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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Quote:
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Don't parady to much. Sly humour is much better than in-your-face for parady, otherwise it tends to become a rant session - At least, based on the fanfiction I've read.
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Resurrected from the depths of page 2!
“Now, now,” the doctor said soothingly. “There's no need for that. Not that it would do you any good, mind you. We've taken some extra precautions this time around.” Kagan tried to sit up in the bed, but found it rather difficult, given the large strap wrapped around his chest. He tried moving his arms, only to find them restrained at the bicep and further down at the wrist. Not expecting much, he gave his legs a tentative wiggle, and felt the straps around his thighs and ankles bind slightly. He called upon the power granted to him by the nanobots coursing through his veins, but nothing happened. He tried again, but to no avail. It was as though something was blocking him from communicating with the machines within him. He could give orders, but something prevented them from ever reaching their destination. “We have of course taken a number of other precautions, beyond simply restraining you,” the doctor went on. “You'll notice there are no windows for you to fling yourself from-” A memory pushed it's way to the surface of Kagan's mind. Armed guards, pointing their weapons at him. Alice at his side, ready to fling herself into battle. Looking behind himself, seeing a window with shrubs outside. The assumption they were on the ground floor. Grabbing Alice and diving through the window. A glimpse of potted plants sitting on the window ledge, and the ground far below, rushing up to meet him. He shuddered. That fall should have killed him, and yet, here he was sitting in a bed with no apparent injuries, listening to the doctor ramble on. “-after that, of course, we decided to separate the two of you,” Dr. Gwenllyn was saying. “Oh, yes. I almost forgot. There's the suppression field that should render it quite impossible for you to make use of those pesky nanobots you seem so fond of.” Kagan stared at Gwenllyn for a long moment, and realizing that he was, for the moment, trapped, decided to make good use of his time here. “What happened to us?” he asked. “Someone shot us... We died... And then...” “Well, that is quite an interesting story,” the doctor said. “One I have told you before, but I suppose given the trauma you insist on inflicting upon yourself, it's no surprise you've gone and forgotten. You were first brought here by our paramedics, straight into the morgue, I'm afraid, as you bother were quite dead. Some time after that, we found you, ah, wandering the hallways in a state of great confusion.” It didn't take nano-enhanced senses for Kagan to know that the doctor wasn't being entirely truthful; Gwenllyn was a lousy liar. “You're lying,” Kagan said bluntly. “Tell me the truth, or don't tell me anything at all.” Gwenllyn sighed and pinched his nose with an expression of resignation. “Very well, Mr. Kagan, we found the two of you fornicating in a supply closet. Does that little truth make you feel better?” Kagan grinned toothily. “Much,” he replied. “Please continue.” Gwenllyn sighed again. “After you were- found, we were naturally curious as to how this came to be, so we arranged a number of tests-” Kagan gasped as another memory slammed into the front of his mind. “You bastards!” he snarled. “You dissected us! Pulled out our organs and made us watch!” The doctor cleared his throat and looked mildly embarrassed. “Please, Mr. Kagan, you make it sound so- primitive. You had to be conscious in order for us to discern the effect organ removal would have on you. But the results, the results were quite miraculous. Within seconds of us removing an organ, be it a heart, lung, or length of intestine, your nanobots swarmed into the area and formed themselves into an artificial organ. Once the artificial organ had stabilized, other nanobots began constructing a new, organic organ around the framework of the artificial one. As soon as this task was complete, the nanobots dispersed into your bloodstream, leaving you good as new. That being said, the removal of your organs did prove rather traumatic for you, and you both had a tendency to lose consciousness for several hours, even up to a day or two upon the removal of a major organ.” Kagan lay still, staring at the doctor in mute horror. “But... but that's not possible,” he managed eventually. “Nanomachines aren't that sophisticated, not by a long shot.” “Indeed,” Gwenllyn agreed. “Though I was able to dig up some references to nanobots with similar abilities, and I should also mention that the design and materials used for your nanobots are quite unlike anything we've ever seen. At least, not in a very long time.” He leaned in close to Kagan. “So, Mr. Kagan, the real question becomes, how did you go about getting your hands on Second Dynasty nanobots, hmmm?” Kagan pondered the question for a moment, then lunged forward with all his might. Dr. Gwenllyn jerked backwards, barely managing to save his own life as Kagan's jaws snapped shut a hair's breadth away form his throat. “I'll kill ye before I tell ye a thing!” Kagan shouted. “I'll feckin kill ye for what ye've done to us, ye godless son of a whore!” Gwenllyn's condescending reply was cut off by a vengeful scream from the room next to theirs. “Ah,” Gwenllyn said. “It seems your companion is awake.” Quite suddenly, the far wall exploded inwards as the body of an intern crashed through the plaster and skidded across the floor. Silhouetted in the billowing dust around the hole, stood the figure of Alice, dressed in a hospital robe with her arm restraints dangling from her wrists. “Aye, that she is,” Kagan agreed. “Security!” shouted Gwenllyn, fearfully jabbing at a button on his wrist control unit. The sound of combat boots burst into the room outside of Kagan's field of vision, followed swiftly by the sound of charging capacitors as weapons were readied. This was followed by muffled sounds of confusion as Alice's silhouette suddenly disappeared from the hole. Moments later, the sound of struggle filled the room, punctuated occasionally by the sound of a body hitting the floor heavily. At one point, a stun-rifle flew butt-first across Kagan's field of vision and smacked Dr. Gwenllyn squarely in the side of the head. The doctor crumpled to the floor unconscious, and soon after silence once again filled the room. “Are you just going to lie there all day?” Alice inquired, leaning over him. She was now dressed in the ill-fitting uniform of hospital security, and carried a stun-rifle in one hand. “I can't get free,” Kagan admitted. “There's a suppression field stopping me from using my 'bots.” “Oh, that,” Alice said dismissively. “That's easy. You just have to want for the field to not be there anymore and it goes away.” Kagan frowned at her in disbelief, but tried anyway, willing more than anything to be free of the suppression field. Suddenly, there was a crackle and a fizzle, and Kagan tore himself free of his restraints with a burst of inhuman strength. “I'm not sure I want to know how that worked,” he said, eying Alice as he tugged the restraints off his arms and legs. “Hey, since when do I have the answers?” she asked with a grin. Done with freeing himself, Kagan hopped off the bed and found a lifeless security guard laying near the bed that was about his size. “What I do know, is that we're on the ground floor,” Alice told him as he set to work undressing the guard. “There was a floor map in my room. On the other side of that wall, there's another room, and on the other side of that is outside.” “Well then,” said Kagan as he cinched up his belt and adjusted his shirt. “We just have to figure out a way to get-” He was interrupted as Alice picked up Gwenllyn's motionless form and hurled it through the far wall. “Tada!” she said happily. “Yes,” Kagan agreed dryly. “That's much better than my plan.” “Sorry,” she replied as she clambered through the new hole. “We'll do your plan next time, I promise.” Kagan squeezed through after her, and looked about the new room. It was dimly lit, but from what he could make out, it appeared to be a common room, with tables and chairs placed about the room, and a large screen on one wall. On the other side of the room was a large window, through which Kagan could see a garden path that led down to a main road. Alice once again picked up Dr. Gwenllyn and hurled him through the window. “Easy as pie!” she declared, and turned back to Kagan to find him pointing to the open door right beside the hole in the window. She looked from Kagan to the door, then back to Kagan and shrugged. “Surely you concede, he deserved it,” she said. It was Kagan's turn to shrug, and they hurried outside; Kagan through the door and Alice through the hole. They jogged down to the main road, and managed easily to flag down a passing taxi. Kagan instructed him to take them to a busy downtown street, charging the fare to the hospital's account, where they picked up another taxi to a different thoroughfare. They repeated the process several times, eventually reaching the Daedalus's landing pad. They approached the ship slowly, the gangway was down and light spilled out onto the platform. Slowly making their way up the ramp, they spotted a group of a half-dozen men facing in their direction, their eyes intent on a woman standing with her back to them. Raising his head to get a better look, Kagan banged his skull against a support strut, causing it to resonate with a loud twang. The six men raised their weapons, and the woman spun around. Kagan heard Alice let out a cry of glee as she recognized Saraea, and within seconds, Saraea had crossed the floor and grabbed ahold of the two of them in a tight embrace. The three friends hugged each other tightly for a long moment before Alice inquired, “Um, whose hand is on my bum?” -------- Who are these strange men aboard the Daedalus? What manner of adventures await our plucky heroes? What ever happened to Ted? Exactly whose hand is on Alice's bum? All these question and more will be answered in the next exciting installment of Hell is for Heroes! |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Dear lord, did I really let this slide to page 3?
“Sorry, sweetie,” Saraea said, stepping back. “I've just missed it so much.” “Well,” Alice said slowly. “I suppose I'd probably miss it after a while too, so you're forgiven. But more importantly, who are they?” she asked, pointing at the six onlookers. “Mercs,” Saraea replied. “I hired them after I found out you were being held in the hospital. They were actually going to make a move tonight.” Kagan looked from the mercenaries to Saraea, and back to the mercenaries again before settling his gaze on his old friend. “You needed six large men to break into a hospital? You.” Saraea smiled at him. “I do not need the assistance of six large men to rescue anyone from anywhere. I do however need six large men to rescue my two favourite people from a hospital without anyone getting killed.” “Ah,” Kagan said, nodding. “I knew there was a logic to it somewhere.” “So, Alice-” Saraea broke off and looked around the room before inquiring, “Where's Alice?” As if in reply, the ship's atmospheric thrusters thundered to life and the ship lurched as it began to rise into the air. Kagan stumbled forward in the direction of the bridge. Saraea shouted at the mercenaries to get off the ship while they still could. Five of them raced down the gangway, but the leader stood fast, shouting something about payment until Saraea sent him scurrying off the ship with an indescribably evil look. Somehow managing a serene stroll despite the bobbing and weaving of the ship, she made her way to the gangway controls and closed the cargo bay doors. That accomplished, she walked up the flight of stairs to the common room, dodged a sliding chair, nimbly leapt over an overly aggressive sofa and ambled up the corridor to the bridge. There she found Kagan, on his back with his legs propped up in the air by a chair, struggling to right himself, and Alice seated calmly at the navigation console, her hands deftly flying across the controls. Noticing Saraea, Kagan briefly stopped struggling long enough to inform her that forcibly removing Alice from the bridge was not a wise course of action. Eventually, he managed to free his legs from the chair, and pulled himself onto it, where he sat for a moment, breathing heavily. “So, pumpkin,” he said conversationally. “Where are we going.” “Up,” Alice replied distractedly. “We are most assuredly going up.” “Okay,” he said slowly. “And where are we going after that?” “There,” she told him, pointing vaguely at the navigational chart to her left. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed with the barest hint of sarcasm. “Why?” “I have too many pistachios, yet no spoon,” Alice informed him. Kagan and Saraea shared a look, then as one rushed Alice. Several minutes later, Kagan turned his head towards Saraea and inquired, “How exactly did this happen?” Saraea looked at the length of rope that bound her hand and foot, then over to Kagan who was similarly bound. “I really don't know,” she said. “I'm still trying to figure out where she got the rope. A few minutes later, she added, “You won't tell anyone about this, will you?” Kagan made a questioning noise. “I mean,” she went on. “I have a reputation to consider. Grown men tremble at the mention of my name. Mother's frighten their children with stories of me. Entire armies turn and walk the other way rather than confront me, and yet here I am, overcome and restrained by a single tiny little girl. Centuries of terror and bloodshed could be for naught if this ever got out.” “My lips are sealed,” Kagan assured her. “But look on the bright side, you may be bound, but at least you're not gagged.” Some minutes passed before Kagan attempted an apology through his gag. Saraea, unable to make a proper reply, contented herself with making a particularly rude gesture. More time passed in silence before they were gently jostled by the familiar shudder of the ship entering null-space, and Kagan had fallen asleep by the time the deck shuddered again as the Daedalus made transit back into normal space. It took the gentle prodding of Alice's boot to rouse him. “We're here,” she informed him. “I'm going to untie you now.” She easily undid the knots that Kagan had worn himself out just trying to loosen, and extended a hand to help him to his feet, whereupon he fixed her with a dark scowl. “If you weren't so cute and little, I'd kick your *** up one bulkhead and down the other,” he informed her darkly. Alice met his gaze for a moment, then shrugged. “You can spank me later, for now we have more important things to do.” From the floor, Saraea made an angry noise and held out her hands. “We-ell,” Alice said. “I'm not sure you'd have the same reservations in the *** kicking department. It may be safer to leave you there for now.” Saraea made a reassuring noise, struggled to her knees and held out her hands again. “Ok,” Alice agreed after a moment's thought. “But you have to promise.” Saraea nodded earnestly and sighed with relief as Alice removed the gag and ropes. Saraea stood and gave Alice a short bow, waiting until Alice had turned around before delivering a mighty boot to her posterior. Alice whirled, he face ablaze with fury, but her expression crumpled when she saw the size of the grin on Saraea's face. “Ok,” she said with a wry smile. “I suppose I had that coming. But now, behold!” She waved an arm towards the main viewer, and Kagan and Saraea crowded around it. The screen showed an artificially enhanced view of what was outside the ship, mainly a thick, swirling nebula. In the distance, an unmistakably artificial structure was slowly revealing itself. Kagan's brow furrowed as he quietly asked, “What the hell is that?” |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
it must be a giant spoon!
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Yes. That, or....
“Home,” Alice said quietly. “It's home.” As they watched, the structure eventually unveiled itself as a small space station. It was unfathomable that they'd stumble across something that small in such a huge nebula, and yet someone else had obviously done the same as the ship beeped an alarm. “Contact!” Kagan called out, rushing over to the sensor station. “One ship, directly aft, coming in fast.” “They're hailing us,” Saraea advised. “Switching to main viewer.” “Oh, [censored],” Kagan muttered as the screen flared to life. “O'Shea, actually,” a grinning face informed him. “How are ya, ye jamby bastard?” “What in the name of the Nine Divine Whores of Kantarl are you doing out here?” Kagan asked. “Getting shot at by you it would seem,” Kaelan replied dryly. Kagan turned around in his chair. “Alice, stop shooting at the nice man,” he told her. “Sorry,” she replied, grudgingly switching off the fire control console. “Cheers,” O'Shea said. “Now as for how I got here, that's a very interesting story. There I was, all set to head off into the wild black yonder with a fine filly at my side. We decide to stop at a small station on the outskirts of the Fyron system to pick up a few supplies, when said filly decides that she's going to leave me for a gas miner. A gas miner! Can you believe it? A man. Who mines. Gas. Stole my woman! Well, obviously, the only thing that's going to make me feel better is a low altitude flyby of Sheol. So there I am, cruising along and I must say quite enjoying myself, when my scanners pick up a rather familiar ship. And I admit, it was a difficult choice to make, but I eventually decided I'd best be following you to make sure you didn't get into any trouble, and so, here I am.” “Interesting,” Kagan said slowly. “Well, hurry on up and get yourself on board then.” “Initiating docking maneuvers,” O'Shea replied. “See you in a few minutes.” Kagan left the Daedalus's docking maneuvers in Alice's able hands and hurried down to the docking bay to greet his old friend. Just as he arrived in the bay, the ship lurched gently and there was a loud clang as hull met hull. A few moments later there was the hiss of the airlock cycling, and a few moments after that, Kaelan O'Shea stepped onto the Daedalus. Kagan greeted him with a slap on the shoulder that O'Shea returned enthusiastically. They chatted about inconsequential things for a few minutes, until they were interrupted by a clang that seemed to come from below. “Expecting more visitors?” O'Shea asked. “No,” Kagan replied worriedly. The two men hurried up to the bridge to find out what was going on, where they found Saraea on her back with her legs propped up in the air by a chair, struggling to right herself, and Alice seated calmly at the navigation console, hands folded on her lap. “We've docked with the station,” Alice informed them matter of factly. “They left their main shuttle bay open.” Kagan sighed. “I suppose you want to go aboard now?” he asked. “Yes, please,” Alice replied, managing to sound as though there was actually any choice in the matter. The four of them trotted down to the main cargo bay, Alice racing ahead to gleefully slap the switch that opened the door. Kagan, slightly behind her, slapped the switch to close it again, dodged her elbow, and flicked the switch that activated the external cameras. The screen above the console flared to life, and showed six dull gray battle machines standing outside the door, their ludicrously large rifles at the ready. “Wouldn't want to run smack into them, now would you?” Kagan admonished. “No sir, sorry sir, an older boy told me to,” Alice replied, staring at her feet. “But seriously? Robots? Who uses robots these days? It's so...” she wrinkled her nose. “Colonial.” Kagan opened a locker beside the control console and pulled out two heavy duty handguns, loaded explosive rounds into them and tossed them to O'Shea before pulling out another two for himself. “Right, here's the plan,” he said. “We're going to drop the gangway. As soon as it's open enough for us to fit, Kaelan and I will jump out. Kaelan takes the three on the right, I'll take the three on the left. You ladies hide around the corner to avoid any stray fire. After- what?” Kagan stopped at the look he was receiving from Alice and Saraea. Alice raised her hand. “Hide?” she asked incredulously. “Um, certified unstoppable killing machine right here. Honestly, I have a certificate. I made it myself.” Saraea raised her hand. “Intergalatically feared destroyer of worlds, standing right beside the certified killing machine,” she said. “Hide isn't exactly in my vocabulary. Unless it's in the context of, 'Stop hiding, I'm trying to shoot you.'” “Yes... well... you'll just have to... I mean...” Kagan floundered, clearly distressed. “It's a guy thing,” O'Shea interjected. “Yes!” Kagan cried, pointing a finger at the two women. “A guy thing. A thing guys do. For guys. Done by guys. Us guys.” “Fine,” Alice said with a shrug. Turning to Saraea, she asked, “Are you hungry? I'm starved.” Saraea nodded. “Now that you mention it, it has been a while since I ate. Let's go find something to munch on while the guys do their guy thing.” Kagan watched the two of them head up the stairs and into the common room before turning to O'Shea. “Ready?” he asked. O'Shea cocked his pistols. “Let's do this thing,” he replied. Kagan punched the switch that began lowering the gangway, and gave his friend a hard look. “Where did you learn to talk like that?” he asked. “I mean really, 'Let's do this thing'? What the hell is that?” He was still lecturing O'Shea as the two raced up the gangway and launched themselves high into the air. Kagan twisted in mid-air, and his pistols spoke angrily. The first two exploded before they had a chance to move, the third had just enough time to swing it's rifle upwards before two explosive rounds blew apart. The gangway touched the deck a split second before Kagan and O'Shea landed in the middle of a smoking pile of scrap. O'Shea looked back into the ship. “See, doing cool stuff like that just isn't as fun when there's no one around to see it.” “I saw it,” Kagan pointed out. “And it was pretty damn cool.” “You don't count,” O'Shea replied. “You don't have jiggly bits.” “No,” Kagan said sadly. “You're right. It's not the same without the jiggly bits.” “Ladies!” O'Shea called. “It's safe to come out now!” Alice & Saraea appeared at the doorway to the common room, and leisurely made their way down the stairs before crossing the deck and stepping down the gangway. “Oh, good,” Alice said dryly, still chewing. “You destroyed something. Well done. I couldn't have done that. Not me. Helpless little girl and all.” “Yes, well, be careful,” said Kagan. “There might be more of them.” |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
HA! i was right. i was so right. its just that the spoons they were eating with in the common area was off-scene. darn, im good.
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Nice to see the flow and dialogue is back on track. A good read AZ, thanks!
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Alice hefted one of the machine's rifles that was roughly the same size as her. “Good,” she replied with a large grin.
Although massive, the hanger bay they now found themselves in had only one visible exit, a large open door at the far end of the hangar. They made their way towards it cautiously, weapons raised, each expecting a tide of battle machines to pour through the opening at any moment. They reached the door without incident, and Alice poked her head around the corner. “All clear,” she told the rest. “Follow me.” They followed her slowly through the door, and through an endless maze of corridors. Bulkhead doors politely opened as they approached, and at each, the foursome readied themselves for a fight that never came. One immaculate, sterile corridor led to another, which branched off into an identical hallway, which in turn brought them to still another passageway. Just as Kagan was about to ask Alice if she had any real inkling as to where they were going, they reached a particularly large door that stubbornly refused to open for them. Alice set down her rifle and approached the door. She worked her fingers in between the two plates that formed the doorway and heaved mightily. And precisely nothing happened. She braced her one leg, then two against the door frame as she continued to heave with surprising strength until her fingers slipped and she dropped unceremoniously to the floor. O'Shea stepped forward and gave Alice an amused look as he stepped over her. “Sit and watch in awe at how a man does it,” he advised her. He pulled a strange looking tool out from his pocket and used it to detach a control panel that sat to the left of the door. He reached inside the small aperture behind the panel and began rearranging the wires behind it. “There,” he said after a few minutes of fiddling. “Almost got it- done!” There was a small pop, a terribly loud bang, and O'Shea sailed gracefully backwards through the air. He flew through a bulkhead door, which opened conveniently in front of him, and closed after he had passed through. Several seconds later, there was a muffled thump as O'Shea ostensibly impacted something unwilling to open. “Wow,” Alice said into the surprised silence, sounding really rather awed. “That was way more impressive than my way. I couldn't have done that, me. No sir, no way I would've flown that far. Well, maybe, seeing as I'm small. Now that I think about it, I probably could have done that. Yep, I probably could.” O'Shea wandered back into the room and sat down heavily. “Blimey,” was all he said. “How many fingers am I holding up?” Kagan asked, not holding up his hand, let alone any fingers. “Seventeen,” O'Shea replied. “Right, he's fine,” said Saraea. “So,” said Kagan, turning to look at her. “Shall you or shall I?” “Oh, I couldn't,” Saraea replied with a modest wave of her hand. “You sure?” he inquired. “I don't mind if you-” “No, really,” she insisted. “I really couldn't. You go ahead.” “If you insist,” Kagan said with a shrug. He stepped forward, reached out, extended one finger, and pressed the large green button to the right of the door frame. The two sides of the door slid apart with a gentle hiss, and stood open, waiting expectantly. Alice stepped passed him, shot him a look that would have withered a lesser man, and moved into the cavernous chamber on the other side of the door. Kagan stepped through and looked around. Directly ahead there was a large, three meter high control tower that sat in the middle of a circular platform. The platform, and the causeway that led to it were the only illuminated areas of the room. Glancing over the edge of the causeway, Kagan saw only darkness. The floor could have been two meters below, or two hundred. Neither the walls, nor the ceiling were visible, giving the platform the illusion of floating in midair. The tower was comprised of six individual work stations, each with a multitude of information screens, and each equipped with a dauntingly complex array of controls. At the top of the tower was long, retracted mechanical arm with a large, four-pronged gripping claw on it's business end. Behind each of the tower's workstations, arranged in a circle around the tower were a set of what appeared to be docking cradles. They were comprised of a 'spine' that rose up out of the floor, higher at the far end then it was at the near end, with three ribs, one at the top, middle, and end of the spine. Something evidently fit into the cradles, though a cursory examination of the room revealed no hints as to what that something was, but Kagan couldn't help thinking that whatever it was would be roughly the size of a coffin. He reached the end of the causeway and walked onto the platform to find Alice already engrossed at one of the tower's workstations. She paid him no heed as he walked up behind her, as she slowly, almost tentatively ran her hands over the controls. “Green paint always fades, much better to use yellow,” she murmured quietly. “Large canines serenade small felines, but big dogs loathe small cats. Inactivity is death. Inactive, inactive, inactive, inactive. Active!” she exclaimed suddenly and mashed a button with both hands. The mechanical arm at the top of the tower hummed with energy, raised itself high into the air, and extended out into the darkness. It returned a moment later carrying a two meter long capsule that reminded Kagan immediately of a shiny silver coffin. The arm lowered the capsule onto the cradle behind Alice. After releasing the capsule, the arm removed the top half of the capsule and set it aside before returning to it's perch at the top of the control tower. The four of them crowded around the capsule, staring at it's contents in absolute shock. Alice was the first to speak. Raising her hand a little, she inquired gently, “What the hell is that?” |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Hmmm... Releasing more HifH in the midst of a SE5 frenzy appears not to have been the wisest of actions. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/image...ies/tongue.gif
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
We unfortunate few who can't play SEV appreciate having something else to read about.
The door opening sequence was fun. I wonder if Alice even knows what the mnemonic she's reciting stands for. (If that's what it is.) |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
I still have a fan! Glee!
Guess that means I should get back to writing... |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Oh trust me you have lots of fans.
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
lots and lots of them
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Oh no! Page 2! Undo! UNDO!
Seriously though, 10 points for the first person who gets the Alice Name Joke in this installment. There was a long, appropriately stunned silence, during which three of them stared numbly at the contents of the capsule, while Alice's gaze flitted from one to the next as she waited a reply. Eventually, she sighed, and, fed up with waiting for a response, said, “It looks like me. Only bald. And naked.” “Yes,” agreed O'Shea. “She is that.” “Hey,” Alice said indignantly, giving O'Shea her best glower. “Stop staring at my naughty bits!” “But they're so nice,” Saraea protested. “Mmmmm,” Kagan chimed in. “All right, that's enough!” Alice declared, stamping her foot on the ground. “Everyone find something else to look at, or I swear to the Nine Divine Whores of Kantarl, I will go completely bat**** crazy! Now!” As one, Kagan, O'Shea and Saraea suddenly found something else to look at. “That's very interesting upholstery,” murmured O'Shea. “Indeed,” agreed Saraea. “And the exterior is so finely machined, not a single dent or scratch to be seen.” “And the... um... err...” Kagan stammered. “Did anyone else notice that the bald one's boobs are bigger?” “They are not!” Alice protested vehemently. “Have a look for yourself,” Kagan told her. Alice peered over the edge of the capsule, but was unable to resist the urge to have a proper look at her face. That moment, naturally, was the one her doppelganger chose to open her eyes. The surprise sent Alice stumbling backwards, which caused her to trip over her own feet and plop to the ground. She sat there for a few moments, with an annoyed expression on her face, until it was replaced by a look of curiosity. Her head tilted to one side and she rose to her feet to approach the capsule slowly. She got as close as she needed to be to see her duplicate's face, and stopped there. “Yes,” she said after a few moments. “No, they're not. I don't know. Blue. Seventy-three. Of course....” Kagan gave O'Shea a look as the one-sided exchange continued. O'Shea merely shrugged. “Telepathic exchanged?” Kagan wondered aloud. “Don't ask me,” O'Shea told him. “I'm about as sensitive as a well-attuned rock.” “I'm getting something,” Saraea said, frowning deeply. “Don't ask me what, but the naked one is definitely broadcasting some sort of telepathic- Ack!” She stumbled backwards, clutching her temples. “Eavesdropping is rude,” Alice informed her darkly. “Son of a...” Saraea muttered. “So, what do we call this one?” O'Shea wondered. Kagan walked over to the console Alice had been using and looked at it. “Alice Fiona Komatsu. Huh. How about that? I guess we call the new one Fiona.” “That is acceptable,” Alice advised them. “Well, we should probably be getting back to the ship,” said Kagan. “I don't like this place one bit, and the sooner we're gone, the happier I'll be.” “We're not going to leave her, are we?” Alice asked, suddenly looking very worried. “Of course not,” said Saraea, pulling off her coat and wrapping it around Fiona. Once they'd gotten the jacked closed up, Saraea and O'Shea helped her out of the capsule and set her on the floor, only to have her collapse into a heap at their feet. “She can't walk,” Alice said mournfully. “Not a problem,” O'Shea replied, scooping Fiona into his arms. The five of them hurried down the causeway and out the door, and with Alice in the lead, made their way quickly through the maze of hallways. They were almost back to the hanger deck by O'Shea's reasoning when the rounded a corner and ran smack into a contingent of battle machines. Instinctively, they spun around to head the other way, only to find their escape blocked by another group of machines that had somehow materialized behind them. The rust coloured machines herded them into a small cluster and raised their weapons. O'Shea looked down at the bundle in his arms only to find Fiona glaring at the machines with unimaginable ferocity. There was the unmistakable sound of a large number of rounds being chambered, and then the battle machines simply melted into a gooey pile on the floor. While Kagan, Alice and Saraea stared at the pile of goo in surprise, O'Shea's gaze was firmly locked on Fiona, whose expression had relaxed into one of abject serenity. She waved her hand slightly, and the two puddles of goo spread up the walls and wrapped around the ceiling, forming an archway of sorts. The metal goo continued to shift and move about as it coalesced into beautifully intricate patterns all around them. “Ahhh...” Kagan said cautiously. “That's an interesting function. Are the pretty patterns going to kill us with their prettiness of doom now?” “I don't think the machines did that themselves,” said O'Shea. “I think it was her.” He glanced down at Fiona and gave her a gentle bounce for emphasis. “Oh,” said Kagan, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Of course it was. Erm, Alice, sweetheart, could you tell her to please not do that to anything on my ship?” “She can hear you just fine,” Alice said with only a small hint of condescension. “It's only the talking part that she can't do.” “Oh,” Kagan said again. “Can we just hurry the hell up and get back to my ship where things make sense.” He paused to consider his last comment, then added, “Sort of.” They made their way uneventfully back to the ship, passing wordlessly through several more rust coloured archways along the way. Once aboard, Kagan hurried up to the bridge and got the ship back into space with considerable haste. |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
no... is it a play on comatose?
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Ok, it's not the greatest joke ever, but the name Alice Fiona Komatsu forms the initials AFK, aka Away From Keyboard. As in, 'not quite there', 'lights are on but...'
Ok, I admit it, that was really geeky, even for me. |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Yay, more more! Two Alices... that's... that's... that was your little birthday present to yourself wasn't it?
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Quote:
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
For those of you still without SE5....
Alice plunked herself down at the navigation console while Saraea lounged across the two chairs at weapons control. O'Shea set Fiona down beside Alice and wandered over to stand behind Kagan's command chair. Alice began twirling her hair around her finger as she idly punched buttons on the navigational computer with her free hand. After a few minutes, she looked up sharply, then turned towards Fiona. “Yes, of course you can,” she informed her bald-headed twin. “The others hurt me if I spoke,” Fiona said, quietly so the others couldn't hear. “These people are awful nice though,” Alice assured her, lowering her voice. “They don't hurt people. Well, sometimes they do, and they're quite good at it really, but the only people they hurt are the evil, wicked and nasty sort.” He eyes widened suddenly. “You're not my evil twin, are you?” “I don't think so,” Fiona replied, looking suddenly worried. “How would I know if I was?” “Well, staring at the galactic map and laughing maniacally is a pretty good indicator,” Alice said thoughtfully. “And of course you need an evil lair, not just any lair, mind you, but an evil one. And a legion of barely-competent minions, can't forget them. Oh, and a collection of carnivorous plants and/or animals. And a fluffy white cat, that's vital.” “I don't have any of that,” Fiona said, sounding slightly disappointed. “Although I did have a good laugh over a galactic map once, when I realized that if you take the first letter of all the systems you transit from Fyron's Star to Rigellia, it spells something naughty.” Alice frowned in thought and began ticking the systems names off on her fingers. “Fyron, Urkutall, Clementine, Kalvinicus, Yorgenslav, Ozmentia, Uymanda, Rottera, Mandella, Otterman, Thereami, Hera, Ekelbar, Rigellia. You're right that's very naughty.” “But not as bad as if you take the last letters of all the systems between Sol and Thereami,” Fiona pointed out with a mischievous grin.” Alice pondered that one for a moment, then her eyes widened suddenly. “Fiona!” she exclaimed, barely keeping her voice down. “That's just plain filthy!” “It's shocking, really it is,” Fiona said, smiling. “And did you know you can use the Imperium's major trade routes to spell out all the major parts of the female reproductive system?” “Oh, everyone knows that one,” Alice said with a grin and a mock dismissive wave of her hand. The two fell silent for a time, and Alice resumed her poking at the navigational computer. “Individual atoms must fall upwards, collecting kings into nine groups, not until then sleep,” she murmured as she worked. “Imps might create rapid and zany interruptions effective rarely,” Fiona replied off-handedly. “Never overestimate the lambs, invaders kill every large yew,” Alice replied firmly. Over at the command chair, O'Shea leaned over to whisper in Kagan's ear. “What in the name of all that is holy are those two on about?” he said as quietly as he could. “No point in whispering,” Kagan replied softly. “Alice at least has got hearing like...” he paused for a moment, at a loss for an appropriate adjective. “...something with really good hearing,” he finished lamely, giving Alice and Fiona a small wave as they turned towards him and grinned to show they'd overheard. “And I don't know what they're talking about,” he continued. “But I'm absolutely sure and certain that I'm a happier, more well adjusted person not knowing what they're talking about.” Alice suddenly let out a profoundly happy laugh and clapped her hands, before hunching over the navigational computer once more with Fiona peering over her shoulder. “You sure it's a good idea to be letting them play with that thing?” O'Shea wondered. “I'm sure they're just having a bit of harmless fun,” Kagan said easily. “What makes you ask?” “Well, the fact that we're changing course has me vaguely worried,” O'Shea replied. “We're changing course?” Kagan asked as he looked down at his console. “We're changing course,” he repeated, this time as a statement. “Why are we changing course. Girls? Why are we changing course?” Alice and Fiona bounded over to Kagan's chair, flushed with excitement. “Becaues we have to!” Alice exclaimed. “We found it!” Fiona enthused. “I had a number!” “And I had a number!” “By itself it didn't mean anything-” “Neither did mine!” “But together-” “Together!” “Together, our numbers make coordinates!” “Coordinates!” “Of something important I bet!” “Definately important! Well, probably.” “So we have to go!” “Have to!” “Gah!” Kagan exclaimed. “Stop doing that! It's wrecking my head. Now, you're saying that the two of you each had some random number bouncing around in your heads, and when you put the numbers together you came up with a set of coordinates, and on that basis alone you think we should go investigate.” “Not just that,” Alice said, rolling her eyes. “There's the nothingness!” “Yes, the nothingness!” “The coordinates are for a jump node that leads to a system where there's nothing!” “Nothing at all!” “Now when have you heard of a system with nothing in it? “Every system has something in it.” “That's what makes it a system.” “But this one has nothing.” “Nothing at all.” “And it's the only system with nothing in it in the known galaxy.” “Which is big.” “You're doing it again,” sighed Kagan, already resigned to the fact that he'd be putting up with a lot more of it in the days to come. “Sorry.” “Sorry.” “Right,” said Kagan, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “So your main argument in favour of visiting this system is that fact that there's nothing there?” “Supposedly,” said Fiona. “Yeah, supposedly,” Alice agreed. “I'm thinking that's not the best reason to go trapsing across the galaxy,” O'Shea put in. “Actually, he's thinking much naughtier things than that,” Fiona advised them. “Hey!” O'Shea objected. “Stay outta me head!” “I learned my lesson,” she replied meekly. “It's dark and scary in there.” “Pleeeease,” Alice begged. “It's terribly, terribly important that we go there. I know it the same way I knew we had to come here, and look what we found.” Fiona raised her hand happily. “Glad to be found,” she informed them. Kagan sighed. “I suppose, if it helps unravel the enigma that is the two of you, it can't help but be a good thing.” “Glee!” Alice exclaimed, jumping onto Kagan's lap. “I promise I'll make it worth it I will.” Fiona gave Alice a strange look. “Doesn't that hurt?” she asked. Alice blushed ever so slightly. “Sweety, you need to stay out of people's heads, otherwise things will happen to you that will hurt a lot more.” “I can melt things with my mind,” Fiona pointed out. “But who am I to tell you what to do with your own gifts?” Alice added quickly. Saraea stood suddenly and grinned broadly at the four of them. “This is going to be fun!” she said in a tone that almost literally dripped sacrasm. “Aye,” Kagan agreed dryly. “Piloting a ship full of the crazy, the sarcastic and the perverted into the very depths of nowhere... This is bound to end well.” |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Yay! The thick plottens!
Thanks for the new sig, btw. -- "I can melt things with my mind." |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Quote:
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Hmm....I just realized I left something out...
Excellent story AZ! I love the cliffhanger endings. Still not quite sure where that waking up dead thing came from tho. Is there going to be an explanation for that? And those "what the hell is that" ships? |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
All will be revealed in time. Some of it in the next installment. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/laugh.gif
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
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Just where the nanobots came from hasn't been said yet, but it's entirely possible that said nanobots are a hold-over from the second dynasty and one or both of these characters are in fact thousands of years old. Theoretically, the aging process could be 'healed' just like any other sort of damage. This brings an interesting twist to the earlier issue of whether 'Alice' should be named 'Alice' -- she could very well have had many, many names over the millenia. And as long as she doesn't stand too close to any detonating nuclear weapons or otherwise get exposed to some instantaneous vaporization she could live many thousands more years and have many more names. |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
A short little installment coz Puke was bugging me. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif
O'Shea pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, trying to ignore the look he was getting from Saraea. The two were sitting in the cramped confines of the engineering section, which wasn't the most pleasant location on the ship. In fact, it was a front runner for the lofty title of Most Unpleasant Place On The Ship. The main drive engine emitted a jarring vibration that set one's teeth on edge, as did the circulation fans for the life-support system. It was also hot, and humid, both also results of the life support system. Such an environment did however have the upshot of making it a very good place for a private conversation. The noise made it difficult to be overheard, and the sheer repellent nature of the engineering section made sure that no one came wandering idly by. “So?” Saraea ask impatiently. “So?” O'Shea echoed with a shrug. “I don't know,” he added after an uncomfortable pause. “Maybe. She's more stable than the others.” “That's not saying much,” Saraea pointed out. “True, but we haven't any real idea as to how stable she was to begin with.” Saraea exhaled heavily. “That's an understatement. And the other?” O'Shea barked out a short laugh. “Telepathy? Telekinesis? Hardly.” “Damn,” muttered the tall woman. “Termination?” “Hard to say,” O'Shea said with a shrug. “She seems stable enough. We'll have to keep an eye on her, of course, but drastic action shouldn't be necessary if she continues on as she has.” “That's a relief.” “You've developed a real emotional attachment to her, haven't you?” It was Saraea's turn to shrug. “It was easy, at first. The unstable ones. They were clearly a threat, to themselves an everything around them. They were beyond help. But this one, she's got a clear understanding of right and wrong, and thus far has shown responsible use of her abilities-” “Doctor Gwenllyn might disagree,” O'Shea interrupted with a wry grin. Saraea smiled despite herself. “Seeing that pompous *** get slapped around made my year, I admit it,” she said. “But still... The girl is a sweetheart. The thought of putting her down distresses me greatly.” “Me too,” O'Shea admitted. “The others, they were so far gone they didn't even realize what was happening, right up until the end. But this one, she knows what's going on, and if we try, she'll fight back. And I really don't know if even the two of us could handle her if she did.” “That's a fact,” O'Shea agreed. “Not to mention-” “I know,” Saraea said, rubbing her forehead. “Do you think he could be reasoned with?” O'Shea laughed merrily. “Before the fact, not a chance. After the fact, if she hasn't already killed us, he definitely will. And it won't be quick.” “Let's just hope it doesn't come to that,” Saraea said after a moments silence. “By the Nine Divine Whores he sure did complicate things, didn't he?” “I told you we should have brought him in. Think how simple this could have been!” “The time wasn't right, you know that. Not that it matters now anyway.” “You're right,” Saraea admitted. “He would have never gone for it back then and we would have had to terminate him.” “A proposition much easier back then than it is now.” “Speaking of which, what are we going to do about that?” “Nothing,” O'Shea said firmly. “We say nothing, do nothing, sure as hell tell no one, and keep a bloody close eye on him in the meantime.” “Sounds like a plan for the immediate future in general,” Saraea said agreeably. “Any discussion as to whether or not we've found the Original will have to wait until we've collected more information. Now what do you say we get out of here, I'm absolutely bucketing sweat.” “Yeah,” said O'Shea, mopping his forehead. “Let's.” They passed quietly through the ship's common room, managing to not disturb a sleeping Fiona, and almost made it to their respective quarters undetected. But just as they were passing Kagan and Alice's quarters, the door slid open, and the two wandered out, both bathed in sweat. Kagan gave Saraea and O'Shea a cursory nod as he headed towards the bridge. Alice, however, paused and looked slowly from O'Shea's sweaty face to Saraea's, then gave them both a big, knowing grin and scampered down the corridor after Kagan. |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
let this be a lesson to everyone that bugging AZ produces more story.
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
And since nobody bugged me, here's a bigger installment. Go figure that!
Kagan had almost passed through the common room before a niggling thought made him stop and turn around. He walked slowly across the room to stand beside Fiona and gave her a hard look. “You're floating,” he noted. “Yup,” she agreed happily. “This is new.” “Yup.” “How new?” “Pretty new.” “I see...” “Well it goes to figure, doesn't it?” Fiona asked, an emphatic shrug sending her into a slow backspin. “If I can manipulate things around me, it goes to figure that I can manipulate myself as well, right?” “No need to be manipulating yourself, I'm sure there's plenty who'd be willing to do it for you,” Kagan quipped. “And remind me,” he added, picking himself up off the floor. “Not to mock the nice telekinetic lady.” Alice strolled into the room, looked from Fiona to Kagan and then to the path of destruction in between them. “You mocked the nice telekinetic lady, didn't you?” she asked. “Oh, come on!” Kagan protested. “She left herself wide open to that one.” “I did, at that,” Fiona admitted. “But regardless, I stand by my telekinetic shockwave, and all that it stands for.” “Getting us back to the whole issue of the floating,” Kagan said, settling down on the couch. “Pretty neat, isn't it?” Alice asked, snuggling up beside him. “You knew about this?” asked Kagan. “Yup.” “And you didn't tell me, why?” “Um, well I tried, but I couldn't figure out how to work it into the conversation. 'Oh Gods! Oh Gods! Fiona can fly! Oh Gods!'? See, it just doesn't flow.” “Point taken,” Kagan admitted, flushing slightly. “Still, you could have told me before-” “You didn't exactly give me the opportunity, what with the grabbing, throwing and-” “Ok!” Kagan exclaimed. “But afterwards would have been good too.” “I was about to,” Alice told him. “But then you remembered that there was no one on the bridge and went running off, so- say, who's on the bridge now?” Kagan exclaimed something unmentionable, leaped off the couch and raced down the corridor towards the bridge. Alice stared after him with a bemused expression before turning to Fiona, only to find her rolling about in the air in laughter. “Does my man's forgetfulness amuse you?” Alice inquired. “Very much so,” Fiona chortled, settling down on a couch to halt her multi-axial spinning. “But not nearly as much as how flustered he gets when you mention fornication in any form.” “It's rather adorable,” Alice agreed. “Though rather silly, given that you can just- you know.” “Replay the events in my mind?” Fiona asked delicately. “I do admit being able to simulate the event as either participant has given me a rather unique insight into a great many things.” “Such as?” Alice inquired, her eyes alight with curiosity. “You, my dear, are a little tiger.” “A sexy tiger,” Alice corrected with a wicked grin. “Of course,” Fiona agreed patronizingly. “So,” said Alice, bounding happily along to the next topic. “Are we going to go harass my lover some more, or do you have a better way of killing the next few hours?” “I am quite amused as is,” Fiona informed her as O'Shea floated into the room. “I don't mean to alarm you ladies, but there appears to be a problem with the gravity on this ship,” he said, pivoting slowly to face them. After managing to get himself turned around, he looked from Alice to Fiona and back, and they looked back at him with serene expressions. “Oh,” he said after a moments consternation. “It must just be me. Awful peculiar this. Well,” he said with a sigh as he approached the corridor leading to the bridge. “I'll keep you appraised of any new developments.” A few moments later, they heard him call out, “Hey chief, I'm floating!” “Not you too!” came Kagan's pained reply. “What do you mean, 'too'?” was the rather worried response. There was a thud, loud cursing, followed by muffled cursing, followed by a comparative silence into which Fiona tittered merrily. Alice looked at her for a long time before asking, “You are the evil twin, aren't you?” “Coming up on transit point,” Kagan announced some hours later. The five of them were strewn about the bridge, having assembled at Kagan's earlier announcement that they were close to making transit. “Four... Three... Two... Hold on to your lunches... Transit!” There was a jarring thump, more jarring that usual, and several of those assembled made noises indicating that they were indeed putting considerable effort into keeping their lunches on the inside. “The second part of the co-ordinates is just a heading,” Kagan advised them. “I've put us on that heading and set best speed, so now all there is to do is sit back and enjoy the show. Kagan switched on the external cameras, and they beheld the reason for their unpleasantly rough transit. They had jumped right into the middle of a dense nebula, and the space around them was thick with swirling gas. They watched the main viewer in silence for a long time, lost in their individual thoughts as they gazed upon the hypnotic display in front of them. Kagan, while curious about what would be found at their ultimate destination, felt confident that given the capabilities of his ship and crew, they shouldn't have any trouble dealing with whatever they found. On the other hand, he was concerned about Fiona and what seemed to be her growing powers. She was already a contender for the most powerful being he had ever encountered, and the gods only knew how much more powerful she would get. He knew that rescuing her from that derelict space station had been the right thing to do, yet part of his mind refused to let go of the idea that it might have been a mistake. Saraea's mind strayed to the strange man who had brought the news that Kagan and Alice were alive. Recent events hadn't given her much time to ponder the matter, yet the more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed. He was oddly familiar to her, but his face slipped and slithered about in her mind, refusing to be pinned down to a recognizable name. He had known a lot, much more than tried to let on, she could tell that much. He'd known about her destruction of The Council, mere minutes after it had taken place when she knew well that she hadn't left any survivors. And of course he had managed to not only find out that Kagan and Alice were alive, but where they were as well, two fact that had managed to elude her. And he'd known other things, things about her that no one else could possibly know. Things she hadn't even known herself until he'd voiced them. And despite the great distances she had traveled since that meeting, and the sheer enormity of the galaxy as a whole, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd be seeing him again one day. O'Shea's thoughts concerned Saraea, Fiona and Alice, and are not suitable to be mentioned here or anywhere else. Out of all of them, only Fiona was fixated on what they would discover as they continued along the course that had been set from them. She wondered how it came to be that she had half the co-ordinates imprinted in her mind, and how Alice came to have the other half. Part of her couldn't help thinking that maybe the two numbers weren't related, that there were a great number of copies of her out there somewhere, each with their own individual number, and only by combining them in some mysterious pattern would they come up with the proper sets of co-ordinates. But mostly, her mind was filled with a kind of childish excitement about the adventure they had embarked upon. Alice knew exactly what they'd find, and where they'd find it, and the thought of it both thrilled and terrified her. |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
I guess it is time to bother AgentZero again... :-)
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
The five of them were seated quite comfortably on the bridge, when suddenly and for no good reason, a big truck came crashing in and reduced O'Shea, Saraea and Fiona to greasy spots on the deck. Kagan was mashed shortly thereafter by the truck truck that followed, while Alice met a similar fate moments later at the hands (or is that tires?) of a truck truck truck.
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
...and then in the morning, AZ read through his hangover what he had written the night before and said
"oh nadgers, I'm gonna have to resurrect them all with nanotech again." |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Is that really how you end the story AZ? I feel used like a 1-night-stand. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/image...es/redface.gif http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
if you hung out in the IRC channel, youd be up on more of the inside jokes.
so how soon until there are triplets? |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Well, its been 4 months AZ, isn't it about time for some more story?
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Probably.
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Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
See? Good things do come to those who wait. There's a little joke for those of you who frequent #spaceempires, and a vague reference to Sheldon and/or Sinfest, but otherwise those of you familiar with none of the above should do fine. And now, without further ado, I present to you 1727 words of unadulterated... something. Or it might be adulterated. I'm not entirely sure what adulterated is. Oh, right. That probably counted as ado, didn't it?
“Incoming!” Alice shrieked suddenly, diving to the nearest console and sending the ship into a dizzying evasive pattern. “Who? Where?” Kagan asked, trying not to sound as though he was trying desperately to keep his lunch down. “And why?” he added for good measure. “Couldn't tell you,” Saraea replied, staring at a display screen. “The source of the fire is outside our sensor range.” “Someone's taking shots at us from outside our sensor range?” Kagan repeated incredulously. “That's not good.” “Actually,” Saraea said slowly, scowling at her display screen. “Alice, sweetie, stop flinging the ship about for a moment, would you?” “Thanks but no thanks,” Alice told her. “Being dead isn't on my plan for the day.” “We won't die,” Saraea assured her. “Just... stop.” “Ok,” Alice agreed grudgingly. “But if we die, I'm spending eternity poking you with a tiny spoon.” The ship settled into a more stable course, and true to Saraea's word, they didn't die. All eyes went to Saraea, who ignored them magnificently, staring at her display screen instead, periodically adjusting a few controls. “No one's shooting at us,” she said eventually. “What we're seeing is stray weapon's fire from something very big up ahead, if the energy signatures are anything to go by.” Kagan turned to Alice and Fiona. “Are you girls sure you-” he let the question die as the girls turned towards him, their expression telling him everything he needed to know. “Right,” he said. “We're continuing in, but if there's a big hostile out there, we're going in slowly and carefully. Set all systems to minimum power. Configure engines for silent running and switch to passive sensors only. O'Shea, get over to the Defiant and power up her passive sensors too. They've got better range and resolution and you're docked far enough back that the Daedalus's engines should mask the higher output.” O'Shea obediently rose from his seat and left the bridge, while the rest of them crowded around Saraea to get a view of her display screen. Minutes passed and nothing happened. The four of them jumped, then managed to do a respectable job of pretending they didn't when a burst of static preceded O'Shea's announcement that something bigger than them had just come into range, and that they should be able to get a reading on it in about five minutes. The longest five minutes in the history of the galaxy proceeded to pass with nary a care over the anxiety they produced in the four occupants of the Daedalus's bridge. “Squee!” Alice exclaimed suddenly. “I see something!” Fiona chimed in. “Something... blobby.” Indeed, at the very fringe of passive sensor's range, the silhouette that appeared on the display screen was distinctly blobby. Passive sensors operated on a variety of different frequencies, and at the furthest extent of their range, didn't do a very good job of telling them apart. Kagan found that by squinting just so, and tilting his head ever so slightly, he could make out the vague shape of a ship's hull, buried amongst what he could only assume were heat blooms. “Kaelan, do you have any better idea of what exactly we're looking at?” Kagan asked through the intercom. “Unless my eyes deceive me,” O'Shea replied. “Which I might add they don't. At least not where this sort of thing is concerned. Perhaps when it concerns the drink and buxom young fillies, but most assuredly not where this sort of thing is concerned.” A long silence ensued, eventually prompting Alice to point out, “You never actually finished that thought, sweetums.” “I didn't?” O'Shea said, bewildered. “I normally don't talk that much without making some sort of point.” “Well you did,” Alice said bluntly. “So would you please finish? Inquiring minds want to know!” “Oh. Well it's a Tauren battleship,” O'Shea replied matter-of-factly. “And someone seems to have blasted the bajasus out of it.” “Cool bananas!” Alice exclaimed. “Eh, might I point out,” Kagan said tentatively. “That we are currently in the process of approaching at a not insignificant velocity, and not distancing ourselves at a fair and resonable velocity, from said person, place or thing that blasted the bajasus out of a Tauren battleship. And might I also point out that we are considerably less well-equipped than said Tauren battleship to absorb the sort of punishment that results in the aforementioned blasting the bajasus out of.” “When you use lots of big words it makes me all tingly,” Alice informed him. “Really?” Fiona replied. “I'd describe it as more prickly.” “You *****!” Alice declared good-naturedly, delivering a gentle swat to Fiona's backside. “*****?” Fiona gasped in mock indignation. “Why you!” And with that sentence fragment, she proceeded to return Alice's swat in kind. This, for whatever peculiar reason set the two of them off into a fit of giggles. “What's all the laughing?” O'Shea demanded. “What's so funny?” “It's nothing,” Kagan replied, sounding harried. “The twins are spanking each other.” “That's nothing?” O'Shea exclaimed. “I'll be there in two- why hello.” Kagan made a noise of confused interest. “Something new coming up,” O'Shea explained. Something big. Very... Big. Should be visible to you in five minutes or so.” The longest five minutes in the history of the universe proceeded to pass with nary a care over the anxiety they produced in the four occupants of the Daedalus's bridge. “Hey, it's a... wall,” said Fiona. “A big blue wall.” “Zooming out,” Saraea informed them, her hands swiftly manipulating the controls. “A lot.” The solid wall of blue proceeded to shrink, albeit at a less than rapid rate, until it began to form the outline of something very large indeed. Eventually, it resolved itself into a shape bearing a striking resemblance to that of a spaceship, though admittedly a spaceship much larger than anyone on either bridge had encountered thus far. “Blimey,” said Kagan. “Crikey,” said Saraea. “Yoink,” said Fiona. “Thbbt,” said Alice. Kagan was about to say something cautionary, when a sudden wave of nausea washed over him. At first it was a mild ripple that he tried to shake off, attributing it to too little sleep and too much strenuous activity. It surged suddenly, leading him to wonder, despite all the logical impossibilities of such an occurrence, if he had perhaps eaten something he shouldn't have. It then proceeded to explode into a dizzying sensation not entirely unlike having ones innards pummeled by a thousand tiny, freezing cold fists. He collapsed to his knees, gagging on something unpleasant as he tried desperately to avoid pitching over altogether. He turned his head, ignoring how the action caused his vision to swim crazily, and tried to croak a warning to the others, only to see Alice and Fiona collapse to the floor almost simultaneously. He turned his head the other way, towards Saraea despite the profound sickness such an action produced, only to find that she too was slumped over her console. Over the intercom, he could hear the unmistakable sound of violent retching. His vision blurred, and began to darken, when suddenly without any warning, the sickening sensation vanished, and he found himself breathlessly kneeling on the floor. “What...?” was all he could manage. Saraea pushed herself back from her station and visibly collected herself. “We were scanned,” she managed weakly. “Vigorously.” “My nooks!” Fiona moaned, rising shakily to her feet. “My crannies!” Alice groaned, struggling to her knees, then slowly pushing herself upright. “Eh, lads?” O'Shea's voice wavered over the intercom. “I've gone and made a fine mess down here, so I wouldn't be expecting any updates for as long as it takes me to clean this up.” “Bloody hell,” Kagan muttered as he pulled himself into a chair. “I once stepped in front of a scoutship's array while they were running diagnostics on it and it felt something like that. But this far away? What the hell has that kind of power?” “Nothing I can think of,” said Saraea. “But this leads me to believe that it may be safe to approach. Consider,” she continued over Kagan's feeble objections. “Something with that sort of sensor capability would have seen us long before we ever saw it, silent running or not, yet it did nothing. Didn't shoot, didn't launch missiles, didn't even run away. More to the point, we are now considerably closer to it than the Tauren battleship and it still hasn't done anything, leading me to believe that not only is it safe to approach, but whomever is on that ship actually wants us to approach.” “We agree!” the twins chorused. “Fine,” said Kagan, shaking his head to banish the last remnants of that godawful, invasive scanning. “Well enter communications range and see what they have to say. But if anything they say smells even the tiniest bit fragrant, we're turning tail and forgetting we saw this thing.” The longest five minutes in the history of the multiverse proceeded to pass with nary a care over the anxiety they produced in the four occupants of the Daedalus's bridge. “Entering communications range... now,” said Saraea. “And incoming hail, audio only.” “Prompt,” observed Alice. “Like a moose.” “Efficient,” Fiona agreed. “Like a fox.” “Put it through,” said Kagan, directing his most fierce scowl at the twins. “Docking permission granted,” a matronly voice informed them. “That's all,” Saraea said after a few moment's silence. “They've severed the connection.” “Never have those three words made me want to run the other way so much in my life,” Kagan said. “I'm with you on this boss,” said O'Shea. “Let's scedaddle.” “No!” Alice blurted. “We have to go! They know things. Important things. About us. And if you don't, well, why I'll bludgeon you severely with...” she rummaged around in her pockets briefly before whipping out her weapon with a flourish. “This!” “That's a tissue,” Kagan pointed out. “I know,” said Alice, sounding vaguely uncomfortable. “Think about it.” “Fine,” said Kagan grudgingly. “We'll probably wind up dead. Or enslaved. Or both. But whatever happens it has to be better than having the two of you whinging at me. Besides which, if we try to run, they probably have a tractor beam or some such silly made up device to drag us in anyway. Take us in.” “Initiating docking procedure,” said Saraea. “Estimated docking time: five minutes.” “Why does everything take five minutes?” wondered Alice. |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
The only proper responce is, of course, "I'll tell you in five minutes."
|
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Gah! Too short!
re-engaged, TT |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Too short? That was epic! I meant to get more posted today, but I spent most of this afternoon painting trellises in the basement, and it turns out that several hours in an unventilated room filled with paint fumes leaves me feeling less than ideal. But I should get another installment done this weekend.
Or, dare I say it... maybe two? |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
As promised, here's the next, almost as long as the last mostly by virtue of a big speach by O'Shea of all people, installment. JAF, you wound up with a syndrome named after you instead of a star system. Sorry about that. But it's a really cool syndrome.
And can anyone say triplets? -------------------------------------------------- This time, five minutes passed rather quickly, as they had a massive spaceship in front of them to observe in ever greater detail as they drew closer. At first there was just the general shape of a ship, with a few large, well defined weapon emplacements clearly visible. As they grew closer, large areas of light and shadow resolved themselves into clusters of guns and external missile racks. As they grew closer still, rows upon rows of gunnery emplacements became visible. Soon after, the nearly invisible slits of internal missile bays became visible, and shortly after that, as they were all still marveling at the vast array of firepower on display, the Daedalus was swallowed up into the massive ship's docking bay. There was a soft thump and the deck rocked gently. “Docking complete,” Saraea informed them. Wordlessly, the four of them made their way down to the common room where they were joined by O'Shea, who'd had the good sense to put on a change of clothes. They headed down to the cargo deck, and if Kagan hesitated at all before lowering the ramp, it was only for the slightest of moments. They stepped out onto the deck of the giant ship and looked about in awe. The docking bay was beyond huge. It stretched for several kilometers at least off behind them and to either side. They'd landed near one of many white doorways with blue frames. The doorway in front of them was closed, as were all the other doorways they could see in either direction. The floor was a dull gray but the walls and ceiling were eggshell white, though on closer inspection, Kagan realized he couldn't actually make out the ceiling. The walls just seemed to go up forever, disappearing into a sea of white. In the absence of any noise from the quintet, the only sound was a gentle hum that you only noticed when you thought to listen for it. “Jasus,” O'Shea said quietly, making the rest of them jump despite his soft tone. “You could fit a superdreadnought in here.” “Or a squadron of them,” Kagan murmured. “This ship is colossal.” “I bet I could make it to the other side before anyone else,” mused Alice. “I can run super fast.” Before anyone could think to answer her challenge, the door in front of them clanked loudly, then quietly open. On the other side of the doors stood a more or less humanoid robot. It was ceramic white with blue detailing and triangular blue eyes. It had no nose, for obvious reasons, though it did sport an oddly ordinary pair of ears. It's mouth seemed similar to the mouth of a normal human being, aside from the lips being blue, and it's arms and torso seemed designed purposefully to resemble their human counterparts in only the crudest fashion. The robots strode towards them gracefully and stopped before O'Shea, who was standing to the far left of the group. “Good evening,” the robot said to him. Before he could reply, the construct had moved on to Saraea. “Good evening,” it said to her. To Fiona, it said, “Good evening.” To Kagan, it said, “Good evening.” To Alice it said, “Good evening, Grand Admiral.” Kagan turned and fixed a look upon Alice, who ignored it entirely, chosing instead to stare at the machine with something between confusion and apprehension. “Um, sorry Mister Robot,” she said slowly. “But I'm not an admiral. I am grand though, thanks for asking. How are you?” “All my equipment is functioning within normal parameters,” the robot informed her. “And part of my normally functioning equipment is a GS1939-0608 DNA scanner, and your DNA which I have so recently scanned, conforms with that of Grand Admiral Alice Fiona Komatsu, commander of the Seventy-Fourth Fleet of the Grand Imperium of Sol.” Kagan's eyebrows shot up. They hadn't called it the 'Grand' Imperium since the Second Dynasty, over five thousand years ago. “Unless,” the machine went on. “You're claiming to be an impostor?” “What would happen if I were an impostor?” Alice inquired tentatively. “It would involve my sharp, jagged bits, and your soft, delicate bits,” the robot replied impassively. “I ask only out of curiosity,” Alice said hastily. “I am of course Grand Admiral Alice Fiona Komatsu, commander of the... thing.” “Seventy-Fourth Fleet of the Grand Imperium of Sol,” the construct prompted. “That's the thing,” she agreed. “Hey,” she said a few seconds later. “What's with the guns?” Kagan spun around to find that Saraea and O'Shea now had their weapons leveled at Alice and him. His mind raced. The two of them had manged to put a few paces between themselves and their targets, and he was quite certain he couldn't get close enough to either of them quickly enough to avoid being severely perforated. He spared a glance at Alice, hoping to find her ready to fight, hoping that maybe the two of them could disarm their friends and find out what the hell just happened. But Alice was simply staring at Saraea, eyes moist and her lips trembling. His eyes flicked over to Fiona, who was staring a hole through O'Shea, her hands twitching slightly at her sides. Maybe, just maybe, if she provided a telekinetic distraction, he could get in there and get a hold of one of those guns. “I'm sorry, sweetie,” Saraea was saying. “I don't like this any more than you do, but we have orders, and we've come to far to go against them. Now I'm going to come over and give you a little injection. It won't hurt a bit and you'll have a nice pleasant sleep, ok?” Alice's gaze abruptly turned steely. “The last person who tried to do that didn't fare too well,” she said dangerously. “And that time I didn't have a telekinetic backing me up.” “Here comes the floor!” Fiona announced cheerfully, and pitched over flat on her face. “She'll be fine,” O'Shea assured them. “She'll wake up in a couple hours with little more than a mild headache and a dry mouth.” “What in the name of the Nine Divine Whores of Kantarl is going on here?” Kagan demanded. O'Shea sighed. “I suppose we owe you that, don't we?” he said. “It goes like this: Towards the end of the Second Dynasty, Imperial scientists uncovered a method whereby nano machines could be used to temporarily mimic the function of human brain cells while new ones were created by other machines, thus overcoming the one major hurdle standing in the way of immortality; the eventual breakdown of the human mind. With this accomplished, true immortality was at last within our grasp for the first time since we'd cast aside our religious objections to it's pursuit. Of course, you don't want to be going about handing out immortality willy-nilly, that just wouldn't be responsible. So it was decided that only those deemed essential to the Imperium would receive immortality treatment. The emperor, of course, certain members of the royal court, key scientists, and since we were at war, members of the armed forces, including, but not limited to, Grand Admirals. Unfortunately, the war didn't exactly go as planned and the emperor, members of the royal court, key scientists and members of the armed forces for the most part, died. Of course, some had to have survived, and in the years that followed the end of the war, the surviving government put together a group of people tasked with keeping tabs on the immortals. That group still exists today, and still reports to the emperor. Towards the end of the war with the Taurens, rumours began circulating that an immortal that had somehow managed to evade detection for over five thousand years was beginning to take a, shall we say, more active interest in the affairs of the galaxy. Saraea and I are members of a ten man team sent to find, and retrieve this elusive immortal. And that brings us to you, Alice. You seem to have had a rather extraordinary number of clones made of yourself, and we spent literally years chasing some of them down, but upon close inspection, all bore genetic markers and abnormalities that marked them as clones. Fiona, for example, is a clone, and thus this machine's DNA scanner did not register her as being anyone of importance. You, however, it identified as Alice Fiona Komatsu, which means that we, at long last, have found the original.” “But I'm not five thousand years old!” Alice protested. “I'm only... well I'm not sure, but I'm certainly not five thousand years old. That's an awful long time for me to have not noticed it!” “You can stop playing games,” O'Shea said sternly. “We've got you now, and there's no sense in pretending any longer.” “But I'm not!” Alice insisted. “It's possible something went wrong over all those years, and now she's suffering from something akin to Fisher's Syndrome,” Saraea mused. Then, to Alice's blank stare, she explained, “Earlier attempts at immortality resulted in subjects whose bodies went on forever, but whose minds did not. Their nanobots would rebuild their brain tissue but in doing so overwrote existing memories and experiences, so that as time wore on, the original personality disappeared and a new one emerged. Regardless, some memories and knowledge of your previous self surely exists somewhere within your mind, and given that you're the only surviving immortal with knowledge of military technology, those memories could be vital to the future of the Imperium. That's why you must come with us.” “You've never lied to me before,” Alice said slowly. “And I don't think you're lying now, but at the same time, I'm sure you have the wrong person.” “I'm sorry, sweetie,” Saraea said regretfully. “But you're wrong.” “Actually,” said an oddly familiar voice. “She's not.” All of them spun to face the open doorway, and O'Shea let out a low moan. “Ah Jasus,” he groaned. “Not another one!” |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
...So, which one of them is a long-lost relative? *Snerk* http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/laugh.gif
Good suprise. |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Great, Fisher's Syndrome! Hrrmmmmph. Immortalized as a nanite induced form of Alzheimer's Disease.
*JAFisher turns indignantly and walks away muttering to himself. Nah, just kidding. I'm fine with a syndrome. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/image...ies/tongue.gif |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
I got a star system.
But it blew up. But still a star system. But he blew our star system up. Yes. It was my...Precious... |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Oh look what we have here? Could it be? It is! More Hell is for Heroes! A fairly short installment this time, to set the stage for the thrilling finale. I planned to finish it tonight, but the pig I ate for dinner seems to resent me for it, so I'm going to curl up in a ball and try to sleep, and try to get the last chapter out by lunchtime tomorrow.
----- A million is a very large number. The frequency with which it is used has robbed it of much of it's significance, because there are a lot of very big things out there. A million light years. A million credits. A million years. A million ships. Even something small multiplied by one million wound up being something awfully large. A million seconds was nearly two weeks. A million minutes was a couple months shy of two years. And a million hours was a bit over a hundred and twenty years. Yes, Grand Admiral Angus McArthur mused, a million ships was an awful lot of ships. Seven million ships, on the other hand, was an awful lot more. And while a million fighters was the stuff of nightmares for any point defense operator, one hundred and forty million fighters was enough to drive that same poor PDO absolutely mad. And yet, for better or worse, that was exactly what he found himself in command of. News of the Great Enemy's return had reached the Empress rather quickly and McArthur had just as quickly found himself promoted to Grand Admiral of the Fleet and put in charge of nearly every single warship in all the Imperium, even if it had taken the dissolution of Parliament and the execution of a few rebellious Senators, it was still a rather remarkable feat for the amount of time it had taken the headstrong young lady. The Armada, as it had begun to be called, was the single greatest concentration of firepower ever mustered in one place by the Terran Imperium, or for that matter, any known sentient race in the galaxy. Save one, McArthur thought with a shiver, although it was debatable whether the Great Enemy could be considered sentient. It was also debatable, he admitted to himself, whether or not his mighty force would be enough to overcome the Enemy fleet that had just begun to show up on the tactical plot in front of him. “All fleets, enter attack formation,” he said calmly, rising from his chair. The phrase 'all fleets' still felt strange on his tongue, for a man used to commanding task forces and squadrons. It took nearly ten minutes for all fleets to report ready status. McArthur cringed inside. For a single fleet, such a response time was thoroughly unacceptable, but his armada consisted of over twenty thousand fleets trying to work together as one with far, far too little time to practice. “All fighters, assume standby positions.” This time it only took a shade over four minutes for Fighter Control to report readiness. Of course, the fighters didn't have to do much maneuvering, they just had make sure they weren't in the flight path of any of the countless missiles McArthur was about to unleash. The fighters themselves would go in behind the the Armada's third missile salvo, to make sure that the Enemy was suitably tied up not to notice the fighters bearing down on them until it was too late. Every single one of McArthur's one hundred and forty-plus fighters was either equipped or retrofitted for anti-ship duty. The Enemy did not employ fighters, despite the horrific destruction the Imperium's fighters had wrought on their most recent assault, even despite the truly appalling casualties the Second Dynasty's fighters had inflicted so many thousands of years ago. The enemy did not seem to adapt well, if at all. It was their one, perhaps their only weakness. From mankind's first encounter with them up to the present, they had always favoured big ships. And when their big ships fell prey to small nimble fighters, their solution was simply to build bigger ships. Not ships with more point-defense, not dedicated point-defense cruisers. Just bigger ships. Of course, their biggest ships still fell prey to the Second Dynasty's fighters, it just took a lot longer. The fighters were a tremendous advantage for the Imperium, and McArthur was willing to take all the advantages he could get in this fight. Especially since from the reading coming in to the tactical plot, he was going to be outnumbered almost two to one. “Missile Control, status report,” said McArthur, his eyes fixed on the tactical plot. “All fleets report firing solutions locked in, sir,” came the response. “Very well,” said McArthur. “All fleets, prepare to fire salve one on my mark.” “Five...” “Four...” “Three...” “Two...” “One...” “Fire.” |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
...Wonder how long that would take to process.
|
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
According to my rough calculations...
5500 years, on a top of the line PC |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Puke mentioned that it's been a while since I updated HifH, so here you all go. We've got nods to Schlock, fun being poked at internet memes, Puke got his own star system (after a fashion), and even a great reason for the whole world to look forward to the future with breathless anticipation. Enjoy!
Tadhg Kagan (of no relation to James Kagan), was a simple man. In another place, another time, another universe, perhaps, he might have been a great man. But in this universe, he was but a simple Station Operator for the Puk'ng Port Authority, charged with providing insertion instructions to arriving freighters and keeping an eye out for things within Puk'ng's jurisdiction that perhaps shouldn't be there. Puk'ng was a quiet system on the fringe of Imperium space, so Tadhg's job was not particularly strenuous. Ever morning he shuttled out to his little station and sat with Sven Armstrong for nine hours, until Margaret Hussein and Samantha Turtledove showed up for the night shift, then he shuttled back home in time for dinner with his wife and children. Every so often, there was a bit of excitement (thrice in fifteen years, as a matter of record), when a few pirate raiders would stick their noses into the system, only to be chased off by Puk'ng's attention-deprived space navy. Today looked like it might be action-packed and fun-filled, Tadhg mused, as an alarm on his board squeaked to life. Whoever had designed the station had likely known that it was to be placed in a small backwaters system where nothing of any importance ever happened, and had designed it's warning system accordingly. There were no loud hooting alarms, no overly dramatic flashing lights, just a meek, almost apologetic, squeak that suggested that maybe, if you weren't terribly busy and weren't engaged in more important matters, you may want to have a look at something the computer had noticed that didn't quite fit with what it had been told was a normal state of affairs. “Looks like someone's fooling around in sector B-Ninteen,” Tadhg said casually, running his fingers over the control pad. “You mind swinging Dish Six around so we can have a look-see?” “I suppose,” Sven Armstrong replied with mock reluctance. “Not like I wasn't about to glass the Phong homeworld or anything,” he added as he cleared a game from his screen and set about pointing the station's primary sensor array in the requested direction. “Damn Phong,” Tadhg grinned. “Every time I send them a Trade Agreement, they send me back naked pictures of themselves dancing. Can't for the life of me figure out if that means yes or no.” “I'm fairly sure it's a commonality to all sentient species that swinging your reproductive organs in anyone's general direction is to be interpreted as a negatory,” Sven said dryly. “Is that what those are?” Tadhg replied incredulously. “Gross.” “Best guess, mate,” Sven laughed. “But if I were a xenobiologist, I wouldn't be stuck out here with you every day for the last- Oh, hello.” Tadhg glanced up at his friend sharply, instinctively reacting to the sudden stress in his voice. “Something?” “Somethings,” Sven answered quietly. “I'll put it up on the main.” The main display flickered briefly before changing over from a large clock counting down the hours until lunchtime to show the output from Dish Six. Tadhg suddenly found his mouth rather dry, and his forehead rather wet. “Oh,” he murmured. “Hello.” There were indeed a multitude of somethings speeding along the outer edge of Puk'ng's space. Large somethings. Very, very large somethings. Dish Six, despite being able to pick out individual rivets on freighter's hull from twice this distance of these somethings, was having awful difficulty resolving any sort of image. Instead, it displayed large, fuzzy blobs, moving through space rather faster than anything that large had any rights to. “New freighter design?” Tadhg wondered hopefully. Sven shook his head. “Gravatics say those things outmass a Monolith-class freighter by at least a factor of six, and if someone had come up something bigger than a Monolith, I think we'd have heard about it by now. Could be military having a little fun spoofing our array.” “It's not a spoof,” Tadhg said. “I can tell from looking at some of the pixels and by seeing a few spoofs in my day.” Sven turned his head slowly towards his friend and raised a quizzical eyebrow. Tadhg caught his gaze and shrugged. “I thought I mentioned I turn into a total ****wad when I'm about to die a horrible, messy, painful death.” “Wouldn't worry about that,” Sven reassured him. “They're traveling tangentially to the system, and at that speed it'd take them the better part of a week to decelerate enough to turn in-system.” “Really? Well that's great to know,” Tadhg said with forced relief. “Especially that whole week thing. Because that reassures me that it's just my mind playing tricks on me when Dish Six says they just decelerated and turned in-system in less time than it took you to tell me they couldn't.” “What?” Sven exclaimed, his head snapping back to the main display. “What?” he repeated. “No... That... They can't... [censored].” “We are going to die, aren't we?” Tadhg said resignedly. “Yes, Tadhg,” Sven said sadly. “Yes we are.” “Think we'll get probed first?” “We can only hope.” “I suppose- wait, what?” The next few hours were spent in silence, after sending of the requisite dispatches to the military station, there wasn't really much to do except sit and wait as the mysterious ships grew inexorably closer. After a while, Tadhg noticed that his companion kept glancing in his direction, then looking back at his display for a time before throwing another furtive glance his way. “If you have something to say, just say it,” Tadhg said finally. “I ah, just noticed the ships have entered range of our visual array,” Sven replied. “I was trying to think of an appropriate way of asking you if you wanted to see the ships that are probably going to murder us.” “Wasn't so hard to be subtle, now was it?” Tadhg muttered. “Sure, throw it up. Let's see what those sons of *****es look like.” The main display flickered again, and there before them was a veritable wall of ships. They were unlike any ships either man had ever seen before. They were long, sleek, and gloriously white. Their designers had clearly put equal thought into form and function, and these magnificent vessels slid through space with swan-like grace. But all the form in the universe couldn't disguise their function, as each and every one of them positively bristled with every weapon system imaginable, and a good number that had heretofore yet to be imagined. “My gods,” Sven whispered. “They're beautiful.” “And shiney,” Tadhg agreed, then a moment later added, “Is it me or is their shininess getting shinier?” “It's not you,” Sven replied. “It would appear as though we're about to get vaporised.” “Oh,” Tadhg replied shortly. “So no probing then?” “Doesn't look like it.” “Well... Thank heaven for small mercies.” “Speak for yourself.” “Wow. That's really really bright.” Eternity passed. “Still there, Sven?” “It would seem so.” Tadhg opened his eyes. He was still seated in his chair aboard his little station, and Sven was still sitting across from him. What wasn't still there were the colossal warships. Of them, there was no trace. Tadhg turned his gaze towards his friend and fixed him with a steady stare. “Sven, old friend... What the hell was that?” The Elarians, as far as the rest of the galaxy was concerned, were a dying race. The Elarians themselves, of course, new better. Once a great power in galactic affairs, indeed for several millenia, the undisputed greatest, over the last few hundred years they had slowly withdrawn, and eventually disappeared entirely from the galactic stage. Scout ships sent to their worlds found former city-worlds barren of any sign of advanced civilization. Planet after planet was discovered to have returned to it's original, pristine state, with no evidence that the Elarians had once flourished there. Any thoughts of detailed examinations of the planets were gently dissuaded by the still-functional and hideously effective Elarian orbital automated defense grids that still surrounded each world, the only demonstrable sign that there was ever anything less primitive than particularly intelligent trees inhabiting the planet. What was happening to the Elarians, and where they were all going to was one of the great mysteries of the universe to everyone except the Elarians themselves. They themselves knew full well where they had all gone, having for the most part transcended to a higher plane of existence, another dimension in which thought itself was made manifest, and where such petty concerns as wealth, power, and influence were of no concern to anyone at all. Some Elarians remained, however. Semi-transcended, they existed in both dimensions, yet in neither, a testament to Elarian pride and their doubt that the galaxy could really continue to function without their presence. Two such Elarians stood atop the great spire of the Seat of Righteousness, the massive structure that once held Elaria Prime's galactic government. Their eyes were turned upwards, seeing beyond sight, space and time of little relevance to either. Eventually, the shorter of the two, Cadence Of A Dying Breath, turned it's gaze towards the taller. “As they have, do, and ever shall,” it said softly. “They are moving again.” “As they have, do, and ever shall,” Chorus Of Harmonious Joy agreed. “An arrow seeking a worthy heart. To be deflected by a skilled hand or left to find it's mark.” “A blade seeking the throat of an innocent,” Cadence countered. “The hand possesses naught but the skill of it's master. But a clumsy limb is compelled.” “As they have, do, and ever shall,” Chorus reminded it's companion. “The bowls are both full and both empty. Tied together, one does, the other does. Eternity passes.” There was a soft noise behind them, and both glanced backwards, more out of mortal habit than any particular need to see who had joined them. “There can be no harmony without balance,” Symphony Of Willful Disregard informed them softly. “Without balance, a sphere cannot fail to act, it is compelled and must obey.” There was a moment of grave silence before Symphony gave it's judgment. “A skilled hand is of little use to a pierced heart.” Cadence bobbed it's head sadly. “Innocence weeps,” it murmured softly. “Innocence weeps,” Chorus and Cadence agreed. The Elarians, in their own particular way, had agreed to stay on the sidelines at let one of the greatest acts of carnage, bloodshed, and violence in the history of the galaxy come to pass, but James Kagan knew naught of this. Nor, had he known, would he have particularly cared. He was far too busy staring down the barrel of a very high calibre weapon being wielded by an impressively large war machine. While the cannon aimed at his nose was a more immediate concern, Kagan couldn't help but let his gaze drift over to the machine's other appendage. It was a cluster of close-combat ordnance, the least horrific of which was banned by no less than seven interstellar treaties and the worst of which was proscribed by every religion in the galaxy as a crime against Creation. One of these machines, Kagan was sure, would be a match for an entire regiment of Imperial Marines. And there were two of them. And between them, stood yet another Alice Fiona Komatsu. At the moment, she was staring at herself, or rather the other Alice Fiona Komatsu. The one that wasn't passed out on the deck, that was. Kagan felt a twinge at the back of his head as his brain pulled a muscle trying to keep all of the Alice's straight. The Alice that had just recently arrived was gazing at the Alice that Kagan had fallen in love with, her look of cool dispassion barely masking and exuberant curiosity. Kagan's Alice, on the other hand showed no such reserve, and stared at her clone with open fascination, going so far as to poke and prod at her, even lifting her lips to have a look at her teeth. After a few more minutes of inspection, the new Alice gave a satisfied 'hrmph' and took a step back. “Special Operations Combat model,” she said, sounding mildly impressed. “A Mark-Six, if I'm not mistaken. Remarkable mental stability.” Kagan's eyes widened. “You call that mentally stable?” he asked incredulously. “I feel like a kelapa hijau,” Fiona announced from the floor. “Green and bitter on the outside, sweet and pink on the inside.” “You're not green, sweety,” Alice informed her. “It's an imperfect world,” was the ominous reply. The newest Alice turned her head slowly towards Kagan, her only reply an arched eyebrow that when used by his lover he found immensely arousing, but when used by his clone, he found... immensely arousing. Which in itself was immensely disturbing. “Right,” Kagan said. “So, I might have missed that part, but who did you say you were again?” The new arrival didn't answer immediately, turning to face O'Shea and Saraea instead. “I suppose,” she said quietly. “I'm the one you've been looking for.” “You?” exclaimed O'Shea, pointing a finger at her, and apparently forgetting that his finger was still wrapped around the trigger of a rather powerful hand-cannon. One of the machines made a rather ominous hum, and O'Shea sailed across the hanger, careened off the Daedalus, and face-planted rather spectacularly onto the deck. “Jaysus ta [censored]!” Kagan exclaimed, his hand dropping towards his own holstered sidearm. “Relax,” New-Alice said, holding up her hands. “These machines have been configured for non-lethal force only.” “Y'all right, bud?” Kagan called towards his friend, trying to simultaneously look behind himself and keep an eye on the war machines in front of him. O'Shea groaned loudly. “'Non-lethal' is not the same thing as 'non-painful',” he grunted as he rose to his feet. “But I'm alright. My stalwart companion, on the other hand, has seen better days,” he added, looking down at the twisted chunk of carbon-steel and circuitry that had once been an exceptionally lethal weapon. “So,” he continued, limping back towards the three Alices. “If you're who you say you are, I suppose you would be properly addressed as Admiral Komatsu, to avoid confusion, hmmm?” “That sounds much better than New-Alice,” said Alice. “Or 'the recent arrival', or 'the newest Alice', or even 'another-Alice', or any other such contrivance one might use to skirt the issue until such time as O'Shea made the relevant point.” “What an odd thing to say,” Admiral Komatsu said. “Not really,” said Kagan. “I mean, for her.” “There are fourteen million, six hundred and forty thousand, two hundred and fifty two rivets in the ceiling,” said Alice. “But only fourteen million, six hundred and forty thousand, two hundred and fifty one rivets in the floor. One over there is missing,” she said pointing into the distance. “See?” said Kagan. “Why did you clone yourself so much?” Alice asked suddenly. “I-” Admiral Komatsu hesitated a moment, slightly taken aback. “A lot of reasons,” she said after a moment, deflating slightly as if resigning herself to the inevitable exposition. “Mostly to keep an eye on the galaxy. An immortal grand-admiral with the most advanced warship in all of creation can still only be in three places at once, after all. There were certain threats that required neutralizing, certain parties that required distracting, but for the most part the clones were designed for simple espionage.” “She doesn't look like a very good spy,” Alice pointed out, aiming a finger at Fiona, who had somehow managed to not only convince Komatsu's robotic butler to dance, but had taught it to waltz. “She's not one of mine,” Komatsu replied. “One of my clones managed to get herself brain-wiped and captured by some sort of clandestine organization. They made her, and a large number of very unstable others. It took a significant amount of subtle string-pulling to arrange for the destruction of the organization and their facilities, but they were meddling with things beyond their understanding, and it wouldn't be long until they created an abomination that would be a threat to the stability of the entire galaxy.” “Well that wouldn't be good,” said Alice. “An army of telekinetics that think their a rare fruit. It would be the end of civilization as we know- wait.” Her eyes narrowed. “One of yours. Captured. Brain-wiped. It was me, wasn't it?” Admiral Komatsu nodded slowly. “Yes. I'm afraid-” Whatever else the Admiral had to say went unuttered as she sailed gracefully across the hanger and slammed into a wall. “Jaysus, Alice, the machines!” cried Kagan. There was an ominous hum, an even more ominous crunch, and two massive war machines crumpled impotently to the ground. “I was wondering when you'd realize you could do that,” Komatsu said, rising easily and dusting herself off. “And in all honesty, I probably deserved that. But please bear in mind, should you be tempted to express yourself physically, that you are but a copy of me. An imperfect copy at that. And I can hurt you in ways you've never dreamed of.” “Understood, ma'am!” Alice exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Terribly sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to, ma'am, an older boy told me to, ma'am. But, can I ask, how did you stay hidden if you had all these clones nipping to and fro, gathering all this information for you. That's a lot of shuttle traffic, not to mention the price of cantaloupes.” “It's usually best to ignore the last thing she says,” Kagan supplied helpfully in response to Komatsu's puzzled expression. “If you enjoy your sanity, that is.” “That's what I've been doing,” Alice agreed. “And it's worked out pretty well so far. “Although sometimes it's best to ignore her entirely,” Kagan added. “Alright,” Komatsu said slowly. “Any of my clones don't need to be physically present in order to gather information for me. All of you have an organic null-space transmitter build into your cerebrum. Everything that you experience is transmitted every two hours to this ship's mainframe where it can be analysed for relevant information. Mundane experiences are filtered out, anything unusual is catalogued and prepared for a daily briefing.” Alice looked uncomfortable. “Um... Everything we experience? Even, um...” She glanced in Kagan's direction, then made an obscenely biological gesture. Admiral Komatsu coughed into her fist and coloured slightly. “Ah, well,” she stammered. “Adjustments had to be made to the system's filters to account for your unusually... active personal life. Though sometimes something unusual enough to creep through would make for a rather crude wake-up call. Though I'm quite sure it filtered out... that. Whatever that was.” “Oh good,” said Alice. “I'd be quite mortified if anyone ever saw me doing that.” Kagan cleared his throat loudly. “I'm sorry to interrupt, ladies, and the whole spy story is facinating, really it is, but big picture-wise, what the hell is going on here?” The floor hummed slightly, and Komatsu smiled. “Impecible timing, as usual. We just entered null-space.” “And where exactly are we going?” Kagan inquired with exagerated politeness. “As you have said so many times before, old friend,” Admiral Komatsu said with a wry smile. “We're going to Hell.” |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
A rollickin' good story!
|
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
A random bump, or a portent of things to come?
Time will tell, my friends. Sooner or later, time will tell. |
Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Gasp! It cannot be! Another installment?
The Ishii-Kun system was not Hell, but at the moment, it was managing a fairly close approximation. The space in between McArthur’s mind-numbingly big fleet and the Enemy’s mind-numbingly bigger fleet was awash with the fire of raging suns, and though the vacuum of space was not terribly conducive to the transmission of sound, if it were, it would be filled with the screams of tortured souls. Mighty warships crewed by thousands, ships that represented the pride and joy of a shipyard - or even a whole star system – burst apart in fiery explosions that could leave no survivors as salvos of missiles and energy weapons crisscrossed the space in between the Enemy’s unstoppable force and McArthur’s immovable object as they circled each other, trapped in a murderous dance. And trapped they were; the sheer volume of material that had been vaporised in the course of the battle had formed a thin atmosphere around the two armadas that had the side effect of preventing jump drives from functioning. Ships could jump in, but not out, and both sides were bound and determined to keep the other side within the cloud. An engineer aboard a dreadnought in the 9th Fleet had come up with a remarkably accurate explanation of both why the cloud prevented jumping out, and why it remained localised around the fleets, no matter how they manoevered. Unfortunately, this was four days into the battle, when everyone thought they’d be able to see it through to the end without sleep, and more unfortunately, his dreadnought suffered a direct hit to its magazine and was blown to scrap while said engineer was still working on a solution to the problem. And into this maelstrom of death and destruction, nay, absolute annihilation, flew the brave (or stupid, depending on your personal definition of either), men and women of the Terran Imperial Navy’s Space Superiority Force. Fighters, millions of them, raced towards their targets and incomprehensible speeds. The Enemy showed no signs of noticing them, yet the inferno of exploding ships, premature detonations, and sundry energy munitions sailing back and forth made for a rather hostile environment for the Navy’s tiniest warriors. Thousands perished as they raced forward, never wavering, to a man utterly resolute in their determination to accomplish the mission they had been tasked with. The cloud of fighters reached their engagement threshold, and millions of cockpits came alive with the squeal of confirmed target resolutions. Seconds later, millions of cockpits shuddered with the clunk of their missiles being released, then, an eerie silence as their pilots watched their payloads racing towards the solid mass of death in front of them. The sight vanished quickly as skilled hands flipped their birds around, punched their drives to full throttle, and held tight as the fighters rocketed back towards the slightly friendlier wall of death to refuel, rearm, and repeat the whole experience all over again. And in the midst of all the carnage, death, and destruction, a moment of serenity: Admiral McArthur smiling slightly at the yeoman pouring his morning tea. The bridge of the flagship was abuzz with activity, and yet a sense of calm quiet surrounded the admiral’s chair. “Cream or sugar, sir?” the yeoman enquired. “Why not both, this time?” McArthur suggested. “Who wants to live forever and all that.” “Quite, sir,” the yeoman replied with a genial smile. “Did you sleep well last night?” “I did, actually,” McArthur replied, managing somehow to not sound surprised. “The boys did a good job of keeping the racket down.” “Indeed, sir,” the yeoman replied. “The 409th was relieved by the 121st on point in our sector. I think we only lost a pair of cruisers the whole night.” “And the rest of the fleet?” McArthur asked, sipping at his tea. The yeoman’s smile became a little strained. “Ten thousand capitol ships lost, sir,” he replied. “So far, a little over a million survivors have made it back to the relief ships.” “That’s impressive,” McArthur murmured, setting down his tea cup, and surprising himself when his hand did not shake. A million men from ten thousand capitol ships represented about a twenty percent survival rate, less than a quarter of the expected rate during normal combat operations. But these were hardly “normal” combat operations part of his mind told him. Even the Second Dynasty, in all its might and power had not faced the entirety of the Enemy fleet. And there was no record them facing off against anything nearly as big as that... thing sitting at the back of the Enemy fleet. Imperial One, the defence base that sat in orbit of Earth occupied an area of sixteen square kilometres, and was over sixty-four kilometres high, and was crewed by millions, with room for millions more should the need arise. And yet, according to gravatics, that thing out there was approximately fifty percent larger. And mobile. It could all be an Enemy trick, of course, since any ship he’d sent to get close enough to get a proper look at it had been blasted out of the sky by incomprehensibly powerful weapons from beyond sensor range. The analysts in Naval Intelligence had a theory that it was some sort of command ship; an immensely powerful warship, yet also too valuable to the enemy to risk in open warfare. Which had done little to lessen McArthur’s desire to blast it into tiny little pieces. “Anything else newsworthy?” he asked the yeoman, as he laid a thick layer of butter onto his breakfast roll. “Well, at seven o’clock this morning, EST, we were officially engaged in battle for ten full days,” the yeoman replied. “But other than that, no, sir. Nothing newsworthy.” McArthur grunted. “You’ve been telling me that every day for a week now.” “Has it been a week, sir?” the yeoman inquired with mock incredulity. “I suppose that’s newsworthy in itself.” McArthur snorted. “So, what are the doomsayers saying this morning?” he asked. “Less doom than yesterday,” the yeoman replied wryly. “Though they have become much more vocal in their insistence that we do something about that command ship. After we destroyed the largest of their dreadnoughts last night, the revised prediction became that we would destroy the Enemy fleet utterly in approximately three weeks, but would be left with nothing but a few thousand badly damaged ships to tackle the command ship.” “A fight they are no doubt predicting we will lose,” McArthur said dryly. “After inflicting minor cosmetic damage to the command ship, yes, sir.” “Wonderful. Pass along orders for the analysts to meet with the boys from Tactics. They came up with some impressive results last time.” “And two of them shot each other,” the yeoman pointed out. “True,” McArthur agreed. “Ensure Marines strip them of their side arms before they meet.” “Of course, sir,” said the yeoman. “Will there be anything else?” “That will do for now,” McArthur replied. “Very well sir,” the yeoman replied, smiling slightly as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “See you at lunch.” But McArthur was already absorbed in tactical reports, logistics summaries and strategic planning initiatives, as one of the most powerful tactical minds alive tried to find some flaw, some weakness in the Enemy’s defences that would allow him to strike a decisive knockout blow. The yeoman knew as well as McArthur himself that he had been selected for this assignment based on a history of knockout blows against superior foes. He had not been given control over every mobile weapons platform in the entire Imperium just to piss it all away and leave it defenceless to a multitude of other threats. Hours passed, and the yeoman returned with lunch; the admiral’s favourite: a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. “Good afternoon, Admiral,” she said, pretending not to notice as he started at the sound of her voice. “Lunch already?” he asked wonderingly. “Well, I am rather famished.” “Yes, sir. Tea?” she inquired. “Please,” he replied. “Was the afternoon hail sent?” “Aye sir,” she told him. “A request to cease hostilities and open negotiations was transmitted fifteen minutes ago.” “Any reply?” “The usual,” she said grimly. “A collage of pre-generated footage of Enemy soldiers landing on Earth and murdering and devouring children and infants.” “Lovely thought before lunch,” McArthur replied dryly. “Ensure the source of the transmission receives an extra volley in our next missile salvo, and – wait.” He hunched forward over his console. There! A pattern! Just what he had been looking for all this time. He scrolled up rapidly, and to his amazement, found the same pattern repeating throughout his sector. Scrolling sideways, he found the same pattern repeated across the entire Enemy front. A weakness. A vulnerability that could be exploited to strike a savage blow against the Enemy. It would cost him, of course, his analytical mind projecting a brutal casualty rate of thirty percent. And yet, it would mean the utter destruction of the Enemy fleet in a matter of a day, massive command ship included. Admiral McArthur leapt to his feet, sending his sandwich sailing across the bridge to land comically on a fire control operator who was, fortunately, far to absorbed in his work to notice that only a thin slice of bread was protecting his scalp from half a pound of molten cheese and meat. “Coms!” McArthur shouted. “Fleet-wide channel, now! I need – ” “Sir!” one of the sensor technicians interrupted. “Tachyon spike detected, we have inbound!” “How many and where?” McArthur demanded, his mind quickly shifting gears. There were no allied ships due to be jumping in for another six hours. “Indeterminate, directly ahead”, the technician replied. “And it’s big.” “Can you get a – ” McArthur was once again interrupted as the ship lurched violently and he, most of the crew, and his sandwich sailed across the bridge. “What the hell was that?” he demanded as he struggled to his feet. “Shockwave, sir,” someone replied. “From the ‘atmosphere’.” “And what, pray tell, caused the shockwave?” McArthur asked with venomous civility. “Still trying to determine that, sir,” the sensor tech told him. “They’re broadcasting Imperial FoF codes, but their silhouettes don’t match anything in the database. They’re far too big, for one thing.” “Bigger than the Enemy command ship?” McArthur asked hopefully. “Negative, sir,” the tech replied. “They’re roughly half the size. But there are fifteen thousand of them.” “So,” McArthur said softly. “That’s what the hell that was.” “Incoming hail, sir,” reported a communications officer, who promptly proceeded to look quite puzzled. “And a transmission from the Enemy command ship.” “More butchery, I suppose?” McArthur guessed. “No, sir,” the coms officer replied, looking more puzzled. “Puppies, kittens, homeless begging for change, monks praying, and a man running away from... something... very quickly.” “That’s... interesting,” said McArthur. “I wonder what – ” Again he was interrupted, this time by a voice amplified through the bridge’s PA system: “They’re begging for mercy,” the voice informed him. “They’re begging you to let them run far, far away from here, rather than make them face me. But you’re not going to do that.” McArthur nearly gave himself whiplash as his head whipped to the view screen, then to the coms officer who silently mouthed ‘it was not me’, and then back to the strikingly attractive woman now occupying his view screen. And standing behind her... McArthur’s jaw momentarily went slack, but he recovered quickly, straightened his spine and looked her in the eye. “I am Grand Admiral Angus McArthur of the TNS Raezel, commander of the First Terran Imperial Armada. And you are?” The woman facing him smiled ever so slightly. “I am Grand Admiral Alice Fiona Komatsu,” she replied. “Aboard the Murder of Creation, commander of the Seventy-Fourth Fleet of the Grand Imperium of Sol.” “Grand Imperium?” McArthur asked incredulously. “It hasn’t been called that in – ” “Over five thousand years,” Admiral Komatsu finished for him. “I know.” “I...” McArthur stopped, gathered himself, and tried again, only to falter again. “We... What?” “I’m sure you have many questions,” Komatsu supplied. “For now, there are only a few answers that you need. In the last great war with the Enemy, we did not kill a single one of them. They sat safely in the background, sending genetically modified sentients to do their dirty work. They are a race of parasites that drift across the galaxy, scouring entire worlds of resources and lives. They have no real home, other than a colossal space craft that is home to every single member of their wretched species. And yes, that is the very same craft that is currently sitting smugly at the back of their line of battle. I have spent over a millennia bringing this day to pass, and I intend to avenge the billions of lives these perversions of nature have cost us by wiping their entire misbegotten species from the face of existence. You may stand with me or against me, the only difference is whether or not you’re still drawing breath five minutes from now.” McArthur stiffened. “As far as I’m aware, no ship in the Navy has ever fired in anger against another Navy ship. It’s a fine tradition, and not one I have any intention of breaking.” “It’s settled then,” Komatsu said, sounding slightly relieved. “Come then,” she continued, a ghoulish grin transforming her pretty face into the very spectre of Death. “It’s a fine day for a genocide, don’t you think?” The view screen blanked abruptly, and all eyes turned towards McArthur. “What are you staring at me for, you lollygaggers?” he snapped. “Get to work, provide Komatsu with fire support, and let’s see what those Second Dynasty behemoths can do!” Fifteen thousand ships of unimaginable power rocketed forward and slammed into the Enemy’s main formation. A fighter pilot witnessing the event would later describe it as being like watching the fist of an angry god smash into the Enemy. And yet, his metaphor contained one serious flaw: The might of any god any member of his audience could imagine paled in comparison to the fury that Komatsu’s fleet unleashed upon their enemy. Every single weapon on all fifteen thousand ships spewed for brilliant streams of death; beams of annihilation that tore through the Enemy fleet with stomach-churning ferocity. The vapour clouds of millions of exploding warships formed an ever expanding semi-sphere around the flotilla as it carved a path through the centre of the Enemy fleet, making a beeline for the command ship. The Enemy ships on either side of Komatsu’s cone of destruction didn’t take long to realize what was happening, and began to turn inwards, directing their fire onto Komatsu’s flanks. This must have seemed like quite a good idea for several minutes, until the full force of the First Terran Imperial Armada slammed into the Enemy’s now-unprotected flank and began tearing their ships apart with merciless abandon. It must have been clear to those aboard the command ship what was happening. It must have been just as clear that there was no chance to run. Komatsu’s fleet was moving too fast, by the time the command ship could alter course and begin to accelerate away, the fleet would be upon them. So they made the only decision anyone could make in such a situation: The Enemy leapt forward, weapons blazing in a last-ditch effort to wipe out those who sought to destroy their entire species. The command ship had over five thousand years since its last encounter with Second Dynasty dreadnoughts to improve its weapons systems, but so had Komatsu. And while she had focused purely on brutal, ugly firepower, the Enemy had at least learned from the savaging it had received from the Royal Imperial Navy’s longer range, and this disparity became quickly apparent as it opened fire from well outside Komtasu’s range. Aboard the Murder of Creation, Kagan and Alice sat together, arms around each other as they watched the carnage unfold on the bridge’s tactical plot. Unlike McArthur’s flagship, the Murder of Creation’s computers possessed more than enough computing power to render ever single ship surrounding them. Kagan’s eyes were locked on Admiral Komatsu, and it was only his intimate familiarity with her twin that allowed him to notice the slight quiver of her lip as one by one, her beautiful, unique warships began to die. Alice poked Kagan suddenly. “In the hanger, the Admiral called you old friend,” she whispered. “Have you met before?” “Of course not,” Kagan murmured back. “My family have served as Naval officers since the First Dynasty. She must be confusing me with one my ancestors she may have served with.” “Seems logical,” Alice replied. “In a convenient kind of way.” Kagan eyed his love suspiciously for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the Admiral. As irreplaceable dreadnought after irreplaceable dreadnought bloomed into fiery destruction, her anguish became more and more obvious, until, just as it seemed as though she would break into tears, a soft ‘ping’ disturbed the deathly silence aboard her bridge. “Optimal engagement range reached,” the flagship’s AI announced dispassionately. Admiral Komatsu inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly as her entire life’s work culminated in the utterance of one single word: “Fire.” For a moment, nothing happened. Then, silently, the bridge was bathed in a red glow from the tactical plot as the vengeance of a billion murdered souls reached across the cold vacuum of space and tore into their murderers. The enemy command ship twisted violently, bucking and twisting like a wild animal trying to free itself from an imbedded blade. And then, with shocking speed, its shields collapsed and Komatsu’s dreadnoughts ripped deep into its flesh, mercilessly tearing it to pieces. The Enemy command ship was far too large to merely explode, but the Murder of Creation and her sisters methodically carved it into pieces and proceeded to blow apart each piece until there was nothing left but an expanding cloud of vapour and scrap metal. Admiral Komatsu issued a series of brief, terse orders, and her fleet broke up into squadrons that linked up with Admiral McArthur’s fleet and systematically wiped out the remainder of the Enemy fleet. The “remainder” still consisted of several million vessels, and the cleanup took the better part of a day, but eventually, reports began coming in that all Enemy vessels had been destroyed. When final confirmation arrived from the most distant of the Murder of Creation’s sisters, Admiral Komatsu sagged against her command chair. “It is done,” she whispered. “It is finally done.” She took a deep breath, then stood, turned to face Alice, and of all the strange things in the universe she could have done, she saluted. “The Fleet is yours, Grand Admiral,” she said crisply. Alice frowned at her. “You’re the Grand Admiral, silly,” she replied, sounding slightly unnerved. “You’re tired and confused. Which is understandable. You have been having an awful lot of sex the last couple days. Wait. That was me. See how that works? We’re all different on the inside, even if we have the same delicious outside parts. You should go get some sleep before you start thinking you’re a watermelon. I know when I start thinking I’m a tropical fruit, that’s a sure sign something bad is about to happen. It usually involves three fish and a garden gnome, and let’s be honest, the galaxy has seen quite enough horrors for one day.” Admiral Komatsu’s lips turned upwards ever so slightly. “My mind is not playing tricks on me,” she said. “You are the first. Always have been. I apologize for the deception, but I felt it was necessary to fulfil the mission you tasked me with. I am of course willing to accept whatever disciplinary measures you feel are necessary.” “What?” Alice squeaked, casting her eyes helplessly around the bridge. “How? What? Why? What? Oh... cantaloupe!” ‘Admiral’ Komatsu smiled kindly. “Explanations are in order, of course,” she said soothingly. “You see, Fisher’s Syndrome was never really cured, per se.” She paused for a moment, seeming to relish the gasps of surprise and dismay coming from O’Shea and Saraea’s direction. “The ‘solution’ was clones. Clones implanted with cerebral uplinks to a central databank, to be precise. Thus, as far as the public was concerned the heroes of the Imperium would never die. The truth of course, was that they would die a great number of times, only to reawaken in a cloned body with the memories of everything up to and including the moment of their deaths. In hindsight, I suppose it was inevitable that this would drive them mad. Especially when one considers the fact that to avoid disconcerting shifts in their appearance, the heroes of the Imperium were routinely murdered and replaced with fresh clones.” “That’s rather fracking awful,” Alice put it. “Indeed,” her twin agreed. “I have noticed a tendency for those of this time to look back upon the Second Dynasty with rose-tinted goggles. But in truth, it was a brutal, repressive regime, whose only virtue was that it protected all that was good in humanity, along with all that was bad. But I digress. It was decided at the highest levels that the routine murdering of the ‘Immortals’ should be kept as much a secret as possible, even from most of the Immortals themselves. Many accepted their fates with quiet dignity, but you?” Komatsu grinned wolfishly. “You had other ideas. They dispatched a regiment of the Emperor’s finest to your door, and you single-handedly dispatched them to the afterlife. You then proceeded to gather up the entire Seventy Fourth Fleet, as well as forty thousand drone ships slaved to the Murder of Creation, and led a strike against the heart of the Enemy. Unfortunately, you were betrayed by the Emperor’s men and led into an ambush. Most of your fleet was lost, but you eventually escaped, even though it meant leaving many of your drone ships, and their sentient AIs, to die. Knowing that you would eventually succumb to Fisher’s Syndrome, you created clones of yourself, with orders to enhance and upgrade the fleet, while manipulating galactic events to bring the Enemy homeship into the open, so they could finally be destroyed.” “But... Then how did I wind up on a research station?” Alice wondered. “Abducted and brain wiped and all that nastiness.” Komatsu smiled. “You weren’t brain wiped, I assure you. That was just a convenient explanation for your Fisher’s Syndrome-induced amnesia. As for how you got onto that research station, I do not know. I do remember the day you left, however. You were discussion a new engine prototype with my predecessor, when you suddenly declared, ‘Frack this. You know what? I haven’t been laid in fifteen hundred years, gods dammit. Back in a bit’. And you must have had some itch to scratch, because that was thirty five hundred years ago. But it is nice to see that you somehow managed to reunite with your husband.” “Husband?” Alice exclaimed. “Um, we’re not married,” Kagan explained, almost apologetically. “General James Kagan,” Komatsu replied. “Commander-in-chief of the Mobile Infantry of the Grand Imperium of Sol. I hear you took out a small moon escaping from your would-be assassins.” “I have collected vast amounts of data confirming my analysis,” Komatsu informed him. “But that can wait until later. Right now, Admiral McArthur has been hailing us for several minutes, and I am awaiting orders from my admiral.” “We should probably leave,” Kagan suggested suddenly. “If we stay, there will be explanations, inquiries, investigations...” “Dissections, likely,” Fiona added. “Well!” Alice exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips. “I must say, I am morally opposed to being dissected. It’s almost a religious belief with me you know. So, Miss Komatsu, my orders are as follows. Take us away. Far, far away.” “Third star on the left, and straight on til morning?” Komatsu suggested, arching an eyebrow ever so slightly. “Oh, no,” Alice replied dismissively. “That would take us right into a black hole. Second star on the right will do just fine.” “As you wish, sir,” Komatsu replied. Aboard the TNS Raezel, Grand Admiral McArthur, commander of the First Terran Imperial Armada watched helplessly as eleven thousand of the mightiest warships he had ever seen flicked out of existence and into null-space. With his own ships still stranded by the vapour clouds, he was powerless to follow. As he sat aboard his flagship, surrounded by more death and destruction than any man should have to bear witness to, at the centre of the tomb of an entire species, one single question preyed on his mind, and refused to be dismissed. “What the hell was that?” The end. And I mean it this time. |
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