’m needed on the bridge, so I cannot formally welcome you and show you to your quarters personally. I’ll send someone down immediately. Mr Othaglot, you remain our guest of course.” Lock nodded courteously and turned to walk back toward the bridge, even in this situation the image of cool, rational humanity. After a few steps he stopped and turned, and for a moment emotion slipped onto his impassive features. “I’m glad you’re both well. We’ve lost too many good people today already.” He turned again and was gone. For some reason this brief expression touched me, and I thought about it all the way back to my quarters, and then again as I slipped once more into sleep. I slept for a long time in my makeshift hammock, and when I awoke went to find Cane. Apparently he was with Loorl and refused to see me. Before I could pursue the matter further, I was called to the bridge. Commander Lock was looking at a small, shiny object in the middle of the viewscreen. “The escape pod.” He said. One of the bridge crew added, “Sensors still indicate someone alive on board, Sir.” “Bring her in.” Said Lock, gravely. “Security, send a suited team to cargo bay two. Mr Othaglot, if you’d care to accompany me.” I had to borrow Loorl’s space-suit, my own having been lost on the Marilyn. I wasn’t really fit for this, but I had to be there. I stood before the escape pod with a half-dozen heavily armed humans, waiting for the escape pod to be lowered to the floor while the cargo bay was pressurised. Irritated by the layer of unfamiliar clothing between my tentacle and my bLaster, I gripped the weapon more firmly. I wondered just what her reaction would be. She didn’t seem the type to submit quietly. I fully anticipated resistance, and despite my injuries I was relishing the thought of confronting her. The air pressure attained a breathable level just before the pod reached the floor, and I reached out with my mind to locate the occupant. The security squad opened the door, but before I could see inside I knew something was wrong. The inside of the pod was streaked with red, and the controls and communications equipment had been deliberately destroyed. The crumpled form within was not the Cue Cappan fugitive we had been looking for, but a breathless and bleeding Captain Frasier. For a moment my bewilderment almost tipped into panic. Lock didn’t even flinch. “Medic!” He called, stepping forward to help the ragged human before him. The security squad began a detailed search of the tiny vessel, two of them flanking Lock protectively. Frasier was badly hurt, but was able to tell his brief story before he was rushed off for medical aid. The murderess had been on top of a cargo crate, and had managed to shoot him in both legs and disarm him before he even knew what was happening. Then she had simply wrapped herself around him and squeezed until he passed out. The next thing he remembered he was aboard the escape pod, with no sign of the Marilyn or the Endeavour in any direction. Frasier had patched up his wounds as best he could with the escape pod’s limited medical supplies, and then spent more than forty painful hours travelling through space, unable to alter his course or call for help. I wondered who would have the task of adding to his trauma by telling him that his ship and crew were nearly all gone. I also wondered what had happened to the killer. Once Frasier had been hurried off by the medics, Lock asked me to join him and his senior staff for a discussion of that point. As someone who knew her well, Cane was asked to attend, but he replied flatly he didn’t know her at all and so it would be pointless him being there. “The obvious implication”, I began “is that this was another decoy. We’ve spent fifteen hours recovering Frasier, and will have to spend another fourteen returning to the remains of the Marilyn. Add to that the thirty hours spent cutting Cane and myself free from the medbay, she could easily have made it to the Ceres warp point or be well on her way to some other location in this system.” “I disagree.” Lock replied. “She activated the escape pods mere seconds before the explosion, and they had been docked near the front of the cargo bay. She would have probably avoided the bLast there, but she must have known that the cargo bay would almost certainly be torn open to space, and she couldn’t possibly survive that. Her actions were suicidal.” “What about Frasier though? I can imagine she might prefer death to capture and try to take us with her, but in that case why spare him? She has never been bothered about mercy before.” “Maybe she was prepared to die, but wanted a decoy to divert attention away from something other than herself.” Suggested Lock. “Possibly, but what would she be willing to sacrifice herself to protect? It doesn’t fit with her behaviour. Everything I’ve seen from her so far has been utterly self-centred. I believe she’s alive somewhere.” “Where then?” said Lock. “Could she have been in that first escape pod after all?” “Only if she was dead, Sir.” replied the sensor specialist to whom the question had been directed. “Our sensors registered no life in that pod, and the sensors are in perfect order.” No-one bothered to ask if he had checked them- obviously a Terran Officer would never make such an assertion without being sure. “Could the sensors be fooled?” I asked. “They get their information from the energy emissions of the pod’s life support system. Those readings tell us exactly what the life support is doing, and that depends entirely upon the pod’s occupants. Theoretically, the life support system could be modified to fool our sensors, but it would make them virtually useless and it would also require time and tools she didn’t have while we were hunting her.” “Perhaps she set it up in advance.” Said Lock. "She had weeks' of opportunity during the voyage." “Possibly, but that would still require an awful lot of expertise and suspicious behaviour. I think it’s unlikely Sir, but it might be worth looking into it.” “Any other possibilities?” Asked the acting Captain, massaging his forehead. “The freight containers?” “Most of them are airtight,” offered another officer, consulting the Marilyn’s cargo roster “but none of them had life support. She’d run out of air pretty quickly, and the temperature would drop rapidly out in space. She’d be lucky to Last two hours in one of those.” “Perhaps she was in a third escape pod.” I suggested. “Could she have waited until we’d gone, then launched another pod?” “No.” Said Lock. “Those old pods launch automatically the instant the door is closed. If she didn’t close the door, then she would have been exposed when the cargo bay opened up. Back to square one.” “Then we are returned to suicide, but I just don’t like it. I won’t be happy until I’ve seen a body.” “I share your feelings, Mr Othaglot, but I can see no other possibility. In the meantime, I’ll get in touch with the Ceres warp station and tell them to look out for her. Then we’ll pick up the rescue team at the wreckage and drop off our casualties at New May. We can pick up the first escape pod on the way there, just in case.” The meeting was ended with a heavy air of dissatisfaction. |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
dogscoff, it was just some helpful critiquing. I will be happy if the author is happy.
I love the chapter. The fact that they have no real clue as to where she is, is exccellent! http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon12.gif <font color=purple>mlmbd http://www.shrapnelgames.com//ubb/icons/icon6.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/shock.gif </font> |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Three? let's see... the other escape pod is one. A sealed cargo container is another. What's the third?
I'm wondering when Othaglot is going to remember that they've seen cargo containers used for habitation before. Who's to say that there wasn't a cargo container with 'resources' put aboard Marilyn by the Gla when they put their passenger on? It might have had a space suit. Also, If she came out of the freeze tube, she could have gone back in it, btw... http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon7.gif How big are those things? Could she have moved it to a safe location (in a cargo container) and then put herself back in it? [ March 10, 2003, 14:48: Message edited by: Baron Munchausen ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Umm, 'Scoff, I can't get the chapter pages to load ("Cannot locate server" error). The other pages on your site work just fine.
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Quote:
Quote:
Quote:
You've listed plenty of possibilities there beyond the ones I had in mind though (I like the way you think=-) but there are still more. By the way, although I heartily encourage speculation about where the plot may be going, don't expect me to confirm or deny anything http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon10.gif Krsqk: I can load them all ok from here. If you were trying to access chapter 20, it isn't on the site yet, you have to read it here. (I'm currently 30% into chapter 21, and my mp3 player has just decided to play a Boney M track. If you see any lyrics from "Ra Ra Rasputin" appear randomly in the middle of the next chapter, you'll know why...) |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Nope, I was trying for chapter 19, but it doesn't matter which one I try--I've done 1, 2, 9, 19, 18, etc. I was wrong about the error, though. It was a "The page cannot be displayed" error (at least it is this time http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/image...s/rolleyes.gif ). Everything else on your site still works fine for me.
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Krsqk: Wierd. Like I say, it's fine here, I've just checked again. Just to make sure you have the right URL, click here: http://www.sandman43.fsnet.co.uk/fiction/O&C4.htm
Otherwise... dunno. I'll try it from a different machine when I get home. What browser are you using? Anyone else seeing this? |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
*bump* for any timezones just coming Online now. Wouldn't want you to miss the chapter I just posted=-)
krsqk - any luck? it woks fine from this PC to. You want me to mail you the doc files? [ March 10, 2003, 20:53: Message edited by: dogscoff ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Sorry, no luck. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon9.gif Now, it's giving me a 500 error, of all things. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/image...s/rolleyes.gif Probably just some freakishness of my ISP right now. Please go ahead and send the .doc file, if it's not too much trouble.
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Krsqk, check your mail.
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Got it, thanks.
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
An interesting problem of SciFi is whether 'non-psychic' races have any ability to control access to their thoughts or if being 'psychic' is something completely outside normal mental abilities and 'non-psychics' are completely helpless in the 'psychic' realm. Different authors decide on different solutions. I see you have decided that normal minds can discipline themselves somehow or other and achieve some power to control access to their thoughts. If this is so, can they also learn to 'reach out' to other minds?
You see the paradox I am leading up to? If 'normal' minds can resist being read then they have the ability to control those same 'thought emanations' that psychics use for distance communication. So why would there be any genetic barriers to being completely psychic? Wouldn't training up to 'full abilities' necessarily be possible? |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Quote:
To be honest the whole thing is a bit of a sci-fi cop out anyway as far as I'm concerned, since (a) the idea of all these races being so compatible/ similar is pretty absurd anyway and (b) I don't usually like psychic stuff in sci-fi. I think the suspension of disbelief necessary to believe in psychic powers in a technological setting is pushing the envelope a little too far. Of course hat begs the question "why use a psychic race in O&C then", but the simple answer is that when i wrote the first chapter of this story and included a Cue Cappan I had no idea that there would be a chapter 2. But I digress... yeah. If there is such a thing as psychic powers/ telepathy (I'm doubtful), then I think the physics of it would be a far more complex and acute mechanism than just picking up the very faint and vague waves radiating from the brain. If you believe that the mind is greater than (and even capable of existing outside of) the brain it resides in, then that would open up all kinds of possibilities for telepathy, remote viewing and all that mumbo jumbo. Of course, we're edging into the spiritual realm here, but that's a whole other argument. Personally I don't necessarily think that you have to believe in any kind of supernatural stuff/ God/ spirit world to accept the possibility of the mind being beyond "ordinary" physics. Man, if Fyron reads this thread he's gonna toast me for that Last remark=-) To sum all that up, For the purposes of the scoffoverse we'll just say that psychic races are psychic, and the best anyone else can do is to learn to block them. I could try to explain it all with technobabble, but let's just not and pretend I did=-) [ March 11, 2003, 16:52: Message edited by: dogscoff ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
You lucky, lucky people! 2 Chapters in 2 days! Here is chapter 21 for your entertainment. Chapter 22 is nearly ready, I just have to work out some dates and fill in some system names.
Enjoy. ============================================== Othaglot & Cane: Chapter 21 ============================================== ( click here for chapters 1-19. Chapter 20 is available further down this thread. ) ============================================== The Endeavour flew around the Gamallon system for a week, attempting to tidy up the mess caused by the destruction of the Marilyn. First, it returned to the old freighter’s wreck to collect the team left to search through the scattering debris. The hulk, still travelling on its original course and velocity toward the Ceres warp point, rolled idly in space, surrounded by a cloud of broken metal and spinning cargo containers. The engine portion had been utterly obliterated, and only a few twisted shards of hull remained of the massive cargo area. Somehow the bLast had been directed forward in a blade-like shape, splitting the remainder of the ship down the middle along more than half of its length: Only the frontmost third of the structure held the ship’s port and starboard together. An angular incision into one side of what used to be the cargo bay’s front wall showed where the medical bay had been surgically extracted. By the time we came for them the search team had recovered bodies or body parts to account for everyone aboard at the time of the explosion. No Cue Cappan remains had been found, although they had not been ordered to look for any. The crewman who had suffered from exposure had died without waking up, five days after the bLast. Of the Marilyn’s crew that left only Captain Frasier and a young woman named Yenn, a maintenance technician. Frasier was making a steady physical recovery. He would eventually require new legs, grown for him from his own DNA, but until he could get back to a planetary hospital he would be adequately mobile on military-issue prosthetics. According to Yenn however, his personality had become somewhat unpredictable, and she said that his appearance had aged 30 years since the bLast. He had already made arrangements with his insurance company to go back to the Marilyn with an assessor and salvage crew. Mentally, I added forty-three counts of murder to the fugitive’s charge list: Seventeen personnel from the Endeavour and twenty-six from the Marilyn’s complement. Now that she had committed such a devastating crime in Terran space, the humans would want to try her themselves. As well as being pursued by the local police forces, the Terran military would now harbour a grudge against her for the Endeavour’s casualties. There was also the backdrop of military espionage alluded to by Enyemin Cane and the subsequent involvement of the intelligence agencies. Add to that the possible murder of various Vikings, her recent betrayal of the Gla and her list of enemies was growing long. Here in alien territory where no one has even heard of Frontier Order, I began to feel as though a queue was forming in front of me for this woman and in the case of an arrest, my demands for extradition would be pushed to the back of the line. I voiced these concerns to Commander Lock, and after some consultation with his chain of command it was agreed that the entire incident was to be dealt with through the intelligence agency that was ‘borrowing’ me from Frontier Order. They ordered, via Lock’s superiors, that everything was to be kept as quiet as possible until my work on Plenty was concluded. The local law enforcement and space traffic management authorities were notified of the “accident” according to normal protocols, and the Endeavour’s crew removed and stored all evidence of sabotage was the ultimate conviction of the killer, if she still lived to be tracked down and brought to justice. When the salvagers came for the Marilyn, they would find nothing to contradict the official story of an engine malfunction. Captain Frasier was outraged, since such a malfunction would affect his not only his reputation but also his insurance claim. Offers of compensation and talk of Federal security did little to lessen his anger, but eventually he accepted that he could do nothing about it, and reluctantly swore himself to secrecy. Once business had been concluded with the Marilyn, the Endeavour pursued the first escape pod at full speed and found it empty as anticipated. Rather than proceed to New May, Lock decided to return to Plenty. With the death of the Marilyn’s Last casualty there was no longer any pressing need for medical facilities beyond the scope of the Endeavour’s own high-tech medbay, and the new destination was more convenient for everyone. The Endeavour would be able to replace its lost crew members from the military base there, I would be able to continue with my undercover assignment and Cane could return home to do whatever it was he had planned. Frasier was due to transfer to a salvage ship a week or so into Ceres, heading back to the wreck we had just left. Yenn insisted on going with him. All this time, I found myself more and more alone. Cane avoided me religiously, hiding himself away with Loorl for days at a time. I used the time to research the viking cult, taking full advantage of the ship’s extensive information systems. Reluctantly, I reminded myself that the capture of the murderess was out of my jurisdiction and no longer any of my concern. I had to focus on the daunting task of infiltration ahead of me. I found I could learn far more easily without Loorl’s ‘tuition’, and by the time we reached the warp station I had absorbed the history of the ancient and modern cults, and most of the terminology and traditions I would have to emulate in my undercover role. All that remained was to learn the extensive mythology central to the story-telling rituals. The ship picked up a dozen or so people at the warp station, dropping them at the sibling station on the other side to continue their journey. Now within the Ceres system, my goal was within sight. Plenty was a bright blue point at this distance, and with every passing day it grew brighter and rounder. Eight days into Ceres, Captain Frasier and Yenn were due to take a shuttle to meet up with the salvage ship, and so a formal dinner was arranged to mark their departure. Lock and his officers were dressed in their finest red uniforms, and Loorl soon arrived in what he often described as his ‘best helmet’, although I knew him to possess only one. I was surprised when Cane entered the room and took the place laid for him. He was wearing a new suit, and only after some time did I realise what was strange about it. When he had explained in the Marilyn’s medbay that the skinsheet was his own, I had assumed he would have the Endeavour’s medical personnel graft it onto him to remove the scars from the mining colony. Instead he seemed to have opted to keep the scars and wear the skin as a suit, although who he had found on board with the necessary tailoring skills I could not imagine. There was something strange going on between Cane and Loorl, and I took a look into Cane’s mind to find out exactly what it was. I was stunned at how suddenly I learned what it was. All Cappans, as part of their education, are taught certain mental disciplines. These exercises structure their minds in a particular way, making them better hosts for Cue and allowing not only the cappans themselves but also joined individuals to more easily find information within that mind. A by-product of this education is that Cappans usually become sufficiently aware of their own mental processes that they can restrict access to probing psychics if they choose. General mind states and emotions will still be unblocked without further training, but specific information can be shielded. It is normal practise in my culture for both joined and unjoined to keep sensitive things hidden away in private, but allow access to the larger part of one’s knowledge to anyone who may need it. The moment I tried to read Cane, it became instantly clear what he and Loorl had been doing in secret for the Last two weeks. Cane’s mind was completely surrounded by a barrier. His utter refusal to allow any kind of access to his mental space would be considered highly rude in Cue Cappan culture, and I flinched at the shock of it. Cane noticed my movement and smiled, turning to face me. “I’ve learned some valuable lessons lately, Othaglot.” He said. “I hope you’ll excuse my distancing myself from you lately, but I felt I was at a disadvantage and I didn’t want to talk to you until I could do so on equal terms.” I could still read his general mood, and he seemed more calm and balanced now than he had been since I first met him. This led me to hope that the mental self-examination required to attain this new skill had at least been therapeutic for him. The meal began. I felt extremely uncomfortable, although Cane seemed entirely at ease. Loorl exhibited no small amount of glee at my discomfort. As usual, Loorl and I were served a large pile of unheated seafood, on this occasion it was something called salmon accompanied by crabsticks. The humans, as usual, had a wide variety of heated animals and vegetables to choose from. They also served wine, which I had not seen before. From Loorl’s reaction, I guessed it to be an intoxicant and I decided to accept a small amount for myself. I would doubtless need to drink the stuff in order to fit in with the vikings on Plenty. I drank very cautiously, and I had to admit that I found it acceptable, although it had a strange warming effect on my digestive system. Twenty minutes into the meal, we were all listening to Captain Frasier recount some anecdote about his extensive travels when Loorl interrupted rudely. Why aren’t you eating?” The question was directed at Cane, who had accepted no food or wine, taking only water. Cane flushed and stammered, and I understood the dilemma he was faced with. Would it be less polite in the eyes of these etiquette-conscious Earthers to acknowledge the interruption and reply to Loorl or to disrespectfully ignore him for Frasier’s sake? Whichever he did would probably have been wrong, but Frasier mercifully baled him out, making allowances for Loorl even though I sometimes thought he had a better grip on the Earther mentality than either myself or Cane. “I imagine he’s fasting.” Said Frasier, and Cane nodded. Loorl looked shocked, and Cane laughed. “Don’t worry, as an outsider you won’t be expected to participate.” “Why would anyone deliberately deny themselves food?” Asked Loorl. “It’s a tradition on Plenty.” Cane replied. “In the week before the summer festival we take in nothing but water, in memory of what happened during the Oxy War.” There was an uneasy silence, and Frasier broke it. ”Since Mr Othaglot and Mr Loorl will soon be visiting Plenty for the first time, perhaps a little history would be a good thing. I’ll be happy to tell the story if it’s difficult for you Mr. Cane, but I’m sure it would be more accurate coming from a native of the planet.” Cane nodded quietly, and fell silent for a few moments, his headed dropped. After a few moments he looked up. His face was wet. “Excuse my emotion. This story always touches me, ever since I heard my Grandfather tell it for the first time. He would always cry when he told it, but he would never start the story without finishing. I’ll try to tell it as faithfully as he did.” He paused again and began. Story telling for anything other than practical purposes is a rare thing among my people: We prefer to describe things as they are rather than how they came to be. My study of humans, however, leads me to believe it is something of an art form among them. The Viking cult, certainly, revel in it. It seems to be an instinctive part of their nature, the result – or maybe the cause – of their linear minds. From the responses of the others around the table, I could tell that Cane was a good story-teller. For my own part, I listened with interest, but all the time I was self-consciously aware that this was something the wiring of my mind would never allow me to fully appreciate. [ March 11, 2003, 14:00: Message edited by: dogscoff ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
dogscoff,
Quote:
<font color=purple>mlmbd http://www.shrapnelgames.com//ubb/icons/icon6.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/shock.gif </font> |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Quote:
Like a biological CAT scanner or MRI, watching the activity patterns in your brain. And from experience, knowing what they mean... In conversation, they would be able to try and steer your thoughts by your reactions to what they say and do, making it seem like their abilities are much more powerful than they really are. |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Well, obviously we have lots of unanswered questions. There are uses for background information, both for the world and for the characters, so I don't think it's 'dragging' yet. And we expect inter-stellar travel to take some time even with 'warp points' to save the bulk of it. But it's got to be time to start answering some of those questions soon, I hope?
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Here's Chapter 22. Not sure when you can expect to see chapter 23, but you've all been waiting for this for too long.
Earlier chapters are available on this thread and on my website, although i know that the website is missing some of the more recent chapters. I'm finding this story harder and harder to tell lately, and I'm really starting to feel that it's drifting off in the wrong direction. I'd really appreciate any feedback on this. Does anyone think there's too much emphasis on the emotional side of things lately? is it getting bogged down? Is it clear what's happening to the two main characters in terms of their development since their reunion? I find it really hard to look at it objectively, I'd really appreciate some help. Anyway, here it is, Chapter 22. ***************************************** Cane began his tale. “The Oxy wars took place about fifty years ago- I’m afraid I can’t translate that into the Earth or Cue Cappan Calendar.” “Fifty-nine years on Earth, about forty Cue Cappan.” Chipped in the Navigational Officer, who had a huge store of such facts and figures available for instant retrieval. “Thank you.” Continued Cane, now addressing myself and Loorl. “This is all long before we made contact with your Commonwealth, so I should explain a little of the background history. Ceres IV was colonised just under eighty years ago - Plenty years - at the end of the first great human expansion. It has a favourable climate, huge surface area and rich natural resources, so it was quite a prize. To this day it is the wealthiest, most heavily populated planet of any nation in the known galaxy, if you discount homeworlds.” Everyone nodded sagely, including Loorl who had adopted the habit of bobbing his eye stalks to indicate a nod. “With the scarcity of uninhabited nitrogen/ oxygen-atmosphere planets in the galaxy and the proliferation of oxygen breathing species looking for worlds to colonise, a planet like that was bound to cause aggravation for whoever got there first. We did, and none of the other oxygen races were happy about it. Most notably, the Sergetti claimed to have had a coloniser fleet on the way which mysteriously disappeared just before arrival.” Several of the crew grumbled sourly at this point, and Cane chuckled at their response. He explained for the benefit of the non-humans. “Even though the war ended half a century ago, anti-Sergetti sentiments are still strong on Earth.” I sympathised, but did not mention the uneasy relations between the Sergetti and my own people. “Ironically,” added Cane, “those feelings are now almost non-existent on Plenty, where we have the best reason to hate them.” The audience fell silent again, allowing Cane to continue. “The Sallega also claimed to have rights to this system, since it is close to their space, and there were at least two other oxygen breathing species who wanted it. Now this was shortly after Earth’s first contact with these races- who were among the first non-humans we had ever met- and interstellar relations were shaky to say the least. The framework we have now for interspecies trade and politics was not in place, and in a way, this lack of understanding was one of things that delayed the inevitable war. We all knew very little about one other and no one wanted to risk conflict with an unknown opponent. As understanding and political co-operation grew, however, so did jealousy and discontentment. Twenty-five years later, when Earth colonised some oxygen moon in the Quikil system, the Segetti declared it the latest act in a greedy monopolisation of the galaxy, which had started with the unlawful colonisation of Ceres IV. A coalition of the Sergetti, Sallega, Praetorian and Piundon declared war on Earth. It was fairly evenly matched. Due our extensive colonisation, we Terrans were by far the largest power in the known galaxy, and with support from the methane-breathing Druckshoka we were able to hold them off. Plenty, as we had optimistically named Ceres IV, had grown impressively in the three decades it had been colonised. Although its industrial and economic contribution was limited in comparison to the homeworld’s output, it was strategically important and so was equipped with impressive defensive installations and considered itself ready for any attack. However, no enemy fleet came. The Sergetti had a far more sinister offensive planned, concentrating their firepower instead on the eastern end of the Terran territories. The Sergetti captured a human officer and then allowed her to escape in the southern portion of their empire. She stole a ship – as they had intended her to do – and made her way to the nearest human outpost, which at that time was Plenty. Unfortunately, they had introduced into her gut a specially engineered breed of Sergetti knife-worm, suspended in tiny capsules. Within hours of the escapee’s triumphant arrival, the capsules made their way into the environment and dissolved as they were designed to. The knife-worms were released and began to multiply. Plenty has no native animal life, but it has evolved its own plants, which happen to be toxic to just about everything. Therefore humans had to either ship in all their food or set up the ecosystem necessary to grow it there. Setting up a full ecosystem takes decades, even over a small area like the islands which hold Plenty’s human population. Hydroponics and dome farms and so on are all very well, but on a fertile planet like Plenty it is far more economical and reliable in the long run to have old fashioned farms growing meat and vegetables in the context of a fully self-sustaining ecosystem. First, then, they introduced bacteria, grasses, mosses, plankton and seaweeds from Earth which competed extremely well with the less-evolved native flora. After just five years or so, the terraformers were confident enough to introduce herbivorous insects, small plant-eating mammals and fish, and a variety of more complex plants. The animal life flourished, and soon minor predators had to be introduced to keep their numbers in check, with larger herbivores and other creatures imported and released later at the appropriate stages. Balancing all of the different parts of the complex food web, from tiny bacteria all the way up to humans, is crucially important and extremely difficult, and it is now understood that the original plan for Plenty’s ecosystem was far too ambitious- They introduced too much too soon. In thirty years they had almost a complete ecosystem installed around the inhabited islands, but and it was unstable. Every year one link or another in the food chain would be verging on extinction or explosion. The Sergetti knew all this and their voracious knife-worms tipped the balance. They damaged everything they encountered on land or sea, multiplying more rapidly than anything could kill them and feeding at an unsustainable rate. They ate the introduced plankton and plant life, but they would also infest the digestive system of animals, including humans, knotting together to cause painful and damaging blockages. With the basic plant life under attack, the ecosystem was doomed. Once they had eaten every shred of introduced chlorophyll on the entire planet the knife-worms starved to extinction, but the damage was done. Plenty had only a month’s worth of food stored up. The Sergetti moved to block relief ships from Earth, forcing us to divert fleets away from the eastern front in an attempt to get supplies through. With all the introduced plant life gone, people ate the starving cattle and other herbivores, and then when the herbivores were gone they ate the starving carnivores and then the starving scavengers. Then everything was gone. A few pockets of introduced life remained in unreachable parts of the ocean but effectively, there were now just the humans, the inedible native plants, dirt-and dung eating bugs and the flies which fed off the dead humans. In the end the people of Plenty were reduced to eating worms, maggots, fabrics and even – allegedly – one another. It was horrific. Four million people – a third of the planet’s population - were dead within five months of the first knife-worm. At was at this point that a Terran and Drukshocka joint offensive seized a number of key Sergetti planets and forced the coalition to make peace. The Sergetti themselves flew in the first relief packages to Plenty, and were allowed to establish a community in the planet’s vast ocean as part of the peace treaty’s terms. Disease and malnutrition affected every single survivor to some extent, and more than a half of them were destined to die less than two months after the aid finally came.” Everyone had stopped eating. “My grandfather lived through it all.” said Cane, solemnly. “So did my father, but he was just a baby. My Grandmother and her three other children all died in the famine. All of my mother’s family was wiped out except for her and my uncle. My Grandfather died ten years ago on Festival’s Eve, at just eighty-eight years old. He was one of one of the Last of Plenty’s first-generation colonists, and until the day he died his cupBoards were always stocked with a half-year’s worth of food.” Loorl looked guiltily at his plate. I noticed with some alarm that I had already emptied my wine glass. It didn’t seem to have affected me so I accepted some more. “That is why we fast.” Concluded Cane. The meal had a rather more solemn tone after that, although it did recover a certain amount of joviality toward the end. For once I was actually enjoying myself, my frustrations at being restricted to just conversation and eating forgotten for the time being. I was pleased that Cane seemed to be prepared to converse with me once more, although he was understandably quiet for the rest of the meal. He left the table quite soon after finishing his story, leaving me with Loorl, who for some reason seemed more tolerable than usual. I retired that night more satisfied than I had been in months, and awoke the next morning with a persistent, thumping ache in my brains. Loorl came to find me in the morning, making loud and irritating jokes about hangovers, whatever they are. I was feeling far too uncomfortable to take much notice. He told me that Cane had persuaded him to resume my instruction in viking lore, and that he would try to be more tolerant of my intolerance. Under ordinary circumstances I would have thrown him out and told him exactly where he could tolerate his instructions, but I took the quieter option and accepted his peace gesture. We began immediately. Loorl started in his usual style, speaking authoritatively on a subject I had already researched for myself. Within ten minutes, as usual, he had meandered away from the topic in hand to tell a tale about the time he and his friends had been drinking with the murdered human. Rather than provoke another argument, I simply allowed him to talk, listening absently to his words, and discovering that my brain-ache made it very uncomfortable to read his mind. It soon became clear that he was inventing much of this re-telling - his official accounts of his night in the container had been very complete and not consistent with what he was saying now- and I was about to dispute this fact with him when suddenly it all clicked into place. I knew he was making it all up, and he knew that I knew, but it didn’t matter. That’s what he had been trying to teach me all along. He had altered the events of the night to include a lengthy retelling of one of the old myths and I felt a pang of recognition. The myth he had woven into the story concerned the thunder god Thor. Thor’s hammer had been stolen by a giant named Thrym, and in exchange for its return the thief demanded Freya, a much desired Goddess, as his wife. Freya was unwilling to participate, so Thor himself disguised himself as a bride to retrieve his property. I suddenly realised that the story was about me: He was drawing a parallel with my undercover mission to infiltrate the Viking clan in the guise of the murderess. From the emphasis of certain parts of the tale I also guessed that Loorl cast himself as Loki, the quick-witted half-god, half-giant trickster who accompanies Thor and explains away Thrym’s suspicions. This story-telling that I had dismissed as childish foolery had taken on a new depth, and I listened carefully to the rest of his tale. I was at once gratified and dismayed by the ending in which Thor successfully accomplishes his mission, but then having retrieved his hammer bludgeons Thrym and his family to death with it. By the end of the story I had much to think about. His story concluded, Loorl left to find some of his new human friends. He was genuinely surprised as he exited when I thanked him for the lesson. Alone again and lost in my thoughts, for the first time in a long time I took time to stare out at the stars. This time, the sense of peace and comfort I normally find in the void escaped me, and I felt something I do not ever remember feeling before- loneliness. ********************* Addendum- the norse tale Loorl told is known as Thrym's Lay. If you want to read it for yourself, there are a million Versions of it available Online.Click here for one of them. |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
EDIT: obselete post. Thanks for your comments BM.
[ June 04, 2003, 09:52: Message edited by: dogscoff ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Not so much a bump, more of a gentle nudge
[ June 04, 2003, 09:52: Message edited by: dogscoff ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
No new chapters to report i'm afraid, but I have just updated my website to include the Last four chapters or so, which had been missing.
Also, following the discussion on this thread from a few pages ago, I've re-ordered the story a bit to make it a little more linear. The content hasn't changed at all, just the order of certain chapters. |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
It's been so long since I've had time to read all the stories floating around, I'm gonna have to go back and read them all from the beginning. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon9.gif
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
hey dumbluck that should be a http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon7.gif not a http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon9.gif ... if I had time I'd love to sit and read all the fanfic on this forum back to back, even the stuff I've already read.
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
uh oh: check out "hero" rule number 68- Cane could be in trouble.
I'm pleased to say I've managed to avoid most of these plot pitfalls so far... |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
*Taps mic experimentally. Blows dust off it.
Uhh.. hello? Anyone still out here, or did you all wander off? Well, if there is anyone left, I've just finished a new chapter. I've finally managed to leap some of the plot-hurdles that were holding me back, and I think things will soon be good once more. This chapter is a bit of a recap, summarising some of the plot points from earlier chapters. It also sets us up for what is to come. If anyone notices any glaring holes in the plot, please let me know, I've been inside it for far too long to look at it objectively. Anyway, enough BS, here it is: ============================================= Othaglot and Cane, Chapter 23. For previous chapters, click here. ============================================= The “Bocca al Lupo” lowered itself gracefully into orbit, and from my viewport I saw the distant outline of the Worthwhile Endeavour, no doubt preparing to leave by now. It wouldn't have done my credibility as a fugitive much good to arrive on a naval starship, and so I had been given a feasible cover story and transferred to a civilian craft about week from Plenty. She was registered locally, and I couldn’t be sure whether the crew’s boisterousness was normal behaviour for Plentians or whether they were simply glad to be home. I was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Enyemin Cane. “Mr Othaglot, good to see you in the flesh at Last.” He said, in that jovial way of his. “Quite astonishing that, ah, incident on the way over. Dashed sorry to have put you through all that, but I suppose now your killer is out of the picture, so to speak.” I had my own doubts about this, as I had discussed with Commander Lock. I made a non-commital sound. “Anyway, the intelligence people asked me to brief you. No doubt they’re afraid to send one of their own people in case you read their minds and find out all their dirty little secrets.” He laughed heartily, but we both knew there was probably truth in his remark. I shook the senior Cane’s hand, and took a moment to look at him more closely. Like his nephew he was a little shorter than the Earth-born humans I had met, probably as a result of Plenty’s above-average gravity. Like Captain Frasier he seemed to be somewhat rounder than the norm, but unlike the unfortunate captain he dressed almost to accentuate the shape, thus increasing his already considerable presence. He spoke loudly and, if the accent assigned to him by my translator was a reflection of his true voice, with a hint of privilege. As he came closer to me and took a seat, I noticed that his skin was indeed blue- I had dismissed this as data corruption when I had seen it in his Messages. I was sure that this wasn’t a natural colour for humans so asked him about it, eager to find conversation and with it an opportunity to study his mind. “Oh, the skin. Well, call it a disguise. That nephew of mine tells me it’s terribly out of fashion, and that I should use my natural coloration like the youngsters do, but what he fails to realise is that I have an image to maintain. Now by homeworlder standards I’m as shocking and unruly as anyone else on this planet, but most of the locals regard me as something of a conservative- Last of the Old Colonials, they call me. To them I’m just a harmless, blustery old stuffed shirt with his foolish head full of cobwebs and overpriced brandy... oh, this probably isn’t making much sense to you, dear boy, but just take my word for it when I say that sometimes it pays to be underestimated.” “Not in my line of work.” I replied. “In my job I have to give the impression that I’m twelve times smarter, quicker and tougher than I really am.” His smile gave way to laughter, before turning into an altogether more serious mood. “Well then, my boy, I’m glad I’m not a detective. I certainly don’t envy you the task before you now.” “I have extensive undercover experience, and I’ve studied the Viking culture in depth. I’ll be fine.” I asserted, noting with grim irony that I sounded twelve times less scared than I really was. “Well, I may have some new information to help you along. Most of what we know was included in the report I sent to you in Outlier, but we’ll go over it anyway, just for the sake of being thorough.” I appreciated this scrupulousness. I was beginning to suspect that the man beneath the façade was someone I could really work with. He opened a small case and extracted an array of papers. “We have identified your headless Viking.” he began “I have his details here, but to tell the truth they are of little interest. The important thing is that he was a trusted member of the Jormungund clan, recruited four years ago by this fellow.” Cane showed me an image of a thin human with a large mass of hair on the lower half of his face. “His Viking name is Tor Hammer, but he was born Jemmt Andrel Viscount. Middle class, well educated, various radical political affiliations in his teens and early adulthood. He came into a little money at a relatively young age and built himself up a small business empire- legitimately, as far as we can tell. Then, despite his success, he cashed most of it in and joined the Jormungund back on Earth, around 10 years ago. Back then it was just another gang of drinkers and brawlers- rather odd company for our entrepreneur- but he soon made his way to the top of the pile. Information is sketchy about this period because the intelligence agencies pretty much ignored the whole viking phenomenon until Mr. Hammer started making his presence felt. He first caught intel’s attention four years ago, when they noticed that his name was turning up repeatedly in conversation with various ambassadorial types. I’ve met him myself on at least two occasions. It seems he had been using his old business connections to cultivate contacts and even recruit in political and diplomatic circles. A year after that he handed control of his clan over to his second-in-command and came out here to found the Plenty chapter. He’s been holding meetings with various alien parties for some time now, and we’re fairly sure he’s used the Jormungund to do ‘favours’ for the Sallegan and Sergetti. Nothing necessarily illegal, but all very secretive: Information gathering, couriering and so on. There are suggestions that he may even have contacted the Piundon.” “What do you think he’s hoping to achieve?” I asked. “If money was his only motivation it would have paid him more to stay with his business pursuits.” “That’s the big puzzle, and we’re hoping that you will be able to answer it for us. This latest stunt- the so-called ‘petty theft’ from the military research lab- is a definite step up in the scale of the Jormungund’s activities. We’re hoping it will give us- give you- the opportunity to uncover their agenda.” “So you’re sure that the theft was perpetrated by the clan?” “No. We are sure of the thief’s identity, but we’ve no solid proof that he was a Viking. We are sure that he was a known associate of Olric, your headless man. We believe they hadn’t seen one-another for a few years, and then suddenly they were spotted together several times in the weeks running up to the break-in. Both of them disappeared from view immediately afterwards. Those facts, combined with our belief that the Jormungund have been doing these ‘favours’ are enough to make us suspect that he stole the data on their behalf.” In my opinion there were far too many uncertainties underpinning this case, but that’s the difference between police work and intelligence work. Spies don’t have to prove their assertions before a court. They are accountable only to their own superiors. I pressed for more information. “What sort of data was stolen?” “It was the design for some kind of new armour, apparently. Supposed to protect warships more effectively from weapons damage, give them an advantage in combat. We assume they were stolen on some foreign government’s behalf- the Sallegans, probably, they’re always trying to keep up with us- but it’s possible they have something else in mind.” “Something else?” I was alarmed. “You think the Vikings are planning to use the information themselves? Build warships with it?” The idea of a fully armed warship crewed by a crowd of rowdy, helmet clad drunkards like Loorl filled me with a kind of dread I had never before experienced. “We can’t afford to rule it out. The Viking organisation has quite a bit of funding behind it, thanks largely to Mr Hammer, and to tell you the truth the only thing we’ve managed to predict with any certainty so far is that we never know what they’ll do next. In short, we wouldn’t put anything past them.” This was an extremely unsettling notion. How could I ever hope to survive in such a chaotic culture? Cane sensed my discomfort and changed the subject. “Anyway. As I say, the thief and his associate both disappeared after taking the plans, we assume they were in hiding together. We knew about his connection to the Viking fellow so we started watching the clan immediately, and that way we’re almost certain that neither of them had a chance to pass the stolen data to the rest of the Jormungund. However, we’ve since been able to work out Olric’s movements and he left Earth just two days after the theft, 12 hours before his friend was slashed to death. The plans weren’t found on the body.” He made a significant face at me, no doubt checking to see that the importance of this statement had sunk in. It had. “So Olric could have had the data, in which case it may have been taken to Outlier and then stolen by the Gla when he was beheaded.” “Yes.” “Alternatively, it’s possible that the thief held on to the plans. If his killer really was my suspect, then she could have taken the data. From Earth she must have gone directly to the Cue Cappan homeworld, and from there to Outlier.” “That is another possibility.” “Or, one of them handed the data over to some unknown party in the two days after the theft.” “Perhaps.” “Finally, Olric or the murderess could have passed it on, hidden it or lost it anywhere on their travels between Earth, Outlier and my homeworld.” “Also true.” The human said, solemnly. “That’s why we’ve brought you in. We have people searching every rock between here, your homeworld and ours, but as you can imagine their chances aren’t good. For now our best chance of finding out where the designs are is by infiltrating the Viking organisation. That is your primary objective. Your secondary objective is to find out why they took them in the first place. If it was under contract from a foreign government, we want to know which one. If not, well then we definitely want to know what they’re up to.” “What about the Cue Cappan secret service? Have they been able to give you anything?” “Only you. They say they’re investigating their own Viking clans and the movements of your suspect between Earth and Outlier, but to be honest they don’t seem very hopeful.” I looked into his mind, and I was fairly sure that he wasn’t holding anything back. He himself had obviously been briefed on a need-to-know basis, since it would be very hard for him to keep secrets from me. Unaware of my psychic scrutiny, he paused and pulled his face into an expression I didn’t understand. It was my turn to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. Eventually, I asked the only question I could think of. “Where do I start?” “We’ve identified a likely starting point for you. It’s a bar in Primavera called the Bifrost Lodge. It’s a popular spot for Vikings from the Loki clan. The man you’ll need to speak to is one of them. As well as being a part of the cult, he’s known to deal in stolen goods, and he has contacts with the Jormungund, who are all keeping their heads down following the theft. Your man’s name is Erik the Shed. Make yourself known to him, and we hope they’ll make themselves known to you.” I bobbed my eyestalks in agreement. “And what about my identity?” “We’ve gathered together the information we have the woman you were tracking, and to be honest there isn’t much. We know that she travelled under this false identity to get to Outlier,” he handed me some convincing Cue Cappan documents in the name of Gleesl, “and that she used the name ‘Sloo’ aboard the Marilyn. That might be her real name.” “If it is, it’s only part of it.” I explained. “She was joined, so her full name would be longer than just “Sloo.” “I see.” Said Cane. “Well, following up your own investigations, your homeworld colleagues have been able to inform us that she was a member of the Hreidmar clan there. Also, it’s possible that news of her escape from Outlier and the subsequent destruction of the Marilyn will have made its way here. The Lupo was in Gamallon at the same time as you, so if anyone asks, you can claim that you wanted to make your trail as complicated as possible and took a shuttle across to the Lupo shortly after leaving Outlier. We’ve already made the necessary changes to the records, in case anyone tries to confirm it, but if they should speak to a member of the crew you could be in trouble. For that reason I recommend you stay here another 24 hours and go down to the surface tomorrow. The Lupo will be leaving orbit shortly afterwards, making it a little harder to disprove your story.” I was comforted that they were at least trying to cover every possible angle for me. Cane reached into his case once more, and produced a few items for me. “Here’s a Viking helmet. You may want to wear it in to get those distinctive sore patches on your eye stalks.” They really had covered everything. “Here’s an emblem for your clan- I believe you should wear it on the helmet, seeing as you don’t have any other garments. We’ve also procured for you a cheap, market- bought translator. It’s not as sophisticated as the one you currently carry, I’m afraid, but your Frontier Order issue equipment is something of a giveaway.” He smiled, but I could tell the smile was hiding something else. I reached into his mind and touched upon was a sense of finality there, as though he were arming a soldier for a battle from which he knew there could be no return. “There are various other items in this bag. There’s no weapon, you’ll have to get through customs fair and square, but we can direct you to a place where you can buy one. Illegally, I’m afraid, but we’ve made arrangements to ensure the local police don’t catch you at it. There’s some information about your clan in this data pack, you’ll have more than enough time to familiarise yourself with it tonight. I can keep your own belongings safe for you if you like, or I can have them forwarded to your office.” I chose the former option and handed over my carry-pouch: It contained my only possessions for 50 light years and my entire identity. Cane stood up, gesturing with the hand that held the pouch. “When this is all over, come and find me at the foreign office to pick this up. I’ll have a large brandy and a cigar waiting for you.” I mumbled a thankyou and bobbed my eyes. “Is there anything else you need?” I could think of nothing. “Then I’ll bid you farewell, Mr Othaglot. Farewell and good luck.” |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Well, I'm glad you haven't completely forgotten us. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/icons/icon7.gif But this feels a bit rushed. Couldn't we have been in on the actual move to the other ship to prepare his background cover? And was there any mention of the other 'victim' in any previous chapter? But suddenly there he is in Cane's background story.
Also, a theft of a new military technology is hardly a 'petty' theft! |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Quote:
Quote:
Quote:
It seems the human homeworld police were looking for a known associate of our Olric following an incidence of “petty theft” some 30 or 40 weeks ago. Mr Cane Senior was not convinced. “Between you and me, the intelligence agencies were involved and it sounds like they were turning the entire bloody galaxy upside- down for him. He showed up dead in an alley a week later with very strange wounds and Chapter 16: You remember I mentioned a “petty theft” connected to an associate of your victim? Well, the associate was another of these Viking types, and the theft was from a military research lab. I said it didn’t look too petty, didn’t I? Ha! Quote:
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
And another one. As you know I'm no expert on weaponry, so if anyone finds anything in the gun-dealer's scene that needs attention, please let me know.
************************************************* Othaglot & Cane, Chapter 24. Chapters 1-22 here, chapter 23 a few Posts down. ************************************************* A day later I was in a shuttle, blazing down deep into the atmosphere, Plenty's fierce sky and all-encompassing ocean painting a sheer canvas of blue before me. The pilot- a talkative human named Chell with rope-like hair and intricate tattoos - had plunged from orbit and levelled out at a point several thousand kilometres from the space port, so we would be another few hours in flight before landing. It's not a particularly efficient way of getting from place to place, but I've noticed that Cue Cappan pilots often do the same thing when they've been off-planet for a long spell- Maybe it's just a way of prolonging their brief respite from space, or perhaps they need time to readjust to the idea of nothing but atmosphere above their heads before venturing out into the open. Either way, I welcomed the chance to see something of this planet before facing the mission ahead. As we cruised at just a few kilometres' altitude, I watched Plenty's single ocean roll serenely along beneath us, stretching away to the horizon, largely uninterrupted for sixty thousand kilometres in all directions. Every few minutes we would pass over one of the clusters of flat, roundish little islands that make this planet's only claims to dryness, the unvaried dull yellow of the native plant life looking appropriately humble against the shining cobalt of the sea. It was half an hour before we encountered anything more interesting. Chell pointed out a number of light patches in the water, each one perfectly circular and attended by a smattering of ships and floating platforms. "Underwater mining." The pilot shouted over her shoulder. The shuttle’s engine wasn’t particularly loud, but she needed to shout because the music blaring from somewhere- which could have easily passed for unshielded engine noise- drowned her out. "Plenty's huge, but more than nine-tenths of the surface is ocean so obviously most of the good stuff’s on the sea bed." "What about the Sergetti population?" I yelled, removing the viking helmet and tenderly testing the irritated skin it revealed. "I thought their government had rights to the ocean." "No, just some of it, and technically they're only renting that. They have a few little cities out in the depths somewhere, although obviously they don’t get too many visits from air-breathers like us. They aren't the most welcoming people anyway, if you get my meaning.” "How can you trust them?" I asked. "After the war, I mean." "That was a long time ago. I mean they don't particularly like aliens but they have kind of gotten used to us. Anyway, I'm sure the secret services keep an eye on their comings and goings, they must have their methods." I felt a rush of cold at this Last statement. Obviously, going undercover in any circumstances inspires a certain degree of healthy paranoia, but in this case I was running on overdrive. Soon we started to see inhabited islands, all or partly colonised by introduced plants that offered countless shades of green in neatly farmed shapes. Few of them held more than one small settlement, and where they did winding, narrow roads reached out to connect the little pockets of civilisation. It was strange to see such development inland when the beaches were so clear, but I suppose it would be just as strange for a human to see an island virtually untouched in the middle, and yet completely encircled by the busy canals and buildings we construct in the coastal shallows. According to Chell there were nearly three hundred thousand of these tiny landmasses on Plenty, each one on average 20km wide. I did some quick multiplication and estimated around 18 million km of coastline on this planet- probably more. This would have made a perfect home for my own people, had we been the ones lucky enough to find it first. Little wonder the Sergetti were prepared to go to war for it. "It’s not normal land, though.” She shouted suddenly. “There's hardly any real land on Plenty at all. You get the odd volcanic crater but all these islands you see here are made by a type of plant. Do you get anything like coral where you come from?" We don't, and I suddenly missed my own translator which probably could have provided a brief explanation from its cultural database. Much to my relief Chell actually turned down her music in order to converse at a more conversational level. "Well, it's a bit like that. This plant builds up a kind of mineral residue, you see. It grows slowly from the seabed in a con until it gets to the surface, then the exposed bit dies off and another layer grows around it, dies off and so on. That’s why they’re all so round and flat, and why the terrain has that ring pattern. The largest island on the entire planet is eighty Ks across, and they say it's more than 200 million years old." This education continued for over an hour, interrupted only occasionally when my tutor would turn the music up temporarily to fully appreciate what she described as a "good bit". Ever eager to increase my knowledge about the environment I would be working in, I listened carefully as she moved away from geology to provide a brief description of the local customs and quirks, a quick who’s who of prominent local personages and a rundown on some of the more conspicuous sub-cultures and ethnic Groups I could expect to encounter. She talked animatedly about the Viking cult and some friends of hers in the Idunna clan, and then went on to provide lengthy descriptions of all the best bars, hotels and markets in our destination city. Finally, she gave me details of how to get free drinks in certain Sergetti eating establishments, how to con your way into the best seats at Mossy Molasses' DrukZuzz-Jazz Joint and not only how to recognise Salzalum street-muggers, but how to convince them you're part of their gang and claim a share of the night’s takings. Although I found her conversation exhausting and her ethics questionable, I felt sure that if they ever met, she and Cane would get on well. She stopped talking once we found ourselves approaching Primavera, Plenty's largest archipelago and primary city. We absorbed the sight of it together in silence. The air here was thick with traffic, mainly in the form of orbital shuttles like our own, queuing for landing spots on the massive floating platform that appeared to bear the city’s spaceport. Furthermore, hundreds of vessels could be seen ploughing V shapes into the waters around the main sea port, which was an artificial extension to the most eastern island. Six or seven more islands of equivalent size and a dozen or so smaller ones huddled close behind, all haphazardly tied together by a jumble of artificial causeways and wide bridges. Low-altitude airships distributed goods to rooftops while a swarm of faster planetary aircraft buzzed to and fro, skimming to a halt on the water or parking delicately on or in the high-rise architecture. Almost every scrap of available space was piled high with towers, domes and blocks in conflicting colours, most of them clearly having been designed and erected without any particular consideration for whatever lay right next to it. Hazy geometry beneath the waves indicated that a lack of dry land was no obstacle to urban growth, and I realised that I must be looking at Primavera’s Sergetti quarter. Several pressurised transit-tubes ran from the islands into the sea towards this district, providing an interface between the air and water breathing populations. Altogether, the effect was overwhelming. The myriad construction styles and materials battling for attention were representative of a thousand cultures and eras from a hundred planets and a dozen sentient races. It was as though all of known space had been compressed into this tiny arena, where only the loudest, the pushiest and most assertive would stand a chance of ever getting noticed. Thanks to my career in Frontier Order I had travelled extensively through Commonwealth space and I used to think I’d seen. This though, this was vast and unknown and for a moment I was humbled. I felt like some rural homeworld Orro who'd lived an entire life in a remote swamp village, then suddenly thrust unprepared into the thriving, cosmopolitan distraction of the Capital. Which wasn’t that far from the truth. The feeling of awe soon faded into the background, and I came to the conclusion that although I was impressed by Primavera, I didn’t like it. Although undoubtedly a hugely different scale, in many respects it was just like the scrappy trading outPosts and frontier spaceports I had spent my entire career policing. Driven by commerce and industry at a rate the authorities and planners could never hope to keep up with, it had become a brash, undisciplined, anarchic junkpile of a place. I could almost sense lawlessness rising off this city like a bad smell. And in that moment it hit me: I hate places like this. Why had I spent my entire life working in them? How had I failed for so long to realise that I am so ill-suited to my lifestyle? Now here I was, after a career dedicated to risking my life to protect cramped, tiny, noisy little colonial cesspits from themselves, I had finally been promoted. Now I would be risking my life to protect a huge, sprawling, alien, urban-colonial cesspit. Preoccupied by these questions and Chell’s abrasive music, there were dark clouds in my mind as we touched down on Plenty. We touched down and I thanked Chell. She offered to guide me through the spaceport and into the city, but I knew I should tackle this alone. I stepped out into tropical humidity and then almost immediately into the dry, air-conditioned arrivals building. There was a lot of unnecessary waiting around before my paperwork was half-heartedly inspected. I was waved through customs without a second look and then I was out in to the spaceport’s main concourse, where alien life of every variety thronged and hollered. Pale, dour Sallegans marched imperiously ahead of their squabbling attendant Salzalum. A lumpy Drukshockan in a methane-pressurised cart argued vehemently with something whose species I couldn’t even identify over the price of something or other, while every flavour and colour of humanity pervaded throughout. The spaceport’s signs were in a variety of Languages, none of them Cue Cappan. I asked a human- a sweating homeworlder in crisp, formal attire- for help and was directed to an information desk, where one of the locals sat in a state of comparative undress. She charged my translator with maps of the spaceport and city, smiled and pointed and I soon found myself in a taxi boat, shielded from the heat by a simple canvas canopy. I trailed two tentacles in the water, closed my eyes and tried to convince myself I was on my own homeworld. It didn’t work. I had the taxi drop me off on Dogma Beach, according to the senior Cane’s instructions. It was mid-morning and the beach was bustling with activity. Some people running or swimming for exercise, others happy to simply lie on the hot sand and bask. A thin road ran parallel to the water, with number of broad, tree-lined avenues running away at right angles. Cane had left me a list of directions to follow, each junction described by a landmark. A metallic statue on one of the busier avenues sent me half a kilometre inland, until I spotted the glitzy restaurant with the columns of fish-filled water held up by nothing more than energy fields. I turned left and immediately right, hearing the temple of Elvis long before I saw it. Taking the second left after that, I found myself on a narrow lane that curved gently inland, terminating at a heavily vandalised park full of native trees. To the right of the park was a tower block, which the map assured me was a classic example of the Asian neo-deco architecture that had been popular with Plenty’s first colonists. It looked to me like a dilapidated, crumbling, twelve-story heap of trouble. On the third floor I found apartment 332 and removed my helmet, using it to knock on the door. I waited two minutes without a reply and knocked again. Eventually a face appeared in a small screen to one side of the door. “Whayya want?” As per Cane’s instructions, I said ‘Suggsy’ had sent me. There was a pause, and the door opened. A naked human opened the door and looked me up and down. “What the f#ck are you?” He had clearly just woken up and was doing a very bad job of hiding a gun behind his back. “I’m here on business.” I said, raising myself onto tentacle-tips to make eye-contact at his own level. “Suggsy sent me.” “You said that.” He remarked, rubbing his eyes. “Come in.” He stepped back slightly, allowing me just enough room to squeeze timidly past him. Instead I pushed through forcefully, nudging him backwards to give myself space. He closed the door and stopped trying to hide the gun. He only took his eyes off me long enough to find a pair of shorts on a table, sniff them and pull them on. “I’ll call Suggsy, and I’ll be right with you.” I hadn’t anticipated this. I assumed that the mention of this ‘Suggsy’ character would be enough to get this man’s trust. With one eyeball I looked around for an escape, keeping the other fixed on the man. “Suggsy mate… yeah I know it’s early, but you should tell your friends to come round after I get up, shouldn’t you? Yeah… I dunno… Purple. Tentacles… Hey you, what’s your name?” I debated with myself for a moment. Should I use the name on my papers? I decided against it. “Sloo.” I said. The weapons dealer repeated this name to his friend while scratching his backside with the muzzle of his weapon. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He ended the call, and I tried to appear outwardly calm while simultaneously tensing for action. “You want a drink?” Obviously my new friends in intelligence had predicted the call and somehow persuaded Suggsy to back me up. After fishing a drinking straw out of my bag, I accepted a small glass of something brown that tasted nothing at all like wine. Then we got down to business. “So you’ll be looking for something Cue Cappan, I suppose. You’d probably have trouble handling weapons designed for anyone else.” He said, apparently able to recognise my species now that he’d woken up a little. He disappeared into another room and returned with a small arsenal in an open case. “You have to understand I don’t keep a lot of cappan stuff in, but what I do got is top quality.” He unwrapped the first gun and handed it to me. “How about this? Groosh WavebLaster mark III, standard issue to Commonwealth police force and Frontier Order. Pulsed energy bLast, no recoil, high repeat rate. This is a very accurate weapon, mate, and reliable too- as long as you clean it every other day.” I cleaned my own Groosh daily. I pulled the offered weapon apart with all the expertise of a lifetime’s familiarity and examined the parts. It was a copy, but not a bad one. I snapped it back together and balanced its weight on my tentacle. It felt good. However I hadn’t just relinquished my own gun to pick up another one like it. I asked what else he had. He tilted his head and made a clicking noise as he packed the WavebLaster away. “You won’t get better than the Groosh, my friend, especially not ‘round here. No offence mate, but most Cappan weapons are pretty poor in my opinion. Too much maintenance, not enough damage. Here, try this.” He handed me a Shlaalgrah 900, the choice of the discerning Gla boss and undoubtedly the best option after the Groosh. This guy knew his business well. “Less punch than the Groosh.” He said, “But more discrete and it holds a longer charge. Waterproof, obviously and again, good accuracy in the proper hands.” He looked at my tentacles. “Or whatever.” We looked at a few more weapons, haggled over the price and drank another bourbon. I left the apartment block with the Shlaalgrah 900 and a half-dozen fighting blades, feeling far more confident than I had done all day. I consulted my map, asking it for the Bifrost Lodge. It was 20 minutes’ walk away. I steeled myself. It was time to get to work. |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
*bump*
... *echo of bump* ... *echo of b* ... *ech* ... ** ... Tumbleweeds pass by... |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
...bump...?
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Sorry, will get back into it when I can. Might need to tidy up those latest 2 chapters first though. The general plot is all worked out, but the details aren't so I'm not really sure where to go. Also, I'm off on holiday end of next week and i really ought to do something for xenology before then.
Glad to see there's someone still interested though, I had just about given up hope. |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Well that is the ingratitude of writing in a forum. Most people will read it tell themselves "interesting" but won't let slip any comment.
But you're not only writing for others aren't you ?? You're also writing because you like it. |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Chapter 26 is now available on my new-look fiction website at http://www.dogscoff.co.uk/fiction/
Please note that what used to be chapters 23 and 24 have been broken up, expanded and re-written into chapters 23, 24 and 25, so I recommend re-reading from at least chapter 23. My new-look site has a neat "story so far" feature to remind what has happened (especially useful since updates tend to be months apart.) You could even go right back to chapter 1 and re-familiarise yourself with the entire story by means of the chapter summaries. It only takes a few minutes=-) Please also have a play with the quote-o-matic. I put a lot of time into that=-) Finally, the new page requires a browser that supports frames and javascript, and I haven't (yet) put up a low-tech alternative page. If anyone is unable to read the new chapter, please post here and I'll sort something out. Oh, and really finally, I wrote all the javascript myself, so please be patient with it if it doesn't work, works slowly or wierdly, or spontaneously becomes self-aware and attempts to conquer the galaxy. Just hit refresh a few times, that will probably sort it out. [ March 13, 2004, 20:52: Message edited by: dogscoff ] |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
nice quote-o-matic. brings back fond memories.
say, i get grey patches on the left hand bar. probably because my default background color isnt white. |
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
|
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
Puke: fond memories of another quote-o-matic, or fond memories of the story? You could always re-read it you know=-) I just re-read this entire thread from the beginning- now that's an eye opener. For example, back in june 2002 (back whne chapters were only a few days apart=-( I predicted thath the entire story would be wrapped up in 12-20 chapters. HA! What's even funnier is that I remember thinking that that seemed like an awful lot of chapters...
I'd like to fix your "grey patches". This page is my first ever foray into the world of javascript and css, so it's bound to have errors and incompatibilites. COuld you send me a screenshot? What browser and OS are you using? What did you think of the chapter btw? I'm going to have some fun with Othaglot from here=-) I'm planning to gradually split him into two entirely contrary characters, using the magic of alcohol... |
| All times are GMT -4. The time now is 07:46 PM. |
Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.8.1
Copyright ©2000 - 2025, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.
Copyright ©1999 - 2025, Shrapnel Games, Inc. - All Rights Reserved.