Recent history of Quadrant: Adamant 4

[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.

-----

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? )

[Wardad]

EARS UP! Packleader Snarf eyed the troops and they looked tough and sharp. Their ears and back bone were properly pointed to the Heavens, the front paws held together in prayer, weight balanced on the hinds, tail properly curled , and the butt off the ground. Snarf conitinues, I am proud of your progress, your dedication, and your unquestioning devotion to duty. You have been told you were training with traditional melee weapons for the Imperial honor guard. Who ever believes it can take a big step back, the silent may stay. Today we will be briefed by Talma from internal security.
Snarf was rattled when he first saw his former *****. Five years of family service with her is enough for anyone he mulled. In the Masters name, why do we have to work together? It’s just not policy. Then thought of her Master Thesis rose like a cold chill up his spine.
Talma addressed the Pack. K9s! Today you will engage in ritual combat with a fierce enemy for the greater glory of the Big Dog bloodline. The enemy you face is disciplined, cunning, and thrice the dog you are. Their boast of 1 for 5 gives us a slim advantage. Their PSI bark is worse than their bite, but each of you have been selected for your thick headed resistance. You will be facing gifted Dobermans, not the legendary Dobermonsters and you will not need silver bullets. Officially the combat will never have happen and you will report a clash with devolutionist backsliders. Questions?
How can this be, Barked one soldier? We are the gifted. How can there be honor in combat with the ungifted. Talma answers, We are thrice gifted and we continue the Masters work with the lessor gifted.
We must fight them at their level of development for the sake of honor and respect from their leader.
This is wrong! Protested another. The Masters loved us! Talma suck in her breath and barely muttered, the Masters loved sheep too. Instantly Snarf was on her, at her throat, and on top. She lay back submissively and piddled. Snarf growled lowly, no heresy in front of the troops. Snarf was secretly elated by her public submission. Snarf then looked at her guards still standing rigid and slowly realized he had been played. The guards smiled at him knowing that the troops would now defend Talma to the death. Snarf would have to continue the briefing, and by doing so implicate himself.
SNARF, barked the commander, Finish the briefing, and the head for the bath, we can’t have a corpse smelling of *****. Snarfs ears jumped, he was really rattled now. Talma chimed in, There is not enough time for the drying track, a blow dry would look better for the cameras don’t you think. The commander said, Do it Snarf and that’s an order.
Snarf finished the briefing and headed off to the baths. Inside Snarf was sulking, a BATH, a fluffy blow dry, before battle, and in front of cameras. He swore Talma will pay for this.

-------------------------------------------------
We live for the walk, we die for the walk.

[geoschmo]

Well done. I imagine it's not easy writing from the point of view of a Canine race like that. My stories all end up sounding like humnans even when I am trying to write about non-humans.

Geo

[dumbluck]

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

[Unknown_Enemy]

I like these story.

Good work.

In fact I just registered to congratulate dumbluck about them....

[dumbluck]

Admiral Daxin Cavix fidgeted in his seat. What a novel concept. His seat. He had never "sat" before Last week. No one had, for that matter. Now that's all he ever did. Sit. But he had to be able to move about; he would not allow himself to be a cripple, to be destitute. He refused to admit even to himself that without his hoversled, that's exactly what he was.

What a monstrosity! A metal contraption, painted red, custom designed and constructed to allow him to jet around "just as if nothing had happened!" Bah! He was still struggling to master these bLasted controls! There were already several scuffs and scratches in that forsaken red paint. He had no doubt that there would be several more before he became proficient in it's use.

"How are you getting on with the hoversled, sir?"

Commodore Xavan had come "just to see how you were doing", but he knew the real purpose of her visit: he was being evaluated. High Command had to determine whether he could still perform his duties as Expeditionary Force Commander, and Xavan was his judge. The logical choice, of coarse; she was the highest ranking of his ministers. That didn't make being evaluated by a junior any more pleasant, of coarse. "Well", he silently growled, "let's see just how well my evaluation is going."

As he did a quick and nearly perfect figure eight around the room, he lied, "Quite well, actually. I couldn't wait to get my arm cast off so that I could start working with it. This machine is a beauty to control. I could almost do it in my sleep." He was lucky, twice during his little exhibition he nearly lost control and careened into a wall. But Xavan seemed quite impressed.

"I didn't think that you would be getting around so well, so soon. Congratulations, sir. And how is your side doing?"

"It is still rather tender; I still have to take the painkillers every once in a while. Doctor Haxen says that 3 of my ribs are still fractured, but that all are healing nicely." He flashes her a conspiratory grin. "He's also quite pleased with himself regarding how little the disfigurements from the neotissue are manifesting. He says that within 3 months they won't even be noticable."

A moment of awkward silence follows, as Xavan seems unsure of how to end the conversation. Cavix realizes that his chance has come. "You know, the doctor's don't let me get much news in here. They seem to think that the universe has stopped turning, and won't start up again until they say so. How's everything going out there?"

Xavan's discomfort becomes even more evident on her face; which says a lot, considering that she is his Political Minister. He knows why, of coarse. Since he is on a Medical Relief of Duty, he technically isn't the EFC right now. Therefore, since most of the strategic info is "need to know", and he doesn't currently need to know... He has put her in a moral quandary. That was his intention, of coarse. How much information she is willing to divulge is a good indication of how likely she is to report that he is capable of continuing in his command role to High Command.

"Honestly, sir, I really shouldn't tell you anything. As you well know, our Strategic Readiness Status is classified..."

"Oh, I know that." He gives her an understanding smile, trying to set her doubts asside. "I'm not asking for specifics, of coarse, just a feel of the situation," he countered. "Come on, Xavan," he silently pleaded, "trust me".

"Well..." Xavan looked at him, torn between loyalty to her Commander and her orders. For a brief moment she wavered in indecision, her hover becoming erratic as she tottered between two opposing forces in her life. It wasn't the first time that Cavix had "bent the rules", so to speak. She considered it a bad precedent to set, but... Suddenly she came to a decision.

"We're doing very well. Our orbital construction platform network is fully operational, and our Scout ships have begun reconnaissance in the surrounding systems. Preliminary reports are in line with the initial Intel reports on the quadrant. Overall, we are on schedule."

Cavix smiled warmly, putting on his most friendly air. "Thanks. It's good to know that everything is in your capable hands." He found out what he wanted to know. He knew she would send a favorable report about his condition. High Command would likely follow her recommendation; sending a new Command Level unit to this distant quadrant would be difficult, and inefficient. And it would be a waste. He knew he could still fulfill his duties. It was his sole reason for existence. If he weren't in command, what else would he do?

[dumbluck]

Thanks. At least I know that a few people actually like my stories...

ummm... what does your signature mean????

[capnq]

"In his house in R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming." It's a quote from H.P. Lovecraft's "The Call of Cthulhu".

The second line is "Hail! Hail! Chthulhu dreams!", although to be picky, it's usually spelled "Ia!" (Or even "Ïa!", if you want to be really picky.