The station warning broadcasted over Freya's chronocom causes Cymon to reflexively snarl. The battle for Charon Tavis had begun and every advantage was the enemy's. Cymon is surprised to notice his fellow Yazirian so subdued in the face of losing his fellow crew mates and with them the cause Chamra was pledged to. His fingers go to his own communicator.
"Come in, OTTO! Report the status of the ship and the level. Provide numbers of attackers. Where on your level they entered, how armed, and descriptions.... ARE THESE DOGHAN WARRIORS? And how is the attack progressing? Are the defenders holding their own? What are other vessels in dock doing?
The tinny sound of OTTO's voice is piped over the chronocom speaker. "Vessel is secured and security systems armed. Elevated activity on deck three - personnel running about are visible on my monitors. Sensors indicate powerplants are warming up on six of the ships nearby. No reports on status of Chamra or his faction. Security computer confirms intruders on decks two and three. No word on casualties. I'm experiencing difficulty communicating with the main computer - my only theory is that multiple users are attempting to gain or keep control. Video feed is scant as cameras are going offline - I'm feeding you the little remaining video footage near the action."
The screen on Cymon's chronocom comes to life with images of Yazirians dressed in motely pirate garb fighting furiously to repel attackers off-screen. Bright bolts of energy are traded in quick succession, leaving the hallways scorched with burn-marks. The pirates can be seen slowly backing away, retreating to more defensible positions around a distant corner. Soon crouched figures lope into the screen, three at first, laying down a wave of suppressing gunfire. One of them blasts an overhead lighting console, sending them into darkness. In the gloom tiny twin orbs of light can be seen floating about where their eyes should be. One of the pairs turns to the camera, a flash of light erupts, and the feed goes dead.
"Grachaak!!", Cymon yells, sending echoes ringing off the metal walls of the water treatment plant where Cymon and Freya have found a makeshift airlock where none should be. Information. It is the lifeblood for a scientist. And they were hemorraging information. It would slip away if they didn't act quickly. Seeing the images from OTTO, it only takes Cymon a moment to realize that heading to the third level is going to be difficult... perhaps impossible.
"Honored Freya, the Doghan are not attacking Charon Tavis to stop Chamra. They are attacking Charon Tavis to stop us. If they are on the third level, then they will be seeking the Vercingetorix, as well as its crew. Our return to that level may well be suicide."
"If you are correct, then the task force assigned to us by Chamra may also be in jeopardy. Depressurizing the entire launch bay area may greatly hinder the Doghan attack."
Cymon turns back to his chronocom. "OTTO, analyze the attack patterns of the Doghan. Where does the attack appear to be originating from? Upon what vital functions is the Doghan force directing its assaults? What are likely targets on the third and second levels, were such an assault continue? At the current rate of attack, please predict how long before the station is under Doghan control."
"Attacks seem concentrated on decks two and three. Heavy fighting around guard station on deck two as well as the tunnels leading to the flight control room on deck three. No theories on source of incursion - there are no unsecured corridors around these areas, yet they are being invaded without warning. Tactical assessment suggests invasion force hopes to secure main computer and flight computer. This reflects standard containment measures. Attrition objective would be to destroy reactors on deck four. Intelligence objective would be to secure radio rooms on deck one. Since neither of these targets are in current danger, enemy may be trying to capture station for their own purposes. No information on numbers or casualties. All elevators are out of commission. Update coming inÉheavy fighting near the portside solid fuel depot. Robots seen working with invaders."
The discovery of a launch tube, an unauthorized launch, and the body of Freya's one-time assistant have left them in shock, even before the news of the attack. "We must hurry. Our best clues are the ones before us." Cymon feels the awkwardness of the moment, but proceeds as his profession dictates, producing his medical c.a.s. and gently inspecting the body for clues as to the cause of death. While waiting for Cymon's diagnosis, Freya orders the SpyEye to monitor the passages leading to their current location.
<<
The c.a.s. blinks slowly as it is passed over the body until the
readout goes green. Cymon is not at all happy to see the results. "It
is as I feared. The unfortunate is infected with the Moon G virus.
Late stages, and perhaps the Delta or Epsilon varieties. Our Rubadel
is likewise afflicted, yet somehow survives."
"How long ago?", Freya asks.
"Within the last several hours. Certainly more recently than the
time of his last transmission. The virus is related to the Doghan
transformation somehow, and this makes this one believe that the
Doghan on this station were being created here. The attack comes
too swiftly and in great surprise. Not from without, but from
within. The station is soon to be lost."
Cymon proceeds with the grim task of searching the body for useful
items.
Cymon finds:
toolbelt with all the tools from a standard Techkit
Mechanical-C.A.S.
i.d. card
Crimson Pirate patch
46 credits
vibroknife without clip (hidden in boot)
deck of marked Yazirian playing cards
holovid chip
3 packs of condensed Burlu, a Yazirian spice purported to be a strong
Aphrodisiac
The toolbelt and mechanical c.a.s. are passed to Freya, who adds
them to his equipment harness without a word.
"Perhaps there is some evidence as to what your fellow was
examining. His c.a.s. may have a memory or log of his activities."
As Freya activates the c.a.s., Cymon comes across a deck of Yazirian
playing cards and a holovid chip. Cymon plugs the chip into his
computer-access computer, hoping to get a rough idea of what the
chip contains by viewing its data on the tiny screen. His fingers flip
through the cards, hoping to gleen more clues. He smiles.
"I am not much of a card player, but it seems your friend was a
cheat." Cymon holds up a face card, clearly marked with an 'X' on
one corner. Cymon continues, flipping through the entire deck until
one catches his attention. Cymon holds it up for Freya to see. "Any
idea what THESE mean?"
Freya takes the card. Ten little marks are drawn across the top in
counting style followed by clumsy Gnarsh characters spelling out
'Ardua', a common Yazirian name. At the bottom of the card is
written '294701083274'.
"I don't know about the writing, but this number is the correct
protocol for an access code here on the station. I can't be sure what
the code activates, however."
Cymon is about to speak when sounds from his c.a.c. get his
attention. "Perhaps the chip will give us an ideaÉa recorded
message, perhaps." Looking down at the tiny screen, he sees images
of naked, nubile Yazirian girls frolicking to the sounds of moaning,
giggling, and terrible Yazirian lounge music. "Well, your friend had a
healthy libido, as well!"
Freya lays a hand on the body, not so much a gesture of respect as
detached curiosity. "Odd, how a body once considered a 'who' is now
considered a 'what' when the vital energies running it are depleted"
The engineer notes the loss of the technician without remorse...at
least not in the true sense of the word. Unless the station was held,
finding
and training a replacement would hardly be an issue.
Cymon points at the floor, indicating skid marks that run from the
door to the launch. "It is clear that Slov was dragged here. Why is
unclear, however. For the moment, let us refrain from contacting
Vega. If he is on the station, he will have to return here soon, since
this one doubts he has an agreement with the Doghan. They work at
cross purposes."
Freya interjects, "The reality of Slov's infection and current
location creates physical link
between the bounty hunter and the Doghan. However, that hypothesis
contradicts our earlier assertion. This suggests that the situation
is more complex than we imagined." After a pause he adds in a
mutter, "At least Slov wasn't a traitor." He glances at the
improvised airlock, suppressing a strange sense that he had been
personally violated.
Cymon plays back the information on Vega, cooly regarding the
information. Streaming in through the newly tweaked electronics of
his advanced chronocom and helm-link, the information arrives in a
manner mimicking actual thought or memory. "It seems our Mr. Vega
has acted within the bounds of his profession, being a registered
bounty hunter with the GTF. He is also an worthy foe. Still, this one
hopes that we can put one black mark on his otherwise impressive
record." he says.
Turning to Freya, he inquires "How long ago was this launch engaged?
Do you have any indication of where the hatch to the exterior of the
station may be? Try calling up the i.d. for the launch to get OTTO to
trace it."
Freya hops into the open cockpit and begins examining the command
console. His fingers fly like a flash, calling up information. "I'm
showing a registration fileÉ.patching in with OTTO and feeding him
the information." A cursory examination yields the answers he
sought. "Based on current thruster temperatures and simplified
thermal dissipation, the launch was operated within the past eight
hours. A more precise estimate would require detailed analysis of
the control system. The answer to your second query can be found
here..." Freya hands Cymon
his c.a.s. Charon Tavis is displayed on the screen, the improvised
dock and projected exit point are outlined in rapidly blinking red.
"Quite simply, this 'tube' is the bay they used to dock and
pressurize. It must have been spot-welded into place after the hull
was breached. The door at the end of the tube leads to deep space."
OTTO's voice once again rings off the metal walls of the launch tube.
"Launch registration numbers place it in the ownership of one Victor
de la Vega and attached to the FCS Tiamat. It is overdue for a
thruster replacement according to manufacturer records, but it is
conceivable that modifications may have been made without
notification to the UPF Flight Bureau."
Cymon continues, "Can this launch indicate the manifest from its
last foray? Perhaps there is a log of its shuttle flight indicating
where it went and a videolog of its contents."
Freya nods, acknowledging the simple wisdom of Cymon's request.
The mental power expended in analyzing vast quantities of data,
combined with the heightened readiness required for combat were
taxing his system to the limit. "I'll attempt a direct query and
explore the...'backdoors' if that fails. Although exact details may be
vague, I can approximate the number of lifeforms aboard by
analyzing life support load conditions and thruster propellant usage.
Your help in projecting the atmospheric needs of organics will be
vital to my analysis."
A quick check shows no traps or modifications an unauthorized user
would want to be aware of. Freya taps away at the launch's
computer. "The flight recorder indicates six trips back and forth
from the Tiamat, but no records of any cargo or personnel."
"Yes, and I can tell from this oxygen report that the shuttle made its
first trip with a full complement, ten life forms. Every trip after
that has only had one life form, except for the last one, which had
three aboard."
Cymon's mind works furiously over their options. "We may need to
have OTTO take the ship out of dock. Amid the confusion, it may get
away. He was certainly able to maneuver the ship on Exib, and under
considerable stress. We can reconnoiter via this launch...and hope
that we can find our companions..." Only now does Cymon realize he
is speaking through bared fangs.
Seemingly oblivious to the Cymon's fierce countenance, several
seconds pass as Freya stands silent, motionless. Abruptly he begins
speaking, "OTTO is fully capable of independent flight, within
limited parameters. However, the airlock and outer doors are
controlled from the station's bridge. We must regain control of the
station's main computer, or at least the flight computer on deck 3."
"Also, there are several elements you should consider. Vessels of
this class have extremely limited thruster capacity and are not
designed for extended maneuvering. Further, this particular launch
is employed by a bounty hunter, it may be 'booby-trapped'. Once
outside, we would be in an extremely vulnerable position, at risk
from hostile ships and possibly the station's own defenses. A rapid
rendezvous with OTTO would be imperative. Another consideration
should be mentioned: Vega is still aboard the station, several of
your companions may also be."
"Freya, at the very least, would it not be a good idea to likewise
warm up OTTO's engines? Others are doing so, and if a flight is
needed, better to be ready. As for complex piloting, can you not do
that remotely with your CAS? Forgive this one, but piloting is not a
skill this one possesses, and your abilities lean much more in that
arena."
"I will have OTTO initiate the pre-flight warm-up."
"It seems, honored Freya, that our bounty hunters are quite adept at
entering one of the most closely guarded stations in the Frontier."
Freya nods, "Indeed. There is little doubt that they had...I believe the
phrase is 'inside help'". This shuttle may also be equipped with some
form of stealth technology.
"Freya," Cymon drops the pretense of formality, "is it safe to
transmit this information to Chamra?"
"If the Doghan are storming the upper levels the subspace radio room
can't be too far out of reach. However, in all the confusion they may
not notice. There is no way of knowing for sure."
"Even our own communicades have been compromised. OTTO, has the
human designated as Vega attempted to use any of the crew's
chronocoms to access any other channels? Can you trace his current
location from that information? Can you determine where he was
communicating?"
"There are no records of illegal or unidentified communications over
the secure channels you prescribed earlier. All activity of late has
been limited to communications between this unit and yourself,
Freya Grraf'Tzak, and the station computer as requested. New
secured channel is in place. I have traced Vega's transmissions to
Mr. Patrou's chronocom, located in the storage area known as the
'Junkyard' on deck 7. His location is indicated on your chronocom."
(OOC: check the map for deck 7 - it is the room with the yellow dot
in it)
Freya looks up from the launch's console to train his goggled eyes on
Cymon. "Our decision must be swift: do we continue searching for
your companions, fight to defend the station, or utilize the shuttle
to escape?" Freya pauses a moment, then adds "I can provide
pertinent analysis if you wish..."
Cymon wipes a dribble of slobber from his lips. It is a yazirian
characteristic when excited, one that humans seem to somehow find
distasteful. Thankfully there were just the two Yazirians present to
witness the event, and he again addresses his companion.
"We may be able to use its computer to hack the Tiamat, and learn
from it whether our comrades are already aboard. It seems apparent
that our comrades, or at least some of them, are there. Thus getting
them back here would involve TWO trips for the launch. We will have
to get them from the Tiamat, or take the vessel ourselves. This may
be the best of possible outcomes. The Tiamat may be the way to
penetrate Scree Fron unnoticed. A bounty hunter in the employ of
their enemies... he would have clearances and perhaps travel
unchallenged.""
Freya pauses in his work turning to Cymon and favoring him with
another silent nod. Again the healer had parted the mists and
revealed what should have been obvious. The pirate adds, "Perhaps
giving this bounty hunter your true story would also be helpful. His
record indicates a disposition toward justice and it is possible that
he is unaffiliated with the enemy we now face. However, you are a
far better judge in that arena than I."
"I will attempt to do as you ask, but the odds of success will be
limited...unless I...meditate. In that state I may be able to bypass the
ship's security systems, but at a cost. The effects would deprive me
of effective combat skills for several minutes. The SpyEye and
robots will be placed under your control. In an emergency, I will end
the effort if you speak the name of your ship."
"Please begin your attempt, and this one will do the best to keep you
safe while you are indisposed", Cymon replies, feeling a little
unsettled at the request.
Freya hunches over the launch's computer console, strangely avoiding
the chair and leaning over so he is not visible from outside the
launch. Kneeling before the console, his hands fly across the
system's input devices, preparing for the coming effort. Seconds
later, Freya's swift motions subside and he looks toward Cymon.
"Our lives are in your hands." With that simple statement the
pirate's gaze drops and his body becomes rigid, his attention turning
away from all outer distractions.
Storage Room - Exact Location Unknown - Time
Unknown
http://www.swmed.edu/home_pages/personal/krishna/det2551/mw
2_4.ram
The dim green overhead light is little comfort to the three prisoners
sweating out their sentences in the wooden crates they've found
themselves in. Ruby is beside himself with anticipation at their
release. The only problem is devising it.
"So, Mrylinax, Marcus, do you two have any ideas on how we can get
out of these smeggin' boxes? The only thing I can think of is for one
of us to force the box off the edge and down the seventy meters.
Just one tiny problem, it would likely kill the person who goes off
the edge. I don't suppose a place like this would have any saftey
mechanisms to prevent the extreme damage, but would still allow
the box to be cracked open? I am thinking that this StaPut drug
which is preventing me from stretching, should be running loosing
its effectivness soon. I think I'm just going to sit quiet for awhile
and concentrate on growing another limb, unless you
guys have any ideas. The smeghead who put me here is going to pay!"
"Listen you guys," Marcus says in all seriousness. "If we ever run
into Berdax, Myrlinax can have him. And Ruby, if you ever find
someone with whom you need to settle a personal score, I won't get
in the way. But this Victor de la Vega is mine."
Mrylinax snorts in approval. "Sounds fine to me . . .but let's meet him
on OUR terms. . ."
Marcus grits his teeth in silent rage, thinking about the pompous
bounty hunter and his veiled threats. The only thing they had to their
advantage was that Vega presumably wanted to fight with him. That
was fortunate, since he would be freed eventually and his sword
returned to him. At that point, it would only be a matter of defeating
Vega in personal combat after which he could free his comrades. But
he preferred to meet Vega on his feet, rather than waiting for the
bounty hunter to free him. Perhaps it was a matter of pride. In any
case, he wasn't about to take the chance that the bounty hunter
might not return.
As if in answer to the futility of the situation, Marcus continues to
slam against the side of the box in which he is confined. With every
impact, the crate inches closer and closer to the edge of its
precipice, a sheer drop of seventy feet.
Mrylinax starts getting nervous watching Marcus moving his box.
"Taking one of these babies off the edge and into the floor below
doesn't sound like a good solution ta me. Hey, Ruby . . cantcha
squeeze outa the box? From the outside, these shouldn't be too hard
to crack open. We'll figure out how to get down later. . ."
Ruby sighs. "That Staput drug seems to eliminate any elastic
properties a Dralasite body normally possesses. I merely feel
sluggish and heavy."
Without anything else to do, Mrylinax likewise begins pounding on
the boards of the crate again, trying not to think about the
consequences of shifting the box too much. The regular rhythm of
the blows soon begins to overwhelm all other sounds in the room.
Meanwhile, Ruby sits quietly in his box, trying hard to meditate,
turning ids attention inward in an attempt to regain control over ids
body's composition. Id can feel the Staput drug still at work within
id. Id's limbs feel thick, id's form feels sluggish. 'How horrible to
be stuck in such a static shape', Ruby thinks to idself, 'how do the
other races tolerate this feeling?' The exercise makes id acutely
aware of the background noise of the voices in ids head, as well as
the frustration id is feeling at being imprisoned. Before long Ruby
has inadvertantly shut out all outside sensory information. How id
does this id isn't sure, but id is alone now. Alone inside ids head
with the voices.
"Rubyself. Rubyself. Rubyself." The voices grow from a faint
whisper to a steady, chanting chorus of voices, all speaking the
same words in unison. The chorus is made up of a thousand different
voices, all speaking with different accents and represented by all
the major races of the Frontier, but Dralasite primary among them.
If Ruby concentrates, id can pick out individual voices that are
familiar to id, voices of all the people id had met over the years. A
shudder runs through Ruby as id thinks of faces long gone, friends
past and present, all talking to id now without making sense.
"Rubyself..."
"Yeah, I'm here. Whaddya want anyways?"
"The Rubyself is altered. The Rubyself must deliver the WE to its
destiny. The whole must be joined together in the home of the WE."
"I don't know what the frag you're talking about! You've been
blathering on about the 'whole' and your home since you started
speaking to me. What's going on? Who are you? How in Morgaine's
Rings am I going to get free of you? Am I insane?"
"Rubyself mind is whole. Rubyself body is tainted. Rubyself body is
the vessel for the WE for the return and for the battle."
"I KNOW my body's tainted - first a virus and then a paralytic. Great.
Now I'm some sort of public transportation for a pack of voices.
What war are you talking about?"
"The WE was the IX. The IX was the WE. The Ix is the THEM. The
THEM must become the IX again. The WE must become the IX again."
"The IX? I don't understand."
"It is time, Rubyself. It is time to prepare for the war."
"WHAT WAR?!"
http://www.swmed.edu/home_pages/personal/krishna/det2551/stg
en_10-1.ram
"It is time to enlist the soldiers of the WE. Rubyself is the vessel.
Rubyself is the Golahn....NOW!"
Ruby feels a strange burning sensation throughout ids body. Ids
tissues grow warmer and warmer until as if on fire. The voices are
silent now, but the sounds are replaced with a low and ominous hum
that grows steadily to a roar like a hurricane within ids mind. Ruby
can't help but feel terrified by the experience, but there is no
denying it.
"Rrrrrrrrgglllglgghglhglg...."
Marcus breaks off his conversation with Mrylinax as he hears a
strange noise coming from Ruby's crate. "What the hell....Ruby!
What's going on over there? Do you hear that noise?"
There is no response. Mrylinax shuffles his feet nervously at the
silence. "Friend Marcus, we have been told there are strange beasts
lurking in the depths of this station. Perhaps these crates will
serve as a refuge as well as a prison."
"RRRRRRRGHGHGHGHGH!!!" The sound resumes even louder now with a
deeper timber. It fills the vastness of the warehouse space, echoing
off the far-reaching walls. It builds to the sound of a tempest,
climbing to a screech, then plummeting to a windy roar. If Marcus or
Mrylinax could get their hands free they'd be covering their ears for
the noise. Over it all can be heard the bone-rattling blows of
something striking what sounds like wood.
Marcus and Mrylinax stare through the cracks in the boards to see
Ruby's crate being shook to its seams. Each one stares incredulously
as they see a faint light emanating from the box, a deep red glow
like the embers of a dying fire. All of a sudden, one side of the box
erupts in a shower of splinters. One of Ruby's pseudopods, swollen
like a balloon, can be seen thrusted out of the whole left behind.
Seconds later id's head stretches and peers out, ids eyespots burning
dark red. Whatever id is, for the moment id is not Ruby.
"By the den!", Mrylinax whispers as he watches the malformed shape
of Ruby slither out of the box. The Dralasite seems to quiver for a
second, a visible ripple travelling through ids pulsing, unstable
figure. After a moment's pause, id turns ids eyespots in their
direction and begins to approach.
Marcus is the first to react. "RUBY! Ruby, can you hear me? This is
Marcus! Talk to me - what's going on inside you?"
"Cripes! He's coming right at us! What the hell do you think he
wants!?"
Ruby doesn't answer. Instead, id marches right up to Marcus' box and
raises a single pseudopod. Like some nightmarish vision, id's fingers
stretch out in a wide arc until they form one huge claw. The claw
closes on the side of the box, sending fingers into the box from every
side, then in one motion wrenches the side off with ease.
Marcus staggers out of the box, staring suspiciously at the Dral,
waiting to see ids intentions. Wordlessly, Ruby proceeds to the
other box and does the same thing, extending another huge claw and
tearing off a side of the box as if it were rice paper. Mrylinax
shuffles out of the box, his feet still bound. He is overjoyed and
horrified all at once.
"Um....Ruby? Is that you? What're you going to do with us now?"
Again, the form of Ruby doesn't answer. Id looks one way, then the
other, inspecting ids comrades like id was a machine. The long,
scythe-like fingers whip out in a flash and the bonds holding the
Human and the Humma fall to the floor. In an instant ids fingers
retract to normal size. Ruby collapses to the floor. Marcus and
Mrylinax rush to ids side.
"Mryli, check around to see if there's someone guarding us... look for
our gear or any way to contact the others. I'll check Ruby."
Mrylinax disappears into the darkness, leaving Marcus to tend to the
fallen Dralasite. Ruby raises ids head to reveal that ids eyes are
now back to normal.
"Ruby? You okay, friend? Talk to me - you aren't acting normal.",
Marcus presses.
Ruby's voice falters. "I...I don't know. I think we got company."
Aboard the FCS Tiamat - 1200 hours
http://www.swmed.edu/home_pages/personal/krishna/det2551/mw
2_7.ram
Pulsing red light washes over the four figures crowded into the
cluttered machine shop of the Tiamat's lower deck. At the front of
the party, Groo strains his eyes to make out the details of the
otherwise gloomy surroundings. Behind him their female prisoner,
still tangled and strapped to V'Sndyk's back, looks on in contempt.
Ty, on the other hand, is a study in pent-up excitement. His time in
the detention area has him itching to move. V'Sndyk is his same,
reluctant self. Nothing here except the diagnostics computer
terminal was remotely familiar to him, so his eyes never leave the
screen that currently blinks 'Abandon Ship' over and over.
Turning to his long time partner and friend, Groo says, "Ty, get on
the dropship and prep it for immediate launch." Without delay the
human moves to the door marked 'Shuttle Bay', punches the door
release, and disappears behind the humming, sliding pressure door.
Groo checks the countdown sequence on the nearby diagnostics
terminal: 00:05:00. "Five minutes left. Damn!" Then, to his Vruskan
teammate, "Okay, V'Sndyk, grab the computer terminal and get to
work fast. We need to know if this bucket of bolts is _really_ going
to self-destruct and if it is try to disarm it. While your at it, make
sure that when we leave the Tiamat that the Tiamat's outer hatch is
locked in the open position. That way if she doesn't blow, we can
re-board her and think about taking control. Oh, and one more thing,
see if you can find the location of the Tiamat's other crew members.
It may tell us where the rest of our crewmates are if the pilot is
correct in saying that her partner already has them."
With his teammates heading off to do their respective tasks Groo
moves on with his own, first helping their prisoner off of V'Sndyk's
back and onto her own two feet. "Alright Miss pilot, what kind of
vehicles have we got to work with here?"
The woman looks as if she could care less. "You've got the hullsize
two dropship or shuttle off to your left, the launch straight ahead
which will carry ten people, and the workpod next door. If you're
planning on trying to get back to Charon Tavis, any of them will
work."
Groo studies her for a moment. Her only response is a wide-eyed
look as if saying 'what!?'. He merely grins and takes her by the arm,
leading her to the drop ship. "Now why, oh, WHY do I feel like you're
holding out on me?" The door to the left leads them directly to the
boarding platform to the dropship. Inside is a plush, comfortable
passenger area containing eight low-impact chairs and a holovid
player. Beyond this, at the front of the shuttle, is the door leading
to the control cabin where Ty can be seen fiddling with the controls.
Groo unceremoniously dumps the girl into one of the chairs. "I
shouldn't have to say it, but don't move. I've never smacked a human
female before, but I'm always willing to start new bad habits." The
girl sears the back of his head with a glare as he turns to go.
Groo heads back into the repair room and grabs as many spacesuits
as he can from the locker next to the launch bay's door. Next, he
rummages through the machine shop itself to try and find anything
useful. After a cursory investigation, he finds:
toxy-rad guage
laser power torch with full tank
3 stik-kits
spinner tool
assorted heavy wrenches and pipes
robcomkit
techkit
engineer's toolkit
pieces of nonfunctional robots and computers
calc-boost progit
After rounding up what looks useful, he heads back to the shuttle.
<<
"Flixzhit!!!", V'Sndyk cries as he brings a fist down onto the
workbench.
Groo turns from his scavenging mission to address the new problem.
"What is it?"
"I can't get into this terminal! The alarm is shutting out almost
every operations call made to the unit! I can't get anywhere from
here!"
"Well, try the next room - they might have one there."
V'Sndyk mutters in disgust and turns to go. "If I only had more time
and less of these confounded alarms going off in my headÉ" In the
next room he sees another diagnostics terminal near the door to the
workpod. In no time he is on it and working like mad on the
keyboard.
<<
"Ah! I'm in!", he says as the alert screen fades to the background. A
quick check shows him the security he's up against. His eyes re-
check the countdown clock, confirming what he already knows. "No
way I'm going to crack this system in less than an hour. Groo, did you
see aÉ" Groo hurries over and plops the robcomkit from the next
room down on the bench next to him.
"Running a smuggler's ship for a few years teaches you the tools for
the job."
"Many thanks", replies the eager Vrusk as he grabs a trusty tool and
begins ripping open the terminal's access panel. "Now if I can only
isolateÉ"
<<
http://www.swmed.edu/home_pages/personal/krishna/det2551/stg
en_8.ram
"YES!!! I'm in!" V'Sndyk manages to pull the correct little chip from
a row of chips in the main console and flips the switches on it to a
more friendly setting. From there his digital solder re-aligns the
circuit paths to a crude but straight-forward pattern he knows is
more accessible. Within seconds the computer is eating out of his
hand. The countdown reads 00:03:12
Elsewhere, Ty jumps into the pilot's seat of the dropship.
Immediately the tension eases just a bit from his face. For even in
this strange ship he felt more at home in the pilot's chair than
anywhere else. Instinctively he begins flipping switches, eliciting a
chorus of hums as the flight systems come online. "Hey this has the
new omni-directional pilot's chair I read about last
month - might have to attatch this baby to the 'getorix if I get the
chance", he yells back to Groo in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Groo, lugging equipment aboard, merely shakes his head and grins.
Ty returns to the control panel and scans the controls until he finds
the switch for locking the bay doors open. Another look verifies the
main engine throttling up to full power. He thinks about all the pre-
flight checks he'd like to go over in a new ship, then sees the
countdown clock and decides to re-write the manual.
"Hmm I wonder if this ships computer has a voice activated
interface?", Ty thinks, then says, "Computer, identify yourself, this
vessel, and its capabilities"
A soothing female voice purrs from one of the intercoms. "This is
the Selena 101 onboard system for the FCS Tiamat dropship Diablo,
equipped with a single Type A chemical engine. We can be ready for
takeoff in as little as 60 seconds, but UPF Flight Bureau statistics
would advise you to engage in the minimum 4 minutes pre-flight
checkover. Thank you."
From the entrance to the shuttle, Groo stands lookout for their
straggler. "V'Sndyk! What's the word? We've gotta boogie!"
"Okay, let's see if THIS works!" V'Sndyk seems oblivious to Groo's
warnings, his compound eyes zipping across streams of data that fill
the screen. His uncanny ability with computer logic allows him to
eliminate scores of useless leads to train in on the information he is
so desperately looking for.
<<
The countdown clock reaches 00:00:45 when V'Sndyk feels the
insistent tug of Groo's hand on his arm.
"COME ON! WE'VE GOTTA HAUL ASS!"
There is no room for argument. V'Sndyk stares disgusted at the
screen, the clues only a few keystrokes away, he is sure. But time
has run out and there could be no taking chances. His pride in his
work is no match for his sense of self-preservation. With a furious
kick he knocks over the robcomkit and runs for the shuttle door.
"FLIXZHIT!!!"
Groo and V'Sndyk lunge into the passenger area of the shuttle just as
Ty, looking over his shoulder, mashes the release to the docking
clamps. "Hang on, boys...we're on an express elevator to HELL!" The
door snaps shut, the floor buckles as the ship goes into immediate
free-fall, then the thrusters kick in. A deafening roar fills the cabin
as Ty punches the engines, sending the shuttle in a neck-breaking arc
away from the ship. Through the forward ports the stars can be seen
swirling in mad circles. The Vrusk and Yazirian barely have time to
grab hand-holds as the incredible G-forces threaten to flail them
about in spite of the artificial gravity. The female prisoner spills
out onto the deck, a helpless plaything in the grip of the
acceleration.
Ty's voice can be heard over the booming thrusters, "Thank you for
flying Trans-Explosion Spaceways - welcome aboard - the captain
instucts that if you check the portside of the ship upon departure,
you just may see a beautiful self-destruct sequence - please make
sure your seat-backs are in their locked and upright positions."
After several seconds of steep burn, the engines level out and Groo
can finally hear himself breathing hard. He peers over at the still-
shaking Vrusk whose grip on his safety restraint would shame a dead
man's. "Everyone okay? Sit tight while I raise the friendlies on the
radio." Groo rises and on wobbly legs moves to the forward cabin
where he activates the subspace radio.
<<
Groo's fingers play with the modulator half out of reflex, half out of
desperation. He quickly calls up the old secure frequency for OTTO
used days ago, hoping the computer was still listening.
"This is Groogash Karchudka of Detachment 2551 calling OTTO of the
FCS Vercingetorix or any other party members listening...come in,
OTTO. We are aboard the shuttle of the FCS Tiamat somewhere in
Belnafaer space and in immediate danger. We require assistance and
coordinates for rendezvous. Repeat, we are aboard the shuttle of the
FCS Tiamat somewhere in Belnafaer space and in immediate danger.
We require assistance and coordinates for rendezvous. Do you
copy?!"
Tense seconds tick by as Ty and Groo exchange pensive glances. As
if an answer from some far-off benevolent silicon deity, the
familiar tinny voice of their computer sounds over the intercom.
"Greetings, Mr. Karchudka. It is good to hear from you again. I have a
fix on your position and am relaying this call to the other active
members of the team. You are currently 500,000 kilometers,
twenty-five degrees clockwise from our orbit around Belnafaer in
the oort belt. Detachment 2551 is in immediate danger as well.
Station under attack. Only Mr. Ak-Barruda remains. If you can, home
in on my signal and await further instructions."
Ty and Groo cheer loudly when they hear the voice of OTTO. The
state of the team calms their enthusiasm, however, and reminds
them of their dire situation. Ty grabs the mic. "Acknowledged,
OTTO, we have your transponder signal. Locking on."
"Wait, Ty. Bring us around, first. I want to see the Tiamat and make
sure she went up." Ty fingers a control and once again the stars roll,
this time softly, as the ship turns. After a few seconds the image of
the Tiamat comes into view, her hull still intact and reflecting the
light of the stars as if brand new.
"Dammit, I knew it had to be a bluff!", Ty growls. Groo bares a fang
and turns to face their prisoner who is splayed out on the floor
behind them.
"Nice try, but we'll be taking your ship now", Groo grouses at her.
She seems unfazed at the comment. Her eyes lock onto Groo's
intensely, her hatred burning brightly in them. The expression
catches the Yazirian off-guard. Surely she had nothing to gain by
being stubborn. Perhaps it was pride. Groo puzzles over her
expression for a long moment, until he suddenly realizes her eyes
rolling back into her head.
"What the...!" Groo races over to investigate, suspecting a black-out
from the acceleration or perhaps a trick. His fingers are on her
throat feeling for a pulse when he catches sight of V'Sndyk also on
the floor, unconscious. Then the smell of tainted pure oxygen hits
his nose. "Grachaak!" The floor comes out of nowhere, smacking
what little daylights he had left right out of him.
<<
The sound of Groo hitting the floor brings Ty around in his seat and
clears the cobwebs threatening to engulf his mind. Staring wide-
eyed at his companions on the floor, his mind races for what to do.
Ty scrambles to get to the spacesuit locker and retrieve a breathing
unit. His legs threaten to buckle under him the whole way, his hand
lashing out at the locker handle while his lungs ache for clean air
and his head swims from the fumes filling the cabin. 'Almost there!',
he thinks to himself as he leans against the adjoining wall. Just as
he manages to get the door open and a breathing unit separated from
its suit, however, his nose catches a wiff of the gas. That's all it
takes. The world goes black and he tumbles to the floor.
"Damn...."
<<
Charon Tavis Station - Water Treatment Plant -
1230 hours - stardate fy1110938
http://www.swmed.edu/home_pages/personal/krishna/det2551/stg
en_7.ram
Cymon shuffles nervously in the silence of the launch docking tube.
His eyes have been watching the small hatch adjoining the makeshift
tube to the station for the last several minutes. Still no response
from Freya, who remains hunched over the launch's control console
in a state of apparent meditation. An odd behavior, even for one so
enigmatic as this bandaged stranger. Cymon can't help but wonder
what good this meditation will do.
Suddenly Cymon's chroncom bleeps, shattering the silence. "de la
Vega to Vercingetorix. You are late. Are you receiving this? Piece
of Techtron crap -- one little explosion and they give up the ghost."
Cymon mutes his chronocom, then contacts OTTO.
"OTTO, trace that transmission. Are there any recent explosions
that can be linked to the 'explosion' De La Vega mentioned? Any near
his location? Finally, is the transmission coming directly from a
chronocom or is it coming from a repeater?"
OTTO fires back a series of answers. "Explosions are occurring on
decks 2 and 3 too quickly to correlate data. Transmission is coming
from chronocom matching that of Mr. Patrou's and is originating
from area on deck 7 designated the "junkyard" as indicated on your
chronocom."
(see web site map of deck 7 - it's the yellow dot)
Cymon thinks for a moment, then responds, "OTTO, please take the
following message, voice only, then, randomly intersperse static
through 20% of the message as if being jammed, then re-transmit to
the one calling himself 'Victor De La Vega' and using Myrlinax's
chronocom."
"This is Vercingetorix. Under attack. Unable to meet you at
requested location. May have to abandon Charon Tavis. Can you
rendezvous from your vessel? REPEAT....This is Vercingetorix. Under
attack. Unable to meet you at requested location. May have to
abandon Charon Tavis. Can you rendezvous from your vessel?...OVER"
"Acknowledged. Patching through.", the computer replies, then is
silent.
Cymon, moving quickly, scans the containment where the launch is at
rest. He examines the communications console, and attempts to
monitor any traffic on the launch to ship frequencies. Nothing
appears out of the ordinary, which is only a slight comfort to him.
"OTTO, monitor that traffic on the designated frequencies, scanning
for voice communications by De La Vega to his ship and to pipe those
communications to my helmet."
"Acknowledged."
'So much to do', he thinks to himself. His first move is to fortify
Freya's position. Drawing a hypo-spray out, with a stimdose, he lays
it next to Freya. Perhaps the newfound friend could make use of it in
case of a attack where Cymon is indisposed. A quick search of the
Yazirian's grenade belt produces
- Foam [Acid, Solid] (2*0.25=0.50Kg)
- Gas [Nightfall, Incendiary, Infra] (3*0.25=0.75Kg)
- Sonic [1 Polyhedron, 2 Boomer] (3*0.25=0.75Kg)
- Tangler (0.25Kg)
which Cymon pockets. Next he positions Freya's maser pistol,
electric sword, and a doze grenade by Freya's position. Once the
equipment is in order he checks to make sure the launch looks the
same as when they found it, Slov's body in its original position. As
he leans over the console at one point, Cymon can't help but notice
several cables running from underneath Freya's coat and running into
the launch's command console. Freya's hands, instead of resting on
the computer keyboard, are also tucked underneath his cloak, their
exact actions at the moment indiscernible. If Freya really was the
hot-shot technician that Chamra purported, Azran only knew what
kind of hi-tech hacking devices he employed or how they worked.
The thought distracts the healer only for a moment. There were
more important matters at hand. Cymon turns to the two hullbots
and the spy eye Freya brought along and clears his throat as he
prepares to do his best amateur job of verbally programming them.
"You", he says, indicating one of the hullbots. "You are now
designated 'robot one'. Engage in standard maintainence routine one
level above our current position. Observe any other robots or
creatures. Report their whereabouts. Take this device", he says as
he hands him a tangler grenade. "If I or OTTO signal 'emergency
robot one', return to this location and approach any
creature not Freya or myself, and operate the device within one
meter of them. Then, use your magnetic grapple to attach any
ferrous device they wear and immediately pull them out of this
chamber. You are to then immediately begin dismantling their
devices using your laser power torch. Do not worry about injuring
them, for they are protected from laser fire. Upon hearing the
command 'repair', you are to begin drastic emergency repairs of all
security robots and cybernetic organisms, beginning with disabling
all major control functions using the power torch and magnetic
grapples if neccessary. UNDERSTOOD?"
The hullbot peers at Cymon through its bubbled helmet for several
seconds. "Acknowledged", it finally replies. Cymon repeats the
orders to the other hullbot, with the exception that he stay with
him. He then repeats these orders to the spy eye.
"Well? Any questions?"
For several seconds none of the robots move. Cymon begins to grow
a little nervous, wondering what he did wrong. He is just about to
start over when hullbot 'one' finally floats out of the airlock and
disappears into the outer chamber. The other two take their
positions nearby. Cymon feels a tangible sense of relief. His
defenses were in place. Now all there was to do was wait.
"(ssssfsfssssffffss) This is Groogash Karchudka of Detachment 2551
calling OTTO of the FCS Vercingetorix or any other party members
listening...come in, OTTO. We are aboard the shuttle of the FCS
Tiamat somewhere in Belnafaer space and in immediate danger. We
require assistance and coordinates for rendezvous. Repeat, we are
aboard the shuttle of the FCS Tiamat somewhere in Belnafaer space
and in immediate danger. We require assistance and coordinates for
rendezvous. Do you copy?!"
Cymon starts at the sound of Groo's voice over his radio and is about
to reply when OTTO cuts in.
"Message received twenty minutes ago, Mr. Ak-Barruda. No contact
since that time. Sensors show the message originating from the FCS
dropship Diablo, also assigned to the Tiamat. It was last detected
hovering 450,000 kilometers from the station, moving on a return
course to the Tiamat. Since that time the short-range sensors on
deck one of the station have been inaccessible to me."
Cymon's fleeting smile disappears altogether as he hears the news.
He sinks to the floor and stares in dismay. 'So close', he thinks to
himself, 'they must have been hijacked or incapacitated.' Long
minutes pass as he sits there, listening to the silence all around
him, the only sounds the sundry pumps and mechanisms of the water
treatment plant and the whirring of servos inside his two
automatonic companions. Vega was out there and he was winning.
No one was left now except himself and Freya. Now they were
bottled up in a corner, Freya doing Azran-knows-what, and their last
bit of luck gone bad. He silently wishes he'd never even heard the
transmission.
An eternity passes with nothing happening until, unexpectedly, Freya
stirs. Without warning he rises from his bowing posture and sits
erect, taking a long breath as if fatigued. Cymon leaps to his feet,
glad to have a partner in his vigil.
"What is it, honorable Freya? Were you able to get something out of
the launch's systems?"
Freya looks up and the suggestion of a smile moves across the
bandages. "Better than that, I'm happy to report."
As if in reply a dull thud sounds from the other end of the tube. The
c.a.s. panel next to that airlock goes blue, suggesting a connection
with another source of breathable atmosphere. The implication of
this sign hits Cymon, but he is too skeptical now to take it for
granted. He looks incredulously at Freya.
"Our foes are many and powerful", the beleagured Yazirian whispers,
"but I was fortunate to stumble upon our friends aboard the shuttle
craft and take advantage of the weak link there. Otherwise I don't
think I could have made it through."
"You... you were able to bring her in?!? That's the Diablo?!"
Freya nods, then slumps over as if to rest. Cymon lays a hand on his
friend's shoulder and yips a feverish Yazirian laugh of relief and joy.
"Azran be praised! Freya, my friend, this just may be the turning of
the proverbial tide!"
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