Recent history of Quadrant: Adamant 4

[dumbluck]

OOPS! I meant Wardad!!! Where did that come from???????

[Wardad]

dumbluck: Don't stop writing.
It's good intel

[TerranC]

Here's My shot at a story; please don't mock me, as I don't have the mind of a pulitzer winner.


As Fallon looked at the torrent weather from his dorm room on his homeworld, he could think nothing but this space race his race had entered into.

Fallon was a scholar in the Academy, where he was training to fly the latest fighters developed by Hypersonic Aeronautical labs, some of the finest research institutes for matters in physics, and aeronautical research and development, which included researching deadly fighters that could rip through hostile skies and satellite link-ups. From since day one of his life, Fallon was fascinated with all things flying. His first interest with birds made him an ace student in Nature and head student in a presentation about birds native to his continent in grade 10. Soon, he signed up for a doctorate in ornithology at the Washintowsky University, but he dropped out due to lack of interest.

What was interest to him were planes. Fighter planes, Fusion planes, Ordinary Jet planes, anything that flew and he could control, was of interest to him. After dropping out of the Washintowsky University, he quickly enrolled and enlisted at the Academy. It had no formal name, really, as the Federation denied the existence of a Full-fledged paramilitary program, but it was there, nonetheless, under the guise of training people for rescue patrols and jobs in the private sector. Fallon had no interest running courier for people, but he dreamed of piloting the fighters and “airboats”, aeronautical search and rescue platforms, for his nation, for the Federation.

But Fallon’s interests quickly ended planetside. He was one of the supporters of banning Ion Drives and Ion-drive equipped ship launches. He also condemned the use of Depleted Uranium cannons and Nuclear weapons in space, as anything used in space, it was sure to affect his planet. But even with strong sentiments, his group could not discourage space travel and development. Space fever grasped the countryside. Everybody was doing the “Spaceage” Dance. Anything commercial now had a space theme in it; and the colonizing of the nearby rock planet of Gillana 3 was heralded as the greatest achievements of their time. Space fever was in full force, and no political movement could stop it.

But he was soon put into a dilemma.

As Fallon progressed in the academy, word spread among recruiters in the Nation self-defenses forces and the commercial sector of his top score in the unbearable Gillana Gorge scenario, which had broken more than one cadet over time, and his aptitude in weapons control was deemed extraordinary. As the days approached to his graduation, a woman walked into his room, asking for Fallon Kronavesky.

Fallon answered the door. The woman described herself as Talon Cealto, an officer in the Federation Intelligence Service.

Fallon heard of the FIS, and wondered why they were named the “Intelligence service”. All they did was work as a planetary police service. Nothing like the ruthless former intelligence services of Nations long dead.

Fallon had an interest in history also, and he liked reading about past events such as the big food shortage and the Vertisan affair.

The FIS had come knocking once or twice before. Only to issue warnings about protesting responsibly, and not to disrupt daily life patterns anymore. They also broke up some of his protests that got out of hand, especially one fanatic began throwing homemade exothermic reaction devices; affectionately named Osomo Bombs.

The FIS officer began to speak. She began to speak in a hush-hush voice, telling Fallon of a secret project to launch a fully functioning interstellar vessel complete with a full set of Ion Engines and One Capital ship missile launcher, as they were called when they were used in space. They also began to talk about the launch date and the rate of construction, and that it would be finished in one month.

When Fallon asked her if she is telling this to him in order to scare him into silence about the protests, she said no, and said this simple sentence:

“The Federation wants you to pilot this vessel, following your graduation.”

Fallon became enraged by this offer, and politely asked the FIS officer to step out. The Officer stepped out apologizing about her remarks, but only asked him one favor:

“Please consider this offer. Our race’s survival depends on it.”

Then, she left into the elevator.

After calming down, he began to think about what she said, explicitly the Last sentence she said: “Our race’s survival depends on it.” What did she mean? What is so disturbing that the Federation wouldn’t tell its citizens? Why did they choose me?

Then, he decided to accept the offer, not to be a pundit, but to find out what’s going on.

As Fallon looked at the torrent weather from his dorm room on his homeworld, he could think nothing but this space race his race had entered into, only to realize that this space race is anything but a race.

[ May 23, 2002, 01:01: Message edited by: TerranC ]

[dumbluck]

"So, how is he?"

"Not good. The concussion bLast alone broke 14 of his ribs, along with his left arm. It also likely resulted in complete but temporary loss of hearing, although I expect him to recover it somewhat. Also..."

"Somewhat," asked a different speaker.

"There will be significant hearing loss in his left ear; he'll recover no more than 25%. But his right ear will most likely recover at least 75% of it's perceptive ability, and possibly up to 95%. More importantly..."

"And the burns," inquired another.

The doctor looked a bit perturbed at the continual interruptions, but replied, "The burns are quite extensive. Approximately 50% of his body has 3rd degree burns; we had to use neo-tissue transplants to replace most of the destroyed areas of tissue. There will be quite a bit of disfigurement, and no small amount of continual pain for ... about 6 months, until the neo-tissue has been completely assimilated by his body."

"When can he return to duty?"

The doctor sighs. "I don't know." A murmur of concern sweeps over the room as he continues. "He is in a coma. Now, rest assured, we are working 'round the clock to try to rouse him. I know that we are in a critical stage right now, and I know that he can't be away a moment longer than necessary. However, sometimes the body will shut down the mind to give itself time to heal. I ... I can't make any accurate predictions about his recovery time in that respect. And there is one more thing. The burning propellant.... it invaded his ventral jets. There was extensive damage. He will need several more surgeries, but... but the damage was quite extensive. I really don't know how much mobility can be restored."

Commadore Xidan slowly swayed from side to side as the shock of the situation sunk in. "A coma?"

"Yes ma'am. His vitals look good, so I don't think we are in any real danger of losing him, but I really can't say when he will be able to return to his duties."

"And Commadore Nivax?"

"The Research Minister's wounds," replied the doctor, "were quite severe. The concussion bLast amputated his right arm, and crushed most of the bones in his body. The burning propellant... well, ... there was nothing we could do. He expired late Last night."

A long, painful silence filled the room. Finally, Commador Xavan looked around the table. No one met her eyes. "Thank you for your report doctor. Dismissed."

Xavan watched the doctor jet out of the conference room, watched the door slide shut with a soft *click*. Then her expert eye surveyed the other Ministers gathered at the table. Still, no one would meet her gaze. They knew the task that lay before them, and none of them liked it. Admiral Cavix was a strict but beloved taskmaster. Commadore Nivax had always had a joke to lighten a tense moment; now his empty chair only added sorrow to this dreadful occasion.

Xavan, as second in command, opened the meeting. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure you all know why we are here, but for the record, I must inform you of the reason this emergency meeting was called. We are here due to the incapacitation of Admiral Cavix, and it is our duty, as a group, to lead our forces.

"By unfortunate chance, command has fallen on our shoulders. If Admiral Cavix recovers and is allowed to return to duty, this burden shall fall from us. But if he does not, then we must carry on, and follow the mandate set forth for this Expeditionary Force by High Command. Are there any questions?"

Silence was her only reply. "All right. Our first order of business, then, is the vacant position of Research Minister...

[dumbluck]

Images and sensations swirled through his mind like delicate vapor tendrals stirred by a gentle breeze. He grasped desperately for stability, for perspective, for continuity. But try as he might, he had no more success than if he were grasping at the vapor tendrals, and the cacophony of noise in his mind continued unabated.

The smell of burning flesh...

"This is our prototype missle system. It uses a new propellant..."

His breath is crushed from his chest by the shockwave...

Commadore Nivax, flashing his winning smile...

"5...4...3...2..."

Nivax, writhing in agony, his entire body covered with brilliant orange flames....

The realization that this is it, the end, his death...

A searing, burning pain more intense than anything he has ever felt before....

The brilliant flash as the missle casing disintigrates right in front of them....

"... The warhead is disarmed for the test...."

A *BOOM* so loud, it shook his every bone, his every organ, his every cell....

Head spinning.... still can't catch my breath....

"....We'll be test-firing it today, if you would like to observe..."

The wail of emergency sirens, which seem oddly distant, muted....

"...1...ignition..."

Darkness. Utter darkness. No, wait, I'm not ready! There is light, a veiled light. And .... sounds? Harsh, rythmic sounds, very very quiet. Not distant, almost as if there is something over my ears... The veiled lights, the swirling veiled lights....

Suddenly, recognition stuck. Admiral Cavix was peering intently at the inside of his eyelids. He opened them, and gazed up at the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life: the drab ceiling of a hospital ICU ward. He heard the faint yet steady *beep*... *beep*... *beep*... of medical equipment. His heart raced in exaltation at the realization that he was alive. The nurse checking his chart noticed the heart monitor's increased rate immediately.

"Admiral! You're awake! Just lie still now, everything is allright." Her voice seemed muted. As Cavix began to take in his surroundings, he noticed that everything seemed very muted. He could only just make out the steady beeps of the monitoring equipment off to his right. The whole world seemed to be holding it's breath.

He shifted his head, and looked around the room. The nurse had turned away for a moment, and was obviously talking excitedly into her comm unit....except that he couldn't hear her. It's not that he couldn't make out the words, but that he couldn't hear her voice at all, not even the rustle of a whisper.

Other than the nurse and the miriad of medical equipment, the room was empty. The walls were the same drab off-white as the ceiling. No texturing, no pictures, no windows. No table, no chairs.

He tried to ask "Where am I", but his throat was so dry that he could utter not a sound. He tried to raise up, to grab the nurses arm to get her attention. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. A touch of panic entered his mind, and his heart skipped a beat. This got the nurse's attention.

"The doctor will be here in a moment. Just lie still, you're in good hands." He realized that she looked as if she were shouting, yet he could barely hear her. His lower extremeties began to throb with a dull pain.

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more to come....

[dumbluck]

So, any opinions so far? Any other history lessons from my fellow game members? (After all, why should I be the only one giving away valuable Intel? )

[dumbluck]

Well, I guess not. I suppose I am writing this purely for my own enjoyment, then.