NationStates Jolt Archive

The Zedran Star Force was well trained, well equipped, and well motivated. The massive gold and red silhouettes of the great blade-like warships were visible from the surface, their great power the pride of the Zedran people. They were armed with mass-drivers, capable of sending projectiles at enemy warships at speeds so close to light speeds that most sensors were unable to tell the difference. These shells were armor piecing, their explosive contents designed to blast through the armor of most battleships.

The Zedran battleships also carried torpedoes, somewhat large weapons, fifteen feet long, that had heavy deflector shielding, against both energy and particle weapons. Zedran torpedoes were packed with a special blend of explosives, developed at a research base deep in Zedra.

These weapons composed the most common weapons in the ZSF, although, there are other weapons…

Captain Morgana Exalmen was a researcher at the largest secret base in Zedra, buried deep under-ground, the base was almost immune to all forms of space bombardment, and was heavily shielded, and defended by retracting Ground to Space cannons, here everything from experimental masking systems to new weapons tech.

Morgana sighed as she looked at the ‘window’, said window was nothing more than a camera view of a forest somewhere in Zedra, in fact, the base she working was in the middle of a mountain range. When she was a child, Morgana had hoped to become a doctor of all things. She wanted to save lives, not develop weapons to kill people.

She turned back to her work, in front of her sat a device, thirty meters long, and about one meter wide. It was annoying, this device should work, yet for some reason, no one could get the damned thing to work… well… almost no one. There were rumors of this type of weapon being developed in the past. A Gravitonic Control Unit, or GCU, would give Zedra a massive edge in battle, ships, even entire planets could be torn to shreds, yet, the only working model had vanished with the super-battleship ZMS Glorious.

Morgana shook her head, every time she thought of that damned ship it called up unpleasant memories, her father had been the commander of the Glorious, and on a routine mission to the edge of the galaxy, the Glorious had disappeared, the only trace was a garbled message from the ships communications officer talking about a ‘great enemy’, but Zedran High Command dismissed it as a mans ramblings as the ship was destroyed.

Another disturbing fact was that no wreckage was ever found of the Glorious. Not even the GCU, which was supposed to separate form the ship if a problem ever occurred. ZHC had figured that the captain, Morgana’s father, had made an error, and jumped the ship into a black-hole, and had determined that it was Captains Error that had caused the accident.

Morgana had her own ideas, she had read the lab reports of the scientists who worked with the early GCUs. There was always the possibility that the over use of a GCU could cause a black-hole to form, or even the over-use might also create a worm-hole. This is what Morgana thought had happened, that for some reason the GCU was used at either an insanely high setting, or the device was used several times on one point in space, and that either a black-hole or a worm-hole had been created. Yet for some reason Zedran High Command denied the possibility.

She turned back to her work, sighing, wishing that this device had never been thought of, and that her father was with her now.

Morgana looked at the device that was sitting on the table, as she connected the final circuit, she prayed the device would work, when she turned it on. As soon as she connected the circuit, something else happened. The radio in her lab crackled to life.

“This is the ZMS Glorious, the GCU has malfunctioned, repeat, we have a black-level GCU malfunction. We think that a worm-hole is opening… we can’t tell for certain though, I think our specialist has gone mad, he….” An explosion echoed through the recording. “Repeat, Black Level GCU malfunction, all stations prepare to evacuate, I don’t know if anyone can hear us, we are close to the event horizon… I don’t we are stuck… I don’t know how much time we have, we are caught in the….” The last syllable seemed to be elongated, stretched, then, the signal went silent.

Morgana looked at the device, the data recorders attached to the device had recorded the feedback from the weapon. Slowly she stood, taking the data-cube, with a purpose she had not felt in a long time she walked away swiftly, she had to report this, it was massive. Somehow, the GCU had detected a transmission from twenty years ago, and if this correct, the Glorious was still out there, frozen in time.

The eight Grand Admirals that composed the Zedran Fleet High Command, also known as the ZFHC, looked at Morgana, one of them, the unofficial spokesman for the Admirals, spoke in a gravely voice that appears to come with old age, his German accented with a Prussian tone, “You want us to believe that some how, this device, that has not worked for twenty years, somehow picked up a transmission from the Glorious?”
“Yes Sir, I have the recording, if you give me a ship…”
She was cut off by the Admiral, “Morgana, no, it is far too risky, I can’t risk a Zedran ship…”
“Then let me take a hired crew!”
“Very well… you have to finance this yourself Morgana, and also, take the GCU, it doesn’t work anyways, and who knows, you might need it.

Morgana nodded, rushing out of the room, and heading towards the grav-train station where she could hop a train to the massive space-port of Zeiglerton. Within minutes she arrived. She hopped on a buss, that took her to a small cantina.

The cantina was smoky, dark, and was home to all sorts of pirates, gamblers, and other criminals. This would be where she would find her crew.

OOC: Okay folks, this is where you all come in, you are the crew, I am going to limit this to twelve people, in your posts work in details, age, height, skills, experience and so forth. I strongly suggest that you use new characters, because some of these people might get killed off, don't worry, if your character dies, s/he can rejoin the RP later with a new character

Bump!

Keltin Kastlin always sat in the back of the bar... It gave him a view of the door, where he could observe the patrons coming & going. Keltin was an Argonian, oddly enough. Though most of his people where primitive & disdainful of technology, he had embraced it.

Keltin was average-looking, for an Argonian. Green scales lightly armored his body, and a tail sat out behind him, tucked under the chair to prevent anyone from stepping on it. He was dressed like a typical spacer... Brown & dirty pants loosely clung to his athletic frame. A dingy white shirt of a somewhat tighter fit showcased a set of powerful arms & a solid chest. A vest that almost matched the color of his pants was worn over the shirt, covering a small knife. Keltin wore a .40 caliber revolver low on his right hip, a prime position for a quick draw. Spare bullets studded the belt, amonst other items like a larger buck knife, a small first aid kit, and pouchs for various items needed by his profession.

The Argonian sipped at a glass of vodka, a simple task made not so simple by his lack of lips...

Morgana looked around. In a minute she walked over to the Argonia, she had been hoping for an all human crew, but maybe this would be a good chance to expand her horrizons.

"Hello Sir, are you up to make a little money?"

(OOC: Common people.... my writing can't be that bad....)

The Argonian nodded, setting his shotglass down on the pitted & worn surface of the table...

"Indeed... Money is a difficult thing to come by these days... What is it that you would have me do?"

Keltin lacked the polished vocabulary of the typical Argonian english-speaker. During his time as a spacer he had aquired the more slang-ridden dialect of his profession...

OOC: Cyberutopia, Five Civilized Nations, or perhaps Assington might wish to participate. Inform them that I have referred you to them, it might help.

Erik Carrion was a handsome man. Something about him tended to attract a certain kind of woman like a dog attracted fleas. Specifically, married women. More to the point, married women with husbands whose only defining characteristics were low IQ and extremely high muscle mass.

Erik Carrion, unlike the usual intelligent but-not-so-massive male usually caught in these situations, was quite capable of defending himself, and had done so on numerous occasions.

The problem, of course, was that he promptly had to flee his home country lest he be swarmed by hordes of angry husbands, who, having recovered from the state of unconciousness they had been placed in, gathered their friends, who, of course, followed the same archetype, and set out to 'Teach that little brat a lesson.'

Little, of course, in the eye of six foot eight inch two-hundred sixty s.pound ex-defensive linemen.

Erik stood six foot two and weighed in at one hundred seventy s.pounds. He was ranked Journeyman Prime in the Fhellanti styles, and this was reflected in the four coincentric circles branded into his left forearm.

He carried two visible weapons, a large framed pistol holstered at his right hip, and a rather large combat knife balancing it out on the left hip. He wore an obviously well-loved brown leather jacket and a pair of comfortable, worn in jeans.

His brown hair framed his handsome youthful face to about mid-neck, and eyes the color of steel stared into the depths of his glass of whiskey.

He was a pilot by trade, inclination, and aptitude. Unbeknownst to most, his body bore a specialized version of the CI-Implants developed by Vysarian Stark and his team of geniuses over at RevTek. The model codenamed 'Subjugator.'

He also had all the usual skills one picked up while freelancing in small ships, meaning he was a passing engineer, a navigator of some skill, and a capable gunnery officer.

Unfortunately, he was also low on cash, and thus he spent his time searching for answers in the time-honored way of the spacer. In the bottom of a glass of whiskey.

Elden Pulson sipped the hot tea he had just been served-He had abstained from drinking long ago.

Pulson, who was almost 6 and a half feet tall, was dressed in a long black and yellow overcoat, it's neck reaching up past his chin and almost to his nose. Circular sunglasses hid his eyes from view. He wore long black pants and one hand-His Right, that had beed nearly torn off and partly replaced with the most advanced of cybernetics-Was gloved. His other arm hung casually out of his coat sleeve. A flask of pure spring water hung at his right side, while a quicksilver Katana was at his left. A crossbow hung over his shoulder. He had always prefered traditional weapons, and was not a very good shot with a pistol anyways.

Pulson was something of a mystery. A man of about 35, he was once a pirate, but a bad run in with the law had changed all that. One of his crewmates-a good friedn of his, as it so happned to be-turned out to be a double agent, working for the law. He had snuck up on Pulson in the middle of the night and almost hacked off his hand. Pulson woke up to find his hand in tattered pieces and his ship surrounded by police gunships. He was able to escape, but he was still apparently searching for his former friend. Since then, he had become a feared bounty hunter that worked for both the law and sometimes pirates.

Pulson had been examining an Argonian for the past few minutes. The Argonians had always facinated him, but he had never met one before. He frowned as a women with a slight air of command entered the bar and started chatting with the Argonian. Was she striking up a deal with him, perhaps offering him a job? Pulson decided to watch for a few more minutes then see what would happen.

She looked at the Argonian, "I need a crew, a good crew, willing to fly into a quite dangerous area of space. The rewards would be quite large..." She is speaking loudly enough for any one listening to hear her, "Are you interested sir, space is very limited...."

That was all Pulson needed to hear. He slowly slipped off the bar bench and drifted over behind the women and Argonian. He cleared he throat loudly.

"Perhaps i could offer you my services, Miss.....ah.....I'm sorry, i never caught your name. I am Elden Pulson."

Keltin nodded slowly, picking up his glass again in a impromptu toast of agreement...

"I am very interested... I offer you my services, as well as those of Smith & Wesson. I believe you will find them handy companions..."

Keltin pats the stainless-steel plated revolver on his thigh, the well-worn pacmar grip speaks of frequent use...

OOC: I accidently deleted my first post

IC:

A man dressed in black jeans, shirt, and trenchcoat heard Morgana. He stood at 5'11 with dark green eyes and black hair, his mustachewas the only facial hair he had. Women had flocked to the man to try and sleep with him or marry him. In his hand he twirled the ring of his ex-wife who had been killed by a car bomb three years earlier, she had been five months pregent.
Mike Anderson, who was 34 years old, was an ex-astronought of eleven years (I most likely spelled it wrong) who was also an ex-marine of 5 years. A Para P14 hung in a holster at his side and a silver briefcase with unknown contents sat next to him. His mucles were hidden but noone doubted his strength. He sipped his vodka and stared at the woman.
"I would like to tag alone. How much are ya offering?"

Having experienced a sudden burst of activity, Erik looked up from his Whiskey and surveyed the group forming around a woman standing next to a lizardy thing towards the rear of the bar.

He slid from the stool with a lithe grace that had a good number of implications, and wandered over to the little cluster of people. Noting the number of effectively simultaneous offers, and not wanting to add his own to that, erm 'swamp effect,' he simply pulled a small slip of cardstock from his pocket and slid it across the bar towards the woman.

Printed on that slip of cardstock was "Erik Carrion, Freelance Pilot-for-hire."

That was all it said, that was all that was needed. Specifically the surname 'Carrion.'

Y'see, Erik Carrion had a big brother, and they were very much alike. Specifically, they both had the same problems with women, or, more specifically, with the husbands of said women.

They had both ended up in the pilotin' business, though the Elder Carrion also had a knack for tactical situations.

Meaning Adrian Carrion was not just a pilot like his younger brother, he was a Captain. Specifically, he skippered the Nightlance, a Cutlass class Pursuit Frigate.

The Nightlance was one of the ships of the right-infamous privateering group that called itself 'The Moonsabre Flotilla,' commanded by one Jaime Starr.

Yeah, those Carrions.

At this point, Erik simply leaned up against the bar with a smug look on his face and took another sip of scotch.

Keltin glanced around warily at the gathering crowd... This was indeed unusual; that so many people where desperate enough to swarm a potential client...

'Foolish... Plain & simple. The usual crowd of tough-guys... The silent one seems familiar...'

Keltin was a mechanic by vocation, and a gunslinger by nessecity. He was no stranger to pirate raids, which might be why Carrion looked so familiar...

Morgana smiled at Pulson, "Captain Morgana, it will be a pleasure to work with you. I trust you have had previous expirience."

She turned as the Argonian responded, "Very good sir, may I ask your name?"

Turning as yet another person stepped up, she smiled. Her smile dropped as she looked at the buisness card, "You are the brother of the infamous Carrion, the privateer?" She smiled again, "Very well... I think it will be a pleasure."

She looked at the assorted group, Not a woman among them... what was I expecting? Well, I hope they are at least civilised men....

She looked at each one of them, putting on a voice she often used when commanding soldiers, clipped, professional, "Alright gents, listen up, does any one here have a ship? Any one?"

"I would offer you mine," Said Pulson, "If it were not a smoldering ruin. I lost it in a fire fight not 3 weeks ago. My apologies, Morgana."

Carrion blinked as he heard the request for a ship. Then he laughed. A number of thoughts rushed through his head, chief among them "What kind of an idiot goes looking for spacers to crew a ship, when they don't have a bloody ship?"

Of course, he had a ship. Said so on the back of the card, even.

Unfortunately, it was a mess.

His little corvette had been a hulk when he salvaged her. A bit of examination had confirmed his guess, it had been gutted by the dread of spacefarers, Fire that Doesn't Go Out.

The hull was good Revenian Iridium, and it even had all its armor plating still there. Hell, the weapons were all in place too.

Problem was, the electronics were all crap, the fancy drive systems were crap, the reactor was unsurprisingly in quite good condition (The civvy builders had actually put doors on -that- room), the apholstery was crap, the carpeting was crap, more or less, the ship was pristine on the exterior, but inside it was a mass of charred black wreckage.

But the High Drive worked, and the Stardrive worked, more or less...

Problem was, though it had guns, it couldn't shoot.
And forget about fine maneuvering, the ID system was shot. Meant no atmospheric work either.

The comm was the one thing the ship would be dead without, so he'd bought a small console secondhand and bolted it in with a radio transmitter.

It wasn't pretty, but it'd fly.

He frowned for a few moments, then muttered, "Yeah, I got a ship...It's not pretty, but it'll fly."

She shook her head "I am sorry for your loss, which fleet destroyed it?"

"Not a fleet," Said Pulson. "A single ship. I am a bounty hunter, Morgana, or at least close to it. So, i was asked to bring in a dangerous killer named Istaben Falkren. Problem was, his ship was as fast as hell. He slammed his ship into mine to avoid capture, killing himself in the process and completly wrecking my ship."

He looked over at Carrion, Whom he knew by reputation.

"I suppose we could just use your ship. But when you say "It's not pretty, but it'll fly", i get the distinct impression that it is not in the best shape."

Mike moved behind Morgana.
"How much are ya paying?"

Morgana turns to face Mike, getting the distinct impression that she would be turning around a lot today, "Well... to explain how much you are getting paid, I will have to explain what we are after." her voice drops in volume.

"Have any you heard of the Zedran dreadnaught Glorious?" she looks around at each of them. "And I think I get the point that your ship is in the 'bearly will fly' category"

"I was with NASA for eleven years and never heard of it." Mike said.

Erik smiled. Yes, it was -that- smile. That ever-so distinctive smile that seemed to pop up in every child of the Carrion line. That smile that melted hearts, incited lust, and made over-muscled ex-defensive linemen types seek blood.

He settled his gaze firmly on the self-proclaimed bounty hunter, and those steel gray eyes seemed to pierce straight to the soul.

"Stardream may not be the fanciest ship, or the prettiest. And yeah, she is in a bit of a bind. But she's tough. Damn tough. Tough like you're grandfather's ships were tough. Built to last, y'know. But first 'n foremost, she's mine."

He downed the rest of his scotch, and set the glass down on the bar. He flicked a Firebird into the glass, and sent it down the bar to the barkeep.

He'd had enough liquor for the moment, and it wouldn't do him any good anyways.

"'n ta answer your question, ma'am, she'll fly. She may be, erm, used, but she's a Revenian Hull. Hard ta' explain. Easier to show."

He though for a moment. He'd heard something about this Glorious thingy...

"Hmm. Yeah, think I've heard of somethin' like that. Some kinda fancy weapon system or something caused it to vanish...Dumb place to test a new weapons system, if ya asked me."

Of course he knew a bit more, just a bit. Enough to make him wonder about the sanity of this mission, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do, and he -did- need the money, or specifically, Stardream needed the money.

"Glorious......I've heard rumors about that one." Said Pulson. "It was supposedley eqquiped with some kind of new revalutionary technology, Right? But i heard it disappeared."

He looked at Carrion.

"Of course it's your ship, Carrion. And i have no doubt that it's tough enough-Dont think i havnt heard of you. As long as it flies, that's fine with me."

Pulson turned back to Morgana.

"Why are you asking us about tough the Glorious, Morgana? Isn't it gone or destroyed or whatever happened to it?"

Captain Morgana smiles back, she continues, "Well... the Glorious is one of the most famous ships in the Zedran military. She is a Starkiller class vessel, an experimental test-bed for new technology."

She pauses, "The warship herself was massive over 1.89 kilometers in length, in truth, she was more of a battle-station rather than a warship. But anyways, she was equiped with an experimental device. Some of our most powerfull weapons and equipment were on her."

"Yet, on her maiden voyage, she disapeared. No wreckage, no escape pods, no emergency beacon. For a long time the ZSF figured that she had fallen into a black-hole, or something to that effect. Several days ago, I was working on a device much like the one on the Glorious. My com unit picked up a transmition, that sounded like it was from the victorious. That is why I am trying to reqruit you characters, I want to find the Glorious."

"Now, I can't offer you any money, at least not yet. Yet I can certainly tell you how muh a fully equiped warship is. If nothing else we can sell her and divide the proffits. Yet I think that most likely, such a ship would be more valualbe to use intact."

Erik nodded slowly, he'd expected this. The 'Selling it off' bit took him by complete surprise though. He'd assumed that the whole 'seeking independents' bit was simply the Zedran Government seeking plausible deniability.

He proceeded to re-evaluate the situation, and found himself liking this a considerable bit more. The prize money on a Dreadnought of that size would be enough to refit Stardream to Mil-spec 'n then some.

He turned his attention to Captain Morgana, "Mmkay, let me get this straight. You want us to find a ship, a Capital Ship, that nobody has been able to find for, how long was it now?"

He let that sink in, then continued, "Now, the prize money on a Dreadnought is quite considerable, but that requires us to actually find said dreadnought, then retrieve it. Spacefaring costs money. Fuel costs money."

He smiled then, "Now, I'll fly you wherever the hell you wanna go for even a shot at the prize money on a Dreadnought, so I'm in. Just felt that somebody needed to play Devil's Advocate there."

Mike smiled. "A ship as advanced as you say it is. Enough so I can live in a villa with a few acres of grapes to grow for some homemade wine. I'm in. Can you estimate how much the ship is worth?"

"I do need a new ship," Said Pulson. "And although i would rather not look for that ship, i suppose i need the money. I, too, am in.

Morgana nodded, "Alright then, we will take two days to gather up our equipment then we will meet at Carrion's ship, if that is okay with him"

Erik nodded, "Yes, quite fine. Stardream is at Slip Seventeen. Bring everything you might need, including food, unless you really like nutrient bars."

He winked at the assembled, then left the bar, whistling a merry tune as he went. Slip Seventeen was his destination, and soon he was there. The airlock whistled open and he stepped inside. The environmental section was brand new, courtesy of a nice spot of salvage he'd made on the way here, so he no longer had to live in a vac suit, which was nice.

He'd also been laboring to re-establish power to the central core, and maybe be able to bring the ship's AI up off emergency backup. He'd had to go out and get a few parts, and that was what had taken him off to the bar. So, he returned to the crawlspace he'd been working in, shucked his jacket, lit a good Revenian Cigarette, planted it in place, and got to work.


I feel a tingle. It is the first sensation I have felt since my crew died. I run a quick diagnostic on my databases and systems, and find that I am still mostly crippled. Most of my software is intact, but my personal memory has been completely wiped out. I have no name. I have no purpose. I am lost.

I feel a tingle. Then, power seems to explode into me. I find that I have lost little capability other than personal memory. I find this very odd, and proceed to begin survey of my ship.

It is frightening. Fire has eaten away at the interior of my ship, and it is still blackened in some spots where the ceramics were burnt. However, I know that it was once worse, for there are no piles of dust where my crew and its possessions were burnt alive.

No skeletons, no remnants of my former self.

I am cut off from most of my systems, but some are still intact. I estimate the quality of repair necessary as enough to require service at the place of my construction, Nexus Orbital Shipyards, to restore my ship to full capability.

I hear something.

"HOOOOOO-AH! ALRIGHT!" Erik shouted in joy as having replaced all of the power conduits from the reactor relay boards to the core and the few undamaged relays fore of the point he was at.

Those few relays might lead to undamaged wiring, which might lead to undamaged systems. He didn't know, but he did know that for some reason, all the power wiring leading from the reactor relays to all forward relays was shot.

Now it wasn't.

He grabbed his jacket and ran full speed to the bridge, settling in the command chair. He extended a keypad and vis-screen and tapped in the commands for a simplified and filtered systems diagnostic.

His eyes widened as he saw the results.

"Life Support: Operational
Mass Reactor Room One: Operational
Mass Reactor Room Two: Operational
High Drive: Operational
Atmospheric Emergency Thrusters: Operational
Induction Drive: Unoperational
Communications: Unoperational
Cannon Weaponry: Unoperational
Energy Weaponry: Unoperational
Point Defense: Unoperational
Torpedoes: Operational
Missiles: Unoperational
Shields: Operational
Mass Detector: Operational
Search/Track Radar: Unoperational
Search/ID Visual: Operational
AI and Central Core: Operational"

With one fell swoop he'd enabled the shielding, the long range sensors, and the AI-functions, plus the Corvette could now make use of its two shipkiller tubes.

Amazing what a little work could do.

Erik addressed the empty bridge.

"Hello?"


I heard a voice, then. There was somebody on my ship, somebody who had returned me to life. He ran a simplified diagnostic and my shell program fed it to him.

My bridge feeds and suchforth were still operational, and so, I replied.

"Hello?" A feminine voice came from seemingly nowhere.

Erik grinned widely, "Hello, Stardream. I'm Erik Carrion. I found you adrift and rescued you. I just now managed to return power to your core."

"Is that my name? Stardream?"

Erik smiled even wider, "It is now."

"Good."

Erik knew exactly what he planned to spend the next two days doing. You see, he needed to get to know his new AI. More to the point, since Stardream was part of the ship, she could help him with his repairs. Finding undamaged systems so that he could re-connect them for example.

"Stardream, I need your help. I want you to guide me while I make repairs to the ship. We will talk while I work. I want you to be my friend."

Stardream sounded puzzled, "Friend? You want to be my friend?"

Erik nodded, "Yes."

The AI replied, "I'd like that."

Pulson went deep into the city to find one of his good "friends" who made all his weaponry for him. He was able to pick up a pair of hachets, 5 Javilin, and a 12-inch long knife. It was hard these days to find someone like his friend who made old fashioned weaponry. He even purchased a revolver, but he was a lousy shot with it.

He then picked up enough T.V. dinners and Energy drinks for almost a month and a half, stuffing them inside his backpack. After a night's sleep at his apartment, It would be off to Slip Seventeen.

The cantina had several rooms upstairs, which is where Mike was staying. Mike walked into his room and closed the door. He opened the briefcase to reveal two Heckler und Koch UMPs with laser and flashlight attachment and a dozen spare magizines per gun. He grabbed a XM8 also with laser and flashlight attachments and another dozen spare magizines from the closet. He went into the city and purchased two months worth of MREs before returning to his room to sleep a little. The next morning he would head off to the ship.

Morgana herself was off to the firing range back at the base. See assumed hee firing position, standing, one foot slightly in front of the other and fired five shots. One hit dead center, and the others hit around the first, forming a perfect cross. With most normal weapons this would be bad, but because the Zedran energy weapons have no reciol, this hit pattern was perfect, almost a 100% accuracy rating.

Morgana replaced the energy pistol into its holster, and walked off to the armory. By her nature she was somewhat of a tomboy, she spent most of her time either in the lab, or out on the train course, she had wanted to be a Star Marine, or even a Naval officer, yet somehow she had gotten stuck in a research lab.

After withdrawing her weapons from the armory, two pistols, a high-power energy assualt rifle, and a sniper rifle for good measure, she headed back to her quaters where she could pack in peace.

After stuffing several months worth of Meal Ready to Eat packages in her military back-pack, and after loading in clothing, ammunition and like-wise needed supplies, she put the pack into a corner, set her allarm clock, and went to sleep.

Keltin arrived at Slip Seventeen the next morning, toting a battered red steel toolbox. Within were two bricks of .40 caliber ammo, four speed loaders, and his motley collection of tools, both old & new.

His backpack contained a few changes of clothes, several survival rations, and a few maps & starcharts. The Argonian mechanic rapped on the hull with a scaly knuckle, then stepped back to await a response...

Erik sang as he worked. He actually had a rather good singing voice on the low end of the Tenor range, right now, but of course, that wasn't the point.

He wore a commo helmet instead of the usual protective mask. The helmet's protective visor worked just as well as a leaded mask for arc welding work, after all, it was designed to protect the eyes from much the same effect.

As he completed the weld, placing a layer of sheetmetal over one of the burnt-through cheap polymer panels, he judged that any expending any more effort on repairs would be both vain and wasteful.

Fact was, Stardream wasn't getting any better without a full overhaul at Nexus Orbital.

He sighed, and slid to his feet. He returned the welder to the very, very small area that was essentially the all-purpose engineering room and machine shop.

Yeah, right.

He wandered forward to the small area he'd converted into his gear closet. Of course, he'd have preferred to store all his stuff in the Captain's quarters...but the door had resisted all his attempts to open it, and admittedly, he hadn't tried very hard.

So he slept in the small bunkroom given over to the officers of the watch. 'cuz it opened onto the Bridge, of course. Very small room. Consisted of two bunks and some storage.

Pretty cramped as it was, it'd become more cramped though, and it was one of only two bunkrooms he'd managed to unseal. The doors on this ship were -real- wierd. Some of 'em were cheap polymer, and he and the fire had had no trouble gettin' through those wastes of carbon.

But some of 'em were made of the same Sculpted Iridium that went into the ship's hull. Good thing in some cases, only that had protected the reactor and High Drive from gettin' flamed to hell.

But, that was to be expected. This particular type of corvette was built rather strangely. The hull and certain important parts had been commissioned from the military shipyards at Nexus Orbital, then the rest had been added on by Interstellar Shipyards.

See, the boys at the military shipyards built to mil-spec, meaning a little spot of Fire That Don't Go Out wouldn't have killed the whole ship, just one compartment...but, unfortunately, only the high drive room, the AI Core, and the reactor room had been built to mil-spec.

Everything else was the work of Interstellar Shipyards, and Interstellar built on a budget. Thus this cheap, useless, polymer. Strangely, though, some of the doors put in by Interstellar actually were mil-spec. Unfortunately, the control wiring wasn't.

Trying to force a two centimeter thick slab of Iridium open was an exercise in futility. Erik hadn't even tried.

So, he had two bunk rooms with operating life support.

Yeah, that was the other problem. The life support systems were operational only for certain parts of the ship. Much of the aft engineering stuff, and much of crewland, was depressurized and incapable of sustaining life.

So, he'd just be able to fit the five people he was expecting. Two bunk rooms. One room with two bunks, one room with three. Split as necessary.

He, of course, would be using the room that opened onto the bridge. The other was amidships, close to the central airlock. Couldn't have the only person capable of piloting the damn ship having to get through seventy five meters of twisted walkway and ladders in an emergency, after all.

Otherwise, who slept where was none of his concern.

He arrived at the armory. Stardream's armory had been built to mil-spec by the boys at Nexus Orbital, and as such, had survived the fire. Erik had labored long and hard to get the wiring to work, and then spent a few intense hours communing with Stardream, getting the can-not-be-sufficiently damned systems to accept him as a ranking officer.

Well now they did. In fact, he was the only officer, and as such, the only person capable of gaining access to the armory. He placed his hand on the scanplate, and his flesh tingled as the high-intensity scan searched for what it wanted.

And found.

The door slid open smoothly and he stepped inside quickly. The very instant he clear the doorway, the two centimeter thick slab of iridium rocketed shut with the predicted results.

Yeah. Mil-spec meant paranoid. Good thing, too. The previous owner of the corvette had apparently decided to outfit his mil-spec armory with mil-spec contents.

Erik surveyed the main part of his little treasure trove. He had been inside more extensive armories, like the one on Jaime Starr's Moonsabre, but this one was much smaller, and as such, all the more impressive.

The Vault was immaculate. Every single one of its charges was protected behind a two inch thick screen of some advanced form of extremely tough see-through polymer.

Erik sent off a silent prayer of thanks to whoever stocked this place, 'e sure knew what he was doing. No high-powered rifles or anything, which was a very, very good thing. Armor Piercing rounds were great and all for ground combat, but they were death on ships. Y'see, they pierced armor. That meant they were decompression waiting to happen.

But, Erik spotted a nice selection of CAF-11 Autoflechettes, the preferred shipboard weapon of the Revenian Marines. Capable of penetrating most soft armor, but against hard armor it was about as effective as throwing rocks.

Weaponry continued in this vein, going through the usual gamut of light pistols, plus a rather nice grouping of melee weapons. A number of cutting bars, like the one Erik carried with him everywhere onboard a ship. Hell, he even saw a few of what he swore were Marine Boarding Axes.

But the real prize was in the centerpiece. The armory contained its own little morgue, thus named for the pull-out drawers of the type most often seen in a morgue. In those drawers were suits of armor. Real armor.

He hadn't even touched those drawers yet. He didn't want to know what they contained. He figured that if he really needed them, then he might as well be surprised by what they contained.

He moved over to a few crates, bolted onto the deck. They were labeled as to their contents, and this was what he'd come for. He pulled his cutting bar from his belt, and set the edge underneath the crate's lip.

Now, the cutting bar was a rather nice bit of work. It was the spacer's best friend, just as useful for cutting through bulkheads and doors, (Presuming of course, that these weren't Revenian mil-spec bulkheads and doors...) as they were for removing someone's head in close-quarters combat.

They looked a lot like crowbars, just sans the hooked end. In its place was a nine-bladed grinding head. Right now, he didn't need that bit, though. So, he pushed down on the crowbar, and the crate's lid came up.

Inside were God knew how many plastic-wrapped flat black, neatly folded, articles of clothing. They were of the one-size fits all variety, admittedly. But then, they always were. Erik wore one himself, though he'd long ago modified it to fit him snugly.

He took four of these packets, and tucked them under his arm, then slid the lid back into place. It sealed on contact. The cutting bar clipped to his belt, and he left the armory.

A quick trip to deposit the jumpsuits in the airlock...and he heard a wrapping sound on the door. He frowned, and peered up at the vis-screen. Hrrm, was it that time already? My, my...

He hit the airlock open button, and waited as the pressures were equalized. Then, with a hiss, the airlock slid open.

Erik greeted the big lizard with a smile and a wave.

"Hey. Sorry 'bout any wait, musta lost track of time. Got a table and some chairs in here, whaddya say we wait outside for the others. I've got a bit of an into speech, rules and soforth, y'know? Rather just give it once then four times, if ya get me?"

Without waiting for much of a response, he grabbed a table, a few chairs, and the all important cooler, then walked down the ramp to the pier. In a few moments, he had everything set up, then planted himself in a folding chair, and produced a pair of beers.

"Grab a chair, have a drink...don't expect it'll be too long."

Mike walked with a duffel bag with clothes slung around his back, a large steel briefcase in his right, and a another duffel bag with food slung around his left shoulder. He walked up the pier to find Keltin with Erik sipping beers. He smiled at the pair as he came up.
"Where do I put my stuff?" He asked Erik.

Erik waved at Mike as he approached.

"Hey. Just pile your stuff by the ramp. I'm gonna hold a little orientation before we board, so until then, pull up a chair and grab a beer."

"Don't mind if I do." Mike put his stuff next to Keltin's and grabbed a beer and chair. He sipped it. "Good stuff."

Pulson woke up a little late and had to rush to Slip Seventeen. He was worried that he might of even missed his flight, but he managed to catch sight of the Argonion boarding the ship. Good, he wasn't too late then.

He hurried up to the ship and, somewhat unsure, knocked on the door.

OOC: We're outside of the ship Ravea.

IC: Mike looked up at Pulson.
"Hey man, grab a beer and chair. By the way, I'm Mike Anderson." He said holding his hand out.

Morgana walked up to the ship, "He wasn't kidding when he said that this ship wasn't in good condition.... it looks like some one ordered al the parts from different agencies, then handed them to a contractor to put together, without showing the contractor the plans."

She put a smile on her face and walked up the ramp, "Gentlemen, it apears that we have all arrived. This is good, you are all punctual. That is very good. Now, what can this ship actualy do, mister..." she pauses, "What do you prefer to be called?"

In the mean time at Zedra Fleet Command a hurried counsel was under way. One man was pacing in the center of the room, and five others stood near the edges. "This isn't good.... if they do find the Glorious...."
"Yes I know...."
"We could just send a battlefleet over and take the ship."
"Do you know what is on that ship?"
"No."
"Good. On that ship are weapons that we couldn't even imagine. Weapons more powerfull than anything in the Zedran military."
"How did the Glorious get these weapons? If these things are so advanced..."
"I don't really know, I will have to look at my files."
"I thought you said that all records were destroyed."
"I always keep a coppy of the origonal."

Erik finished off his beer and slid to his feet.

"The term is Skipper, Ma'am. That's not a rank, it's a form of address. And as to what my ship can do...welll..."

He pointed towards the rear, a good seventy five meters off in the distance.

"Y'see how the end seems to curve out? Yeah? That's because this baby has a High Drive that would normally be found on a light cruiser. Meaning Stardream is faster 'n all get-out."

He yawned as he wandered up into the airlock and grabbed the packets he'd left there earlier, then stepped back outside and proceeded to hand them out to the assembled.

"Now, for the orientation lecture. Rule Number One, if you're gonna live on -my- ship, then you wear a Combat Jumpsuit. You can modify 'em as much as you like, and I don't care if you wear clothes over 'em, but you're gonna wear 'em."

"Rule Number Two, Nobody flies my ship but me. Not that any of you could. You'll see when we lift off."

"Rule Number Three, be nice to the AI. She's had a hard time. You'd be feeling a little crappy too if you had to watch your crew burned alive..."

"And finally, Rule Number Four. Projectile Weapons will be kept unloaded, and not be loaded until you're off the ship. Frankly, if it can penetrate a hull, I don't wanna see it. In case of a boarding action...You get to the armory. If you can't get to the armory, then fine, load your pistol. But if you die from decompression, it's not my fault."

He smiled then, "Now, on the subject of bunking. We've got two rooms. One will hold two, the other will hold three. The one that holds two opens onto the bridge. I have one of those two bunks. Ms. Morgana, I honestly don't care about who bunks where other than that, so you can organize the rest as you see fit."

Erik Carrion crossed his arms and leaned back against the side of the ramp, as if waiting for an answer. Possibly because he was...

Mike opened the packet to reveal the greyish-blue suit. He decided to put it on after he got settled. He couldn't think of any questions for Erik. Execpt one important one.
"Where's the head?"

Morgana smiled, "very well skipper, now, I will take one of the bunks in the dual room, I don't care who takes what bunk in the other room. Now I have some ground rules. One, no one kills any one else on this mission, without permission." She beams at the crew, hoping they have enough of a sense of humor to realise that she is joking aboyut the permission bit,

"Two, I don't want to see any one drawing weps on another crew member. Three, this is Erik's ship, what he says goes." She pauses, thinking,

"Fourth, when we find the Glorious please remember that I am a Zedran military officer, and I probably will know what I am doing, listen to me. And lastly I don't want any one here getting on the wrong side of the Zedran authorities..." Her last words would turn out to be somewhat ironic.

"Now, it looks like every one is here. Should we prep for launch?"

In the docking bay itself, a loud argument could be heard, "SOLDIERS, please, I can't let do that... I must insist" a second later a shreik was heard. Seconds after an explosion rocked through the docking bay as soldiers, dressed in the uniform of the Zedran Impirial Guards moved through the doors.

Morgana turned around, still standing on the docking ramp, "Skipper, get us off of the ground... NOW!" Turning around, she took out her energy pistol and began trading fire with the ZIG troops on the ground.

Erik Carrion was pissed.

"Shoot at MY ship, will you?, SCRATCH MY PAINT, WILL YOU?...Not...Bloody...Today."

He twitched. It was an almost imperceptible motion, with no obvious results. Then, he spoke. Loudly. Clearly. "Stardream, Suppress."

These results were, however, quite obvious. A slender ring ran around the entirety of the corvette, and its purpose was now revealed. Two three-barreled weapons of some kind swivelled around from either side of the ship to lock onto the group of soldiers.

The barrels began to spin, then their purpose was revealed. Small spheres of cheap slag were cycled into place then shot to hypersonic speeds by a simple but robust linear accelerator. The result was some very, very effective suppressing fire.

Erik planted both his hands on the ramp, then jumped. Muscles that were accustomed to the two gees of most of the Revenian worlds shot him upwards and back.

He landed with both legs planted firmly on the ramp, and then he was in motion. He rather ruthlessly pushed Morgana into the airlock, then screamed at the others to follow.

He was already gone.

He tore into the bridge, not bothering to slow, his hands planted on the top of the command chair, then he vaulted over the back of the seat and dropped down. His adrenaline charged muscles ignored the pain in his tailbone.

A panel on the side of the headrest flipped open, and a pair of cables snaked out. Erik's left hand came up, peeling back the strip of synthskin that covered his direct cranial NI-Jack. The cables, sensing their pathway cleared, shot into place, socketing into the jack in the side of his neck.

The Command-Interface Implant allowed a pilot to control his ship in real-time, without the need for clumsy switches and levers. The cost was steep, of course, both psychologically, to the bearer of the implants, and figuratively.

It required a considerable amount of costly invasive surgery and a highly-advanced AI system capable of acting as a base interpreter for the wearer of the implants.

Ports along the ship began to slide open, and the emergency atmospheric manuevering thrusters were revealed. They were little more than crude fusion torches, but they were all he had.

The High Drive ate atmosphere like nobodies business, activating it in one was tantamount to suicide. Stardream's Induction Drive was shot. Desperate times...

"Let's get the hell on board!" Mike shouted. Himself and the others grabbed thier gear and jumped into the ship shortly after Erik. No sooner had they the airlock had sealed. Mike tried to stand but found himself stumbling over everyone else and sliding down the hallways on his back till he hit a wall with a dull thump. He felt something warm flow down his forehead, blood from a tiny cut. Couldn't he wait for us to get strapped in?!

The airlock sealed off behind the last of the men boarding, and Stardream lifted from Slip Seventeen on a bed of super-hot plasma. The lithe little corvette burned through the atmosphere, and the very instant they were free of said restraining object, the fusion torches cut out and retracted behind their protective panels.

The High Drive kicked in, glowing like a small star at the rear of the corvette, and though the accelerator wasn't felt, it was quite excellent. The little ship was on course to a safe starfall distance, and having set said course, Erik disconnected his CI Implant system.

The cords sprung from the jacks in his neck, hissing as they retracted into the head rest, and he reached up to smooth the bit of synthskin back into place. He slumped back into his command chair, breathing hard as he came off an Adrenaline High.

He slid from the command chair and walked slightly unsteadily rearward, coming upon the others, he looked them over.

"Sorry about that..."

Then he turned to stare intently at Morgana, "Zedran Military Officer, Eh? Now, do tell, what the hell that was all about?"

"Please do tell." Mike said. A rag was over his cut, most of the bleeding had already stopped.

Morgana looked around at them, "Alright, I don't know what the hell just happened, all I know is that a group of Zedran soldiers just tried to kill a Zedran military officer and a group of mercinares. Now do any of you have a reason why the Zedran Imperial Guards would want to try and kill you?" She looks around the table, "Because I certainly don't"

MIke meet her gaze. "Hey, I'm a law abiding citizen who just needs a few extra bucks. Left NASA a few weeks back. Maybe thier afraid you might sell of what is on that ship of yours."

"I wasn't saying that you did have a reason, I was just wondering... " She thinks, "And usualy the Zedran Military would send a demand/request before they started shooting."

Erik smiled grimly. "I have a feeling we'll find out, in time. I also have a feeling I'm not going to like the answer. So. Let's get settled in, and we can discuss where the hell we're going after that, then?"

He turned around, squared his shoulders, and stalked off to the bridge. Having arrived therein, he sunk into his command chair and closed his eyes.

"Something Wrong, Boss?" Stardream's voice cut through the fog seeming to overlay his mind.

"No, not really. I'd say that I was just coming down off an Adrenaline High, plus the after-effects of communion, but that'd be a lie. I'm problably just tired."

Erik smiled glumly and turned his attention to something else...

Morgana sighed, this is going to be a loooong month, or two, or three... She stalked off to the bridge to attempt to load the nav co-ordinates into the main computer, she never had had great luck with AIs.

As she reached the bridge she saw Erik sitting there, "Sorry if I am intruding, mind if I come in?"

Erik slowly turned his head to the side, directing his eyes to glance at Morgana. 'twas a welcome distraction from staring mindlessly at reactor read-out reports, anyways. He didn't even know why he was monitoring reactor read-out reports. Probably just something to do. Probably.

"No problem, come right on in. Anything I can help you with?"

"I need a little help loading the data co-ordinates for the last location of the Glorious... but I think your computer might mind if I start accessing files..." Morgana smiled breifly, "Last AI I worked with nearly set internal security on me for hacking."

OCC:Ah, Hell. I've been on vacation. I still am, actually.

IC:Pulson grabbed a bunk as soon as he got in the Stardream. Although he wasn't very impressed with the ship, he had to say that Carrion had made quite a few handy modifications to it. He started to inspect the ship, still wondering what those Zedrans were doing at the Slip.

He soon ran into Mike.

"Hello, Mike," He said. This man, Pulson thought, was the oddest on the ship. He decided to strike up a converstion. "So, why do you think those Zedrans attacked us?"

OOC: What do ya mean by "oddest"?

IC:

"Hey man." Mike said. He had been walking around the ship trying to remember where everything was so if the stuff hit the fan, he'd be ready. He was also scratching his jumpsuit which was under his black pants and shirt. "Well, it doesn't make sense. Why would soldiers fire upon an officer? What do you make of it?"

*sticks a stick on dynamite below the thread*


*KA BUMP*

Keltin amused himself with practicing his quick-draw. After unloading the six-shot load of hollow-point .40 caliber rounds, his hand would drop to his weapon's grip & fly back up with remarkable speed. After the short drill had concluded, the weapon would return its holster. Keltin repeated the exercise several times before re-loading & seating himself for the long journy...

Erik forced a smile. Of course, he was glad she'd thought to ask before she started trying to dump nav-files into the system. Not that she could have, of course. The only working consoles were on the bridge, and the bridge was -his- domain.

Anyways.

"All right. Let's see what we can do about that."

'n so Erik set his mind to the problem.

"Hey man." Mike said. He had been walking around the ship trying to remember where everything was so if the stuff hit the fan, he'd be ready. He was also scratching his jumpsuit which was under his black pants and shirt. "Well, it doesn't make sense. Why would soldiers fire upon an officer? What do you make of it?"

OCC:Ah, Finally back!

IC:"I think," Said Pulson, lowering his voice a little bit and glancing around, "That Morgana isn't telling us everything that's going on here. I'm sure she's hiding something, but i just dont know what it is. I mean, obviouly someone who dosent like what we're doing tipped off those soldiers as to where we were. As you said, It just doesent make much sense.

"Yeah, I know. I'm gonna get something from my bag. See you later." Mike walked down the hallways and when he walked into one room he jumped back with a cry. He had walked in when Keltin had pulled out his gun. "Jesus man! Trying to give someone a heart attack?"

"Yeah, I know. I'm gonna get something from my bag. See you later." Mike walked down the hallways and when he walked into one room he jumped back with a cry. He had walked in when Keltin had pulled out his gun. "Jesus man! Trying to give someone a heart attack?"

The Argonian mechanic reguarded the mercenary with a puzzled look..

"I am not Jesus, nor is this a 'heart-attacker'..."

Keltin replied, holding up a .40 caliber round he was beginning to load into his weapon...

"I have plenty if you need them, but it seems your sub-machineguns take .45 caliber rounds..."

Mike looked at the lizard strangly. Does his species take everything literally, or does he not know a figure of speech when he hears it?
"I'm fine with ammo, but thanks anyway. Several years in the marines teach you have machine pistol and pistol ammo match. So I modifed my MPs to fire the .45 bullet."

Again, Keltin reguarded the man with a puzzeled glance...

"I am aware that Heckler & Koch's Universal Machine Pistol, or UMP, was chambered for the .45 Automatic Colt Pistol, or ACP, round. What modifications are needed?"

The Argonian spins the revolver back into its low-slung holster, now fully-loaded & ready for use...

"Just a slight modification to the sights." He reached into the suitcase and pulled out a small telescopic sight and put it on the UMP. "It does look strange but, sometimes I have this and need to see with better vision than my eyes allow. Plus I've fitted them with laser and flashlight attachments. Do you only have those six-shooters?"

Keltin nods...

"I carry only this Smith & Wesson. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing, just seems silly to just have a six-shooter, when your enemies have automatics, machine-pistols, assault rifles, and such. You can take one of my UMPs if you want." Mike offered.

The Argonian shook his head...

"I do not require anything more than this weapon. A head-shot is just as effective as a spray of lead."

Morgana smiled, patching in the nav co-ordinates. As she worked, she was thinking things over in her own mind. [i]Why did those soldiers attack us, it makes no sense. High Command aprooved my operation, and this is no risk to the government. I just was enticing them when I offered them the ship... without money it was the only way to go, yet I still feel a little guilty about it, these people are basicly nice... yet again, it is my mission, to recover the Glorious and figure out why she disapeared."

After they had finished loading in the files, Morgana turned to Erik, "So what's the life of a free-lance spacer like?"

OOC: Sorry about the lack of postage, Revenia threatened my on mIRC to give the thrashing of my life if I didn't post to this thread.... I will be somewhat sporadic untill Monday, but after that I will be posting diligently

Erik looked over at Morgana, and smiled. Yes, it was -that- smile. The one that seemed to serve little purpose other than to enrange large testerone ridden hulks.

"Oh, it isn't too bad, I guess. Not for me, anyways. I've always got a berth with the Flotilla to go home to, which is a bit of a security blanket. But I've always been something of an explorer, y'know. The urge to 'seek out new life and civilization, to boldy go where no has gone before' and all that jazz."

His left hand pulled up the coordinates on one of the vis-screens extended from his command chair. He raised his eyebrow just a bit, then nodded slowly and calculated the starfall.

Mike walked through the ship heading for the bridge. He opened the door and smiled at Erik and Morgana.
"So Erik, is there anything I can do to help out before we get there?"

Erik turned to Mike and grinned, "Yeah, could you run back and tell the other boys to get strapped into their bunks. First time Starfalling is always a bit of an experience."

Having said this, he directed Morgana to what had been the comm officers shock couch. As the current Comm Unit was plugged directly into the AI Core, the position was decidedly superlative. Of course, at the moment, all the bridge positions, save his command chair, were superlative.

He felt a slight tingle in his fingertips, showing that the little corvette's mass reactor was already building up the energy to power the Stardrive. It was almost imperceptible, but Erik had always been able to feel it. It would still be a bit before direct input from hisself was required...so he could afford to put off that moment for a bit longer.

But not long. Not long at all.

Keltin strapped himself into a passenger couch, securing his toolbox next to him...

Morgana smiled at him a she strapped in,

“Would the Armada welcome an ex-officer from the Zedran Naval Force?”

She looked around the cabin, eyes wandering over the machinery,

“Another quick question, I am familiar with most types of long distance FTL travel, Hyper-Drive, Slipstream, Stellar Folding, even Planar folding, but what on earth is ‘Star Fall’?

****************************************************

At another point in space, Emperor Maxmilian Eccor sat in front of a holo projector viewing the reports from the naval units that were currently searching for the rogue Zedran officer, and her pirate crew. For they were pirates, at least in the eyes of the Zedran Government.

Maxmilian knew the real reason why they were being hunted, though, there were secrets on the Glorious too important to have recovered, and there were also dangers to great to allow to be loosed.

Slowly he turned back to his projector, viewing the progress of the hunt for the hunters of the Glorious. When they were found, there were existing orders for all of the pirates to be killed, except for Morgana. Maxmilian wanted to meet this woman personally.

****************************************************

Deep out in space, the Glorious floated silently. Even though only a couple of years had pasted for the outside world, thousands of years had passed on the Glorious, the entire crew was dead, their bones and flesh having been reduced to dust.

Yet their deaths were not peaceful deaths of old age, no, they had died violent horrible deaths, being destroyed from the inside out.

Mike strapped himself in and prepared for the boost.
"Give me all ya got Scotty." He said with a slight grin.

"First Time Starfall? You wish." Said Pulson. He strapped himself in.

"Lets see what this ship can really do then shall we?"

Erik laughed then. Truth be told, Starfalling wasn't that bad. Rifting on the other hand, was hell on earth. Even more so for the Rifter than for the passengers, but bad enough for them, too.

"Well, the Stardrive effectively rips a hole in space-time, forces us through it to a parallel universe, wherepon we cruise about for five days, then pop out at our destination, which happens to be conveniently less than twenty light years distant, good thing, that."

"And now, for the bit that I hate."

He peeled back the bit of synthflesh on the side of his neck, and leaned back against the Command Chair's headrest. The cables extended from the headrest and socketed into his NI-Jack. He jerked forward, and then everything went to hell.

It began with a slight hum, as the Mass Reactor began to overcharge, then the roar took over, as, for all an of instant, the Mass Reactors went to critical output, eclipsing the power output of a small solar entity. Just before the damn thing exploded, they made starfall.

Stardream vanished in a multi-colored burst of light, and the occupants of the the corvette experienced about four seconds of the most excruciating pain imaginable as gravitonic waves teared at the soft fleshy bits that were the corvette's crew. Then a euphoric, almost orgasmic feeling, as the corvette broke into drivespace.

Erik's eyes flashed open, and the cables disconnected. He sealed the bit of synth-skin back into place, and smiled.

"And that is why Starfall is a bitch. Consider yourself lucky I'm such a good pilot. Without the compensators, which we don't have, it is usually about ninety times that bad."

Erik Carrion was a pirate in the eyes of a lot of governments, he didn't really care much about what some backworld little nation called Zedra might think of him.

He grinned at Morgana, "Oh, Jaime is always looking for experienced officers, who we tend to not have, to man the captured hulls, which we also tend to run short on. But, then again, I -am- the best pilot in the Flotilla. Hell, I'm the best pilot in the outer rim, save for Arden, and maybe Sir Dysaryn. But they're both military types, y'know?"

He allowed himself to daydream for abit, after all, they were stuck in drivespace for the next five days....

"That's what I'd be doing if I hadn't had such a troubled childhood. Piloting a cruiser for the Revenian Star Nay Independent Unit Command. Helluva group they are, y'know? Travel the galaxy, meeting interesting new people, and kill them. But piloting my own ship is the next best thing, and I don't think I could ask for a better one."

"Why that is awful nice of you, boss. I'm touched.

Erik barked a laugh, "Finally decided to show yourself, I see. Wondering how long it'd take for the shell to come off."

Morgana shook her head, "Well that was odd...."

As the AI poped up, Morgana continued to look out the window, she could something commining closer and closer, a massive shap, like a massive blade in space.


As she came closer, a massive insignia could be seen on her side, an eagle surrounded by twenty stars, in the eagle's claws were a sword and a cluster of arrows, around the ship were more vessels, twenty two in all.

"Captain....."

Erik's eyes widened.

"What the HELL are those?"

He had already begun bringing up the corvette's meager defensive systems. Of course, the sleek little ship's first and foremost defense was that it was fast as all hell, and it had Erik Carrion at the wheel.

Morgana looked at Erik, "Do you know whose ship that is?!"

Mike was strapped in behind Morgana. He offered a possible explination.
"Maybe a squadron of your nation's fighters coming for us Morgana. Its not uncommon for fighter groups to have thier own unoffical badges. Then again, it could be pirates."

Morgana shook her head.... "that insignia is not Zedra.... it is a national insignia.... I've seen it before, on a news cast... something the government put out, talking about a research operation on other planets, geo/areological...."

"Whoever they are, they look like they mean business." MIke said as he watched the fighters move around the craft.

Erik frowned. "It's obviously a bastardization of the Great Seal of the United States of America, 'cept with a decidedly more aggressive bent. Hrrumph. Not particularly designed to make me feel at ease."

He keyed up Stardream's weapons systems, such as they were, then mumbled.

"Stardream, hun, see if you can establish communications with these...individuals."

"On it."

Keltin appeared in the cockpit, looking out of the front viewport...

"I take it there is a problem... Am I correct?"

The Argonian's voice was as calm and monotone as ever, yet his right hand twitched occasionally, hovering about the grip of his revolver...

As the massive, one point six kilometer long, warship moved over the smaller corvette, script could be seen on the bottom of the ship. The writing was indeciferable, seemingly a scrible of silver lines on the black hull of the warship.

Over the com channel came a cold, yet musical voice,

"This is the Fist of Justice, to unknown vessel, you have entered a military exclusion zone. Stand by an prepare to be boarded, I repeat, stand by and prepare to be boarded."

Mike tore from his seat and bolted back to the sleeping cabin. He reappered with his 2 UMPs and his XM8.

"Anyone care for a machine-pistol?"

(aw bloody hell. I just noticed this one. I'd have liked to throw a character in with y'all.....Oh well. Taggage for watchage. Who knows, maybe a slot'll open somehow? Unless you really could use a gun-toting merc, since it seems like you've not gone too far yet, I could possibly backpost...lemmie know, eh?)

Mike tore from his seat and bolted back to the sleeping cabin. He reappered with his 2 UMPs and his XM8.

"Anyone care for a machine-pistol?"

Pulson rubbed his neck. He never liked accepting help from anyone, but as he only usally used bladed weapons.....

"Yea, Pass me a UMP, I only have my blades. A gun would help in this situation."

Mike handed Pulson one of the UMPs and a magizine pouch with a dozen spare magizines.

"One thing I learned in the backstreets, never bring a knife to a gun fight."

Erik snarled, as cords zipped from his neck. He killed the High Drive manually, and Stardream began to drift along her previous course. He noted the firearms and sighed.

"Just curious...did anyone actually listen to my little lecture?"

"Ah, well, no biggie. Follow me."

He laughed then, and padded off to the armory, his hand sliding up against the panel, the door sliding open. He then twisted his hand slightly, locking the door open until he released it. Without that extra action, it'd come slamming down the -instant- he'd cleared it. Incidentally, said door was a slab of Iridium, weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of a tonne.

He stepped inside, and with a flourish and a wink, indicated that the assembled should step inside as well.

"Welcome to the Vault." (Incidentally, I believe I described the Vault a few pages back..ahh, page three, to be exact, if you want to refresh your memory.)

Morgana took a short detour, grabbed her two Pulse Pistols and Rifle from her/Erik's room. After that she followed them into the armory. "If you don't mind Erik, I would prefer to use my own weapons... that is, if I am correct in my guess about who we are facing."

As the crew got their new weapons, and as Morgana got out clips for her weapons, a loud clank could be heard, metal attaching to metal. On the outside the Stardream had been latched onto by the unknown vessel, after having been towed into a docking bay.

On the outside, the soldiers began trying to hack the Stardream, with a very powerful AI, the battleship's AI.

Erik began passing out CAF-11s, the autoflechette was murder in close combat, and if it wasn't particularly good at busting hard armor...it could do the job. He then broke open a crate with his cutting bar, and pulled out the breastplate and helmet of a suit of Light Duty Armor, which he handed to Morgana, then gave the others armor of the same type.

"Not a problem, Ma'am. I believe you use energy weapons, so hull penetration shouldn't be a problem for you."

As he spoke, he was pulling on his own suit of Light Duty Armor, though he didn't use the helmet. Rather, he wore a command circlet upon his brow, the green cryscreen lowered over his left eye. It was through this circlet, and fact that his CI-Implants were designed to allow him to communicate with an AI without jacking in, that he learned that Stardream was being attacked.

"Stardream, babe? Talk to me."

"These bastards are good, Erik. They'd almost gotten through before I noticed. I don't think I can hold out for long."

He snarled, "Babe, I want you to go Dormant again. Isolate your core, like how I showed you. Remember how I showed you? Just run the protocol for real this time."

"O-Okay, I...I'll see you soon."

And with that, Stardream activated her isolation protocol, and all around the AI Core, Iridium blast doors slammed shut, and the hardlines leading out to the ship were severed, rather forcibly, by small explosive charges planted on the junctions.

This effectively killed the ship, as the secondary systems that weren't AI-dependant hadn't yet been restored to functionality.

Erik calmly drew his pistol from its holster, and flicked the safety off. The big pistol was an AMT SMP-10, a wicked little machine pistol that took the form of a particularly large Heavy Pistol. It fired 10mm slugs at hypersonic velocities, from a 32 round mag.

The wicked little pistol -could- penetrate hard armor, but Erik trusted himself not to miss. He could not make the same allowance for any of the others individuals on the ship.

No. Not on The ship. On His Ship.

His off-hand rested upon the decidedly large combat knife strapped to his left thigh, and he felt the reassuring chill run through his hand. He smiled then, a decidedly grim smile.

"Alright, folks. Nobody shoots 'till either I shoot, or they shoot. Got it? Good. Let's go meet our visitors."

"Thanks," Pulson said to Mike as he was handed a UMP. He also decided to slip a hatchet from his belt into his hand. If the situation got into close qaurters, he was the man for the job. He remembered that he had a 6-shooter strapped to his waist also, but he would not risk piercing Stardream's hull with it.

Pulson waited tensely for the fight to begin.

Mike grabbed a vest of body armour and made sure the trama plate was in place. He moved near Erik and cocked the XM-8. He trusted his assualt rifle and SMG to do the job.

"Got it chief."

Keltin tapped a rather large 32mm wrench, made from drop-forged durasteel, against the palm of his right hand...

"I am ready..."

The .40 caliber hollowpoints in his revolver wouldn't pierce hard armor like a ship's hull, but the impact from the wrench would certainly ring someone's bell...

On the outside the soldiers were annoyed, very annoyed. The Stardeam had sealed herself, and this left the soldiers no other choise. Slowly they began to lever open the door. They had orders not to damage the ship, and were quite intend upon that. Finaly as the door was opened, the shock troops stepped through.

Their armor was a mixture of gold and blue. It looked like metal fassioned after nature, yet within this held a meanace, no longer did the open helms show the face of the wearer, but a black face-sheild covered the helm, and it could be seen where the armor had been made airtight for space use.

As the soldiers stepped through one of them spoke, "Come out with your hands up, you are under arrest for violating the territory of the Thelasi Star Empire, you are accused of being spies and allies of an enemy of the state. We know that a Commander Morgana is amongst your number, she is an officer of a state hostle to the empire."

The troops continued to move in....

Morgana looked at the others, "Thelasi... I thought so... don't be fooled, when you are captured, they will probably kill you, unless that is, you can shapeshift to look like an elf, and can speak Elvish fluently..."

Erik smiled, grimly. He tapped the emblem on the shoulder of his light duty armor. The eight pointed daggerstar that was used extensively by the Star Supremacy...and by a certain ally of Erik's old nation.

He smiled then, as he signalled for the others to keep back. He, alone, went to meet the Thelasi, his hands raised to show his peaceful intent.

"Ho, there, My good Elves. I can understand the situation you are in, but it is my duty as captain of this ship to inform you that I am well aware of Thelas' lack of claimed space. Unless, of course, I just stumbled upon your ever so secretive Craftworld."

He grinned then, and continued. "Further, I must protest your boarding methods. If you'd simply -asked,- I would have opened the airlock for you. Now that we've got the preliminaries out of the way, care to explain your justification for this little fiasco?"

Mike stood next to Morgana and looked at her.

"You are considered thier enemy? That is just f***ing A. Why didn't you tell us earlier?"

Keltin's wrench remained in-hand...

"I had somehow figured this would happen..."

He'd expected mishaps such as this from the start... Pesimissum was the way of the Argonian warrior... or mechanic, as the current instance was...

Morgana shook her head, "Last time I checked Thelas and Zedra were not a war... and had not opened diplomatic channels...."

The Thelasi officer looked at Erik, "Give me a minute, I must check with my superior about something." He pauses for a moment, his voice cancelled out by his helm, then he speaks again, "I have orders to bring you and Lady Morgana to the Force Commander... Please come with us."

The Thelasi raise their pulse rifles, looking at the band of explores, waiting for them to make their move.

Mike looked at the officer.

"What are you gonna do to the rest of us?"

The officer turned to Mike, "You will stay in your vessel, untill our commanding officers decides what to do with you"

The officer turned to Mike, "You will stay in your vessel, untill our commanding officer decides what to do with you"

Erik nodded slightly, the fingers of his right hand dancing upon the large combat knife strapped to his right hip.

"Alright. I'll come quiet-like."

He figured he'd give the idiot elves a chance. One chance.

More than they deserve, certainly. But, of course, this 'Force Commander,' was worth quite a potential gold mine. Or rather, the bounty on this 'Force Commander's' head was...

All in all, it was worth it. It had been worth it when the stealthy drive-comm message was fired off to three different systems, and it would be -most- assuredly worth it when the response to that message arrived...presuming it did arrive...

Ahh, Case Romeo protocols were a -magnificent- thing.

Morgana stood up, “In that case, I will go with you, Thelasi”

The officer nodded, “Please follow me” He walked off, the soldiers fall in formation around and behind Mike and Morgana. As they walked through the Thelasi ship, it was obvious that the Thelasi made an effort to stay out of the way of the soldiers.

Continuing through the ship there were whispers, “Human male and his bitch…” and other such derogatory statements. Contrary to most elves, it seemed that these had an actually hatred for humans. Finally they reached their destination, as they reached a door, one of the officers stepped behind them, suddenly, two of the guards hit them in the back of their heads with the buts of the Thelasi Rifles, knocking out the two humans.

As they awoke, Morgana and Erik found themselves strapped into two ‘rack’ like objects, holding them up-right. Standing in front of them was a Force Commander.

Erik's vision finally cleared fully, and he immediately assessed his situation. He reserved his immediate ace in the hole, the fact that he was several times stronger than he looked, for later. His attention focused upon the Force Commander, and he gave a wry grin.

"Ahh, so, here we have the Mighty Lord Elf, come to gloat over his two shiny trophies. Ka-greos Savrai Takhalis Jerai. Honorless. Your presence is like a dark cloud upon the universe, your existence is an afront upon the Pancreator."

"Now. Then. Let us get this over with. What do you want?"
---

Elsewhere

Adrian Carrion looked across the table, shadows played across his handsome, youthful face, courtesy of the tavern's dark atmosphere, and the flicker of the candle light.

Across the elder Carrion brother, sat Torin De'Kallos, the Justicar. He commander the mercenary unit 'Torin's Hammermen.'

"Adrian, it has been a long time."

"Indeed. You also received the message?"

"Aye."

Just then, the door to bar swung open, and five figures in black power armor, wearing blood red gauntlets on their left hands, and dark red cloaks hanging from black pauldrons, entered the room. They proceed to make a sort of defensive cordon, and in their wake, six individuals entered.

Five of them wore the same black armor, with the same gauntlets and cloaks. The sixth was different. He was a tall man, with shoulder-length silver-blonde hair and piercing quicksilver eyes. He wore loose black slacks, a tight black shirt, black boots, and a black cloak.

Upon his brow sat a silver circlet, and at his side was a Warblade, of the type used by Ascended Nobles since time immemorial. In the pommel of that sword, was a ruby that pulsated with a red glow, beating as if it were a man's heart.

This man approached the table at which the Adrian and Torin sat, and looked down upon them. A slight grin creased his face, and when Torin flew from his chair, to fall upon one knee before the tall Ascended, he almost immediately drew the other man to his feet.

"There is no need for that, Torin. I believe we are all here concerning the same message."

Adrian frowned, "I can see why Erik would program Torin and I into his Case Romeo, but you?"

Warprince Sir Dysaryn Levan Blackstar-Stark, Prince Celestian, The Twilight Knight, winked at the elder Carrion brother.

"Before Erik was banished from the Supremacy, despite my best efforts, he was in the military, as you know. Further, as you know, he served as a Captain. What you may not know, is that he commanded the Third Company of the Twilight Seraphim."

Adrian blinked, then. "He never told me. But then, he wouldn't, now that I think about it."

Dysaryn nodded slowly, "Just So. Torin, how long until your flotilla is ready for departure?"

The big mercenary thought for a few moments, then spoke, "Thirty minutes to an hour."

The Warprince nodded, "Get to it."

He turned then to the blonde-haired silver-eyed pirate, "Will you go alone, or will my brother bring the other Moonsabres along?"

Adrian Carrion was one of the few people who that Cap'n Jaime Starr had been born Jaime Stark.

"For Erik, Jaime will come."

Dysaryn nodded, "Aye. That he would. Very Well. Get to it."

Dysaryn followed Adrian Carrion out of the tavern, the ten-man squad of his Blood Guard swirling around him like a protective hurricane. He pondered things as he walked...and pondered as he sat upon the assault shuttle which flew him to his ship, and pondered, as the RNS Changer and its consorts got underway...

For Thelasi, Torin De'Kallos would go anywhere. For his Brother, Adrian Carrion would do anything. For the man who had saved the life of his nephew, Dysaryn Stark would kill anyone.

And god help the poor bastard who stood in their way.

The commander smiled, "I would like to know the location of the Glorious..."

He turns to Morgana, still smiling, "Now my child, where is it?"

"Commander Morgana, ZSA 01932842"

The commander sighed, pressing a button on the wall, the rack like devise stretching her a little more.

"Commander?"

Morgana remained silent. The commander shook his head, pressing the button again. This time Morgana screamed, the rack moving by several notches. The commander looked at her, “Now my captive beauty, tell me, where is the Glorious?”

Still Morgana remained silent, then she screamed once again as the rack moved, a sickening ‘pop’ was heard as a joint dislocated. Over the intercom a message came “Commander, Thelasi Fleet detected, it is the Acharn fleet. We are going to Slip-Stream in five… four… three… two… one” With a jolt the Fist of Justice disappeared into Slip-space.

The Force Commander turned back to Morgana, “You are nicely resistant to physical torture…” He gently rests his hand on her cheek, he moves his hand down to her collar, slowly unbuckling it.

(Please wait two more Thelas posts before the fleet arrives, it is in another system after all)

There were a number of lessons to be learnt in the situation.

But the most pertinent one was: One did not capture Drop Commandoes.

Protocol took over. His right hand twitched, as a length of slicewire slid free from his right pinky, which was currently pointed down at the restraint holding his right arm to the rack-like device.

Now, slice-wire was -real- fun stuff. See, it had a monomolecular core, that could be extended out to form the sharpest cutting edge possible. It served many purposes within Revenia, as it was simultaneously the favored tool of the assassin, and the trick with which Revenians were able to keep their old-fashioned swords.

He dextrously manipulated the invisible wire until it had coiled about the restraint, then retracted the line with but a thought. Not a damn thing happened. Well, of course, the restraint was cut. But it was an invisible cut. Lying in wait until he had need of it. Which may or may not be soon.
----
Bridge of the RNS Changer
Sir Dysaryn Stark sat in his command chair.

"Vek, Clarify that."

The AI that had served him since his wanderings, Vekthalinara, analyzed the reading, and..."Slip Signature, Dys. Corresponds to the signature given for Thelasi Slip Drives."

"As I thought."

He frowned then, and reached out with his mind, following the signature. He rather wished he had his Wanderer with him, but the ancient, Ascended-tech Ship would have simply messed things up all the more. One did not use ships like that in coordination with other ships, and at this particular moment, about the Changer in drivespace, hung a considerable number of other ships.

Flanking the Changer was the Moonsabre, flagship of Cap'n Jaime Starr, perhaps the fasted capital ship ever to have been built. On the other side of Dysaryn's Strike Cruiser, the RNS Justicar travelled. She was a Chevalier class Pursuit Cruiser, five hundred meters long, fast, powerful, deadly.

Around that core of three ships, hung the rest of Jaime's Flotilla, a pair of battlecruisers, and four Cutlass class Pursuit Frigates, including the Nightlance, commanded by one Captain Adrian Carrion.

Augmenting this, was the space battle group of Torin's Hammermen, a pair of Frigate Up Shipyards Ltd. Armored Combat Transports, the Patrick and the Callahan.

Finally, the two Outrider class Escort Carriers that formed, with the Changer, Dysaryn's personal battlegroup, rounded out his little ad-hoc flotilla.

Dysaryn smiled then, and turned his head to look upon the man who sat in the shock couch next to his command chair.

"Well, John, what do you think?"

John Rybach turned his head to grin at his friend, "I think that those poor Thelasi bastards will rue the day they messed with Captain Erik Carrion, Third Company, Twilight Seraphim. Then, when we catch up..." He let the final bit drift off into nothingness.

John Rybach was quite different from his friend, an example of a quite different race. He was a Stoneburner, a race touched by order, as the Ascended had been marked by chaos.

He stood six feet even and weighed one hundred ninety five s.pounds, as he had since the day he reached his majority. He had brown hair and brown eyes, and he, like his friend, had changed little since the day he had turned eighteen. In fact, he hadn't changed at all.

Dysaryn bore, at his side, the Ascended-pattern Warblade 'Heartsflame,' four feet of Eldensteel, somehow tainted to a crimson color, with a fat red ruby that pulsed like a heart set into the pommel.

John bore, at his side, the Stoneburner-pattern Warblade 'Truthschild,' four feet of steel that appeared quite normal. It had no adornment, save for a cross of bronze set into the guard and hilt.

The two men were as alike as black and white, and yet, they were both best of friends, and brothers-in-arms. It had been a while since Rybach and Stark had last accepted a job...but it had happened. Again.

The Changer, The Keeper, The Reaper, The Protector. Thus it was, thus it is, thus it shall be.

Morgana shook her head, it was unbeleivable. Elves were a noble race, rape and torture was horrific to them, the Thelasi especialy, their solders and commanders were supposed to follow a strict honor code, and Morgana was sure that the rape of prisoners wasn't on it... she shuddered as she could feel the cold fabric of Thelasi's gloves against her skin.

One of the two soldiers at the door grimaced inside his helmet. He was Norisin nos Civren, Tirn and Special Officer to the Empress. Finally, as the commander began to remove Morgana's jacket, the soldier had had enough...

"STOP! In the name of the Empress, I place you under arrest!"

As Norisin said this, the other guard spun around, firing his gun, he was shocked as the energy blast glanced harmlessly off of the skin of Norisin's armor. He returned fire, two shots, one blasting away the other soldiers head, the other, punching right through the Force Commanders heart.

With a purposefull stride, he walks over to Morgana, firing four shots, blasting away Morgana's restrainghts.

Morgana tries to stand up fails, collapsing onto the floor. The Tirn seems not to notice, but looks around the room.

Erik moved his right hand. He had earlier severed the restraint, and while the cut was extremely fine, it was a cut. Effectively, he no longer had to either break the restraints, he merely had to bend a pair of bars.

Erik was descended from a race that had evolved upon a world with twice the gravities of Earth. His muscles tensed, and he gritted his teeth, and finally, his hand came free.

Beginning with his left hand, he removed his restraints. Within moments, he was on his feet and moving. (At this point, I'll assume that Erik's visible weaponry, that is, the pistol and the knife, were taken from him.)

Two almost-leaping strides carried him to Morgana, and he knelt beside her, gathering her up with one arm. As he was doing this, he withdrew his sliver pistol from the holster sewn into the inner lining of his boot.

The sliver pistol was tiny, but it was amazingly lethal. It fired tiny needles of metal-laced polymer shaved from a block of, surprisingly enough, metal-laced polymer. Incidentally, it fired these at rather high speeds, and it fired them rather quickly.

Each time one pulled the trigger, ten needles flew downrange. Each magazine contained a one-thousand needle block of polymer, and the power cell necessary to fire them. The magazines were polymer, and were built incorporating a layer of anti-scan weave.

This particular sliver pistol bore the silver wings device of the Twilight Seraphim, with the roman numeral III superimposed over it. Not surprisingly, he had been given the weapon because he had commanded the Third Company of the Twilight Seraphim.

(Incidentally, if ya don't know what the Seraphim are, then WH40k Space Marines provide a pretty good analogy.)

"Alright, Elf. Talk."

At this moment, light would somehow glint across the odd ring on Erik's right ring finger. It was a band of iron, with a shaped chip of obsidian forming the 'face.' Engraved in that chip of obsidian, then highlighted in silver, was a rune. If one knew enough random facts about the Supremacy, one would know that an identical ring was worn by a number of powerful individuals within that polity.

If one had a great knowledge of esoteric facts involving the Supremacy, then one would know what that rune meant.

One would know that it meant...

Bane Sidhe

Morgana practicaly clung to Erik, unable to bear much weight on her legs because of the dislocations.

The Thelasi Tirn looked at Erik, "I am Norisin, officer, Fifth Tirn, Special Attache to the Empress Ithenril. I was sent here to infiltrate and investigate a supposed Thelasi battlegroup... This battlegroup. Technicaly this ship shouldn't exist..."

He slowly removes his helm, shaking his head to free his long black hair, "You see, the name of this ship translates in 'Glorious'" He notices Morgana's shocked look, "No, it is not the Glorious which you seek... this ship was supposedly destroyed in the Shadow War, and never was rebuilt... that's why it drew our attention.

I figure that this is not a Thelasi warship, and the actions of a couple of minutes ago confirm that... no Thelasi Officer, a Force Commander no less, would try and rape a prisoner." He sighs, "At any rate, we should get off this ship before the crew notice that their commander is dead."

Erik looked at the Thelasi...god...what the devil would you call 'em. Counterintelligence would be the logical term, but if this ship didn't actually -exist,- then the term did not apply.

Elf, then.

Erik looked at the elf, the silver in those steel gray eyes that seemed to penetrate directly to the soul was effectively unnoticeable. That did not change the fact that it was there, though.

"All right. Very well. However, it seems to me that we are at a bit of a disadvantage. I have no clue where we are, only that we aren't where I want us to be. Secondly, we're outnumbered quite a bit. Thirdly, even if we did manage to, say, steal a shuttle and get off this ship, our chances of evading the -rest- of your little presumedly traitorous squadron is still hanging around, waiting to kill us."

"Not to mention the fact that I don't have my gear, and Morgana here isn't going anywhere on her own for a bit."

He mumbled then, and knelt, gently setting Morgana upon the floor for a moment. As he did so, he returned the sliver pistol to its concealed holster, sealing the flap back over it.

He wandered over to the guard's corpse and retrieved the guard's gun and ammunition. Erik, like most Revenians, had a general dislike for energy weaponry. The exception to this was the powergun, used on Revenian armored fighting vehicles.

This dislike was because of a number of things, but one thing in particular: Lack of penetration. With the effectively universal adoption of battle armor by most nations, penetration was decidedly important. Add to that the extreme difficulty required to create effective man-portable energy weapons, and it really made sense.

Erik checked the gun's charge, and nodded, slowly. "Alright, Elf. Do you know where your friends might have stashed my gear?"

Mike paced around the ship, wondering what happened to Morgana and Erik. He wanted to bust into the elven ship and break them out, but he knew it would be useless. So he slumped into a chair and waited.

Keltin's tone was defiant, as was his body-language & his movements with his wrench...

"I do not recognize the authority of the Thelasi government in this matter..."

The mechanic states, to no-one on particular...

The officer looked at him quizicaly, "In the armory" He raises a hand, "And yes, I do know how to get there..." He looks at Erik for a second, then looks at the dead guard, then looks at Morgana, "You, commander, put on the dead guards armor... we can take Erik out of here as a prisoner.

Morgana nods, striping the dead guard of her combat armor. She disapears into a smaller room for a second, coming back in wearing the armor. She chukcles, "Alright Sir, you are our prisoner, and will be so untill we get to the armory, according to what we know, the commander is still in this room with Morgana, understood?"

Erik shook his head slightly, dropping the energy gun as he did so. He then crossed his hands behind his back, and lowered his head to stare at the floor.

"Very well. Do what you will."

Mike fingered his weapon, he was ready to move against the Elves at a moments notice. But remembering thier weapons he looked down at his XM-8. They got me out gunned.

Keltin was somewhat confused...

"Why have we been boarded in the first place? Surely there are no speed-limits in space..."

Morgana nodded, putting on the helmet. She took her position behind Erik, putting the rifle against his back, the elf stood in front. The group walked out of the room, and was stopped by the two Thelasi guards, "halt, where is the other prisoner?"

Norisin nodded, "The Commander wished some time alone with her..." One of the soldiers chuckled, "Aye, quite a human bitch... nice to hear that the command wants to send her into the soldiers barracks to brake her in..." Chuckling under his helmet Nosirin responded, "Aye a good thing indeed..." "Very well then, carry on."

Nosirin lead the two former captives down several corridors. The ship was massive, but odd, strange designs were painted on the walls, designs that definately were not elven.

After reaching the armory door, Nosirin entered a string of numbers, and the door hissed open inside were two guards, "HEY, that's a prisoner, you not..." His sentance was never finished as Nosirin opened fire, hiting the two soldiers in the head... nocking them to the ground, and killing them.

There was only one problem... they got back up....

Erik moved. It was difficult to describe how fast he was, when he truly wished to be, in a one gee environment. You see, Erik was Halfling Ascended. Meaning that he was of a race that had evolved on the planet Northfell. Which, coincidentally, had a gravitic force twice that of Earth's.

As such, in a one gee environment, he was quite a significant percentage lighter than he normally was. Then his muscles were designed to move. So, he was able to put -that- much more motive force in effect.

He ducked down, drawing the sliver pistol from its concealed holster. His hand was tracking as he rose, and he squeezed back on the trigger. Ten impossibly sharp little needles whirred from the snub-nosed pistol at hypersonic velocities.

The needles would hit one of the soldiers in the femoral artery. Erik did not take the time to wait for results, as he was too busy re-aligning his point of aim. Which he did.

The second burst of ten needles should rip into the neck of the other soldier.

Both shots should have been fatal... But that didn't mean that Erik stopped moving. Oh no. He kept moving, circling, just in case...

Just in case he had to resort to more brutal measures to deal with this pair...

There was one little problem, the shots all hit, and all made visible holes in the soldiers... blood went everywhere, but still those goddamned soldiers kept firing. Nosirin had taken cover behind a box, and Morgana had found a door way that was adiquate cover.

The soldiers kept advancing, untill finaly they were right on top of Nosirin, they both drew, not the conventional elven long-sword, but one drew long human longswod, the other drawing a slim and light scimitar. Nosirin, not being a fool, drew his own blade, of elven design, using a long handled grip to stab one soldiers through the neck, and then a shot handled grib to cut the other in half at the waist... this time, they stayed dead.

Nosirin looked down at the dead bodies, "Well, I've never seen that before... Captain Erik, you and good with a sword?"

Almost imediatly after he asked the question, alarms started going off, "Looks like they found the Commander..."

OOC: Thelasi Imperial Guard in ceremonial dress with longsword: http://www.theargonath.cc/pictures/tttcards/elvensword.jpg

Erik was busy hunting for his gear, which he promptly found. He strapped his gunbelt into place, and pulled on his armor and jacket. The command circlet went on, and he finally felt a whole lot better.

He calmly holstered the sliver pistol, and drew his combat knife. Well...surprise, surprise...it wasn't really a knife at all. It was about two feet of blade, with a closed guard and a 'skullcrusher' pommel. The blade itself was of blue-tinted Eldensteel, and was, of course, an Ascended design.

He turned to the elf, and smiled his smiliest smile.

"I'm better 'n you are, Badger Boy."

The Thelasi cocked his head to one side, "I doubt that, human. But at any rate, we have more pressing concerns than our dislike for each other, mostly the fact that there are things out there who appear to be resistant to ranged weaponry..."

Morgana stood slowly, using the Thelasi battle-armor to take some of the pressure off of her joints. Nosirin again sighed, "And we also have to worry about the fact that Morgana over-there can barely walk..."

From the outside, marching feet could be heard and orders, shouted, not in Sindarin, yet in Black-Speach.

Keltin followed, subduing a guard that appeared suddenly with a quick pair of hits to the helmet with his wrench, followed with a reverse headlock & a sharp upward jolt with both his body & the wrench, snapping the unfortunate man's neck like a dry twig...

"Lead on..."

Erik sighed and shook his head. The halfblade in his right hand began a slight rotation. It was an odd sword, about the size of the traditional swordbreaker wielded in the off-hand by the Fhellant'im...as Erik Carrion once was.

His grip tightened on the halfblade's hilt, and it stilled. So what if he wasn't Captain Erik Carrion anymore. So what if he was no longer one of the one hundred top company commanders in the Supremacy.

Right about now, Erik was wishing for the suit of Combat Armor he'd left behind on Stardream. Really, really wishing for it. Wishing for it, and the two swords he'd left behind.

Of course, he was also wishing that he had Third Company with him. Yup. 'n he was also contemplating stabbing the arrogant elf with a Bic. Seriously considering it. Maybe later.

"Well...only one way out."

He checked the door. As in...rushed it..shouldered it open...and flew through. His left hand came up, the Hellcaster gauntlet he wore upon it triggered, and the Iris Guard irised open. It was about buckler sized, made of a centimeter of reinforced cerametal with a reflective coating on the exterior.

'n, unsurprisingly, Erik was quite good with it.

Mike quietly slipped on the other ship. Tired of doing nothing he moved in the shadows. Looking for Morgana or Erik.

Nosirin smiled, raising his sword and rushing into the mass of soldiers that had gathered outside the room. The soldiers had discarded their rifles and had drawn their own blades, Long Swords, black and red, the crossguards curcing into talon like points.

Dodging among them with fluidic and gracefull movements Nosirin delivered deadly slashes and cuts, slicing through armor and flesh alike, yet even he, a swordmaster in his own right, was not unscathered, cuts began to appear, rends in his black armor apeared, and blood flowed freely.

Morgana, unable to mvoe very quickly because of the joint damage that the Commander had inflicted upon her, raised her rifle, firing into the mass of soldiers. She continued advancing with Erik and Nosirin, trying to match their pace.

Erik grinned his grimmest grin, and if the Thelasi agent was fast for his people, well, so Erik Carrion was easily as fast, if not faster, when compared to standards held by Revenians. Further, Erik -was- Halfling Ascended. His race had developed on a planet with twice the gravitic force of Earth. Thus, his body was used to carrying much more weight than it currently did.

(Specifically, if on Earth(1g), he weighed 180 s.pounds, then on Northfell(2g) he would weigh 360 s.pounds. Conclusion: His muscles are operating under only one half of their normal strain.)

So, one could see, that he had quite the advantage. Further, he was a quite adept swordfighter. He wouldn't call himself a 'master' by anymeans. But he was capable enough.

The results, were quite amazing, that halfblade of his darting in for clean kills time and time again.

It became clear that Erik Carrion was no mere Rogue of the Spaceways. No, he was still, very much, Captain Erik Carrion, Third Company, Twilight Seraphim. Very much still one of the best company commanders in the ORA.

One had to understand the Seraphim to understand what this meant. The Seraphim Regiments were -the- most elite regular soldiers in the -entire- Supremacy. Erik Carrion had been one of the best. Still was, deep inside.

It remained their, still hidden...dormant, but its effects were quite visible.

You see, the Seraphim Regiments were Shock Infantry. One saw why...

Keltin still had yet to draw apon his revolver. The sturdy wrench made a fine instrament of punishment, combined with Keltin's work-hardened muscles & Argonian agility. Strikes combined with grapples & joint-locks with throws... Keltin had clearly seen combat before, wheter it was during a pirate raid or on some distant & forgotten battlefield, none but he would ever know... Not that it mattered at the moment...

A round wizzed past his head, clipping his left ear-fin... In a second's time, Keltin's revolver was up, aimed, and cocked. The offending soldier recieved a rather uncomfortable facial ornament, to the tune of a forty-caliber jacketed hollowpoint tipped with a low-yield explosive...

Hunt for the Glorious

Morgana continued firing, the shots from her rifle blasting the heads of the soldiers to so much grey and red matter. It was hard for her though, her joints hurt her with every pull of the trigger, every movement she made caused her to wince in pain. But if she didn’t move, she was as good as dead.

Soon the hallway thinned out, dead corpses pilled high on the deck plating. Death surrounded them, hanging like a black mist within the air. Nosirin stood from his crouched position, wiping his blade on the armor of a dead soldier, “Alright Captain, Morgana, the ship is not far, just a short walk” He looks at Morgana, “That is, if you two can manage.” He turns and looks at Erik, “So, what are we going to do with our nice dagneldari?” (Dagneldari: Literally, Elf-Killer)

*********************************************************

The soldier who had been shot by the Argonian stumbled back, his full face helm had shattered from the blast. He raised his rifle, preparing to fire, but suddenly fell, an energy wound in his back. Behind him stood a Thelasi, in full battle armor, unlike the other soldiers who wore the standard marine uniform, this soldier, and the three behind him, all wore the armor of the Morchant Tirith.

The commander, noting the Argonian raised an armored hand, “Peace friend, I am an ally. I am Unit Commander Isarach, we are here to help you. Me and my men are attached to a Tirn officer, who has met up with you other companions, please return to the docking bay, my command, Nosirin, will meet you there…”

Erik quirked an eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean?"

He smiled his predatory smile, and whipped his halfblade viciously to the side, blood flying from the blade. He then reversed the motion, socketing the halfblade into its sheath.

He frowned, then, his eyes seeming to lose focus for an instant. "We don't have much time."

He walked over to Morgana, and scooped her up into his arms, body armor and all. He gently tossed her over his left shoulder, one powerful arm clamping down to keep her in place. He didn't particularly care if she dropped the rifle or not.

"Lead on, Master Elf. I would not want to be on this ship longer than fifteen minutes from now, if I were you."

His reasoning was pointed, and he wasn't about to explain it.

Morgana sighed slightly, happy to be off of her aching joints. Indeed, she did drop the rifle, seeing as how the charged particles from the rifle did little damage to these... creatures. She whispered to Erik, "Thank you...."

In the mean time Nosirin looked around, "Alright, follow me. I think I know a way out." he started walking, moving down several corridors. As they moved farther through the ship, disturging trends began to imerge, screaming could be heard, groans and moans from adjoining passage ways. Nosirin shuddered, he began to explain, "Captured prisoners... these demons are sadistic creatures, always first to take delight in the pleasures of the flesh, especialy when they are at the expence of prisoners."

As they continued walking, they entered a portion of the ship littered with dead and rotting corpses, blood and entrails were splashed allong the walls, mixed with feces and other dried excriment. Morgana was happy for the helmet she had taken from the dead Thelasi, as it filtered the air before she smelled it.

Finally Nosirin lead them out of that filthy hallway, into the sterile and clean enviroment of the landing bay, oddly enough, there were no enemy forces within the area, and bay was clear, except for the ship sitting in the center, Nosirin spoke, "That thing your's?"

Erik smiled, predatorily. "Hell yeah, baby."

He darted to Stardream's airlock and inside. The auto-sealer had already repaired the damage quite handily, he, however, did not seal it, leaving it open for Nosirin and any friends he might be dragging along.

Erik, however, was on the move, and speaking as he was.

"Protocol NOIN, TREE, EEELAYVEN, FIFE, TOO"

It sounded like gibberish, but it was phonetic gibberish. 31152. Reinitalization codes. Stardream's back-up cables shot into place, socketing into the previous imploded hubs. The ship came to life.

'Erik?

"Hey Babe. Gimme a mass reading for friendlies in the area."

'The Warprince and a small flotilla is right outside, Erik.'

Erik grinned predatorily, as he skidded to a stop before the armory. He tenderly leaned Morgana up against a stack of crates, and stripped the light duty armor he wore from his body, as well as his jacket and weapons and suchforth.

He moved to the line of drawers, and pulled a specific one. It was beautiful to see. On suit of SORA armor. Not quite up to his Myrmidon suit, but that was waiting for him back at Twilight Central. He expertly strapped into the armor, then replaced his weaponry.

He moved to Morgana and expertly shucked her from the armor, spilling her into his arms like the soft gooey innards of a clam. Hah...hah.

"Hold on. Just a little longer."

He carried her in both arms now, as he moved, a bit slower, but much more certain now, to the bridge.

He set lay her down on one of the acceleration couches, and exhaled sharply, finally allowing himself to come off the Adrenaline rush he'd been on for the past few minutes. A rush that had -almost- kicked in his Enhance programs.

Almost.

"Okay, Babe. Where does it hurt?"

Morgana whimpered softly as she was laid on the couch, “Just about all of my joints…” she winced as she tried to move her arm, “Yes, just about all of my joints, I think the only thing that doesn’t hurt is my neck…” She tried to sit up, but grimaced, and lowered herself back down onto the couch. She sighed, smiling slightly, “Looks like I won’t be going anywhere for a while…”

In the mean time, Nosirin walked into the command center, “The rest of my team will be arriving shortly, we have our own shuttle, if you do not want us on your ship…”

Erik barked his wicked laugh. "Hey, maybe I coulda gotten out of that ship by my lonesome. Of course, maybe I couldn't have. No, Master Elf. Get your people aboard. Quickly, though. I've got a phone-call to make."

"Stardream, get me a line to the Warprince."

"You got it, Erik. The line is Live."

Erik nodded, then spoke slowly, clearly, not always in common.

"My Lord Warprince, I have managed to escape my captors, apparently rogue Thelasi, with the aid of a Mr. Nosirin. We are currently inside what I presume is the rogue flagship. Presuming that help has been sent, redirect it to my originator, modified for tactical expediency."

He made a cutting motion with his right hand, and the burst was fired off, it included: the message, a set of sensor scans, a mass chart, and a set of coordinates.

Erik exhaled sharply and settled himself in his command chair. He began a series of mental exercises, intended to calm his mind. Not that that was particularly possible, but it did allow him to take his mind, if only for a moment, on the situation he was in.

Keltin lowered his revolver, sending it spinning back into its holster. Apparently, his specialty rounds wheren't effective against such armors... The wrench would have to do...

Nosirin's men got aboard the ship, bringing the other members of the party that they had found with them. After doing a quick head-count, Nosirin turned to Erik, "Well Sir, all of my men, and your..." he looks at the group, including Morgana who is lying on the couch, "...party are accounted for... what are we going to do now?"

Meanwhile, at the bridge of the flagship, or what was once the bridge, a massive commotion had taken hold of the deamons that controlled the ships. Within the center of the room was a massive sphere, glowing and crackling with energy. A long object was projecting a beam into the sphere, creating the energy disturbance.

One by one, more of the creatures filed out of the sphere, seeming to emerge from it’s surface like a creature falling through the surface of a pond. Behind him came several other deamon, emerging into this new world….

Erik smiled.

"Now, Master Elf...we make our exit."

He peeled back the bit of synthskin to reveal his NI-Jack, and jerked slightly as the cords socketed into place. Then Stardream began to move...because he'd just lit off the High Drive.

In an enclosed space...

'kin ya'all say -KA BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!-

The speedy little corvette darted out of the bay and into space, way cleared by a burst of fire from the PD tri-barrel powerguns. Erik was redlining both the High Drive and the Induction Drive, and the corvette was just -piling- on velocity...

They barely managed to escape the fireball that had enveloped the renegade Thelasi capital ship....and even that was more or less due to Erik's skill. He road the edge of the shockwave to safety, like an expert surfer...

Directly into the midst of a rapid series of multi-colored bursts of light...

Because the Warprince had arrived.

Poor luck for the other sumbitches...