Yazmarea
05-09-2005, 15:40
Somewhere on the outskirts of Sol
"Holy mother of all gods out there... oh, I am sorry, your Honor, I could not see you were in the room."
Morven Deyring the second grinned at the sailor before him. "Nevermind, Arthur. I know it's not your fault..." - he placed a hand gently on the sailor's cheek. "After all, you didn't know that..." he suddenly grabbed the relaxed man by ear and pulled viciously, the young man screaming in pain. "I! Don't! Like! People that say the Gods' name in vain!" The sailor dropped to his knees.
"Your Highness... the screens... there's a..."
"I don't care what is there!"
"Your highness... please... have mercy... look at those screens..."
"What in the name of the ceo himself..."
And then, the meteorite hit the [i]Monica Deyring, hard. It blew a hole maybe fifteen centimeters in diameter in the computing room, tearng two of the computing modules apart. A pity. They were excellent lads.
The ship began to tumble, it's engines out of control, it's computing power dead, spinning uncontrollably into Sol. Several hours later, when the air began to go stale, the crew and noblemen aboard discovered that the air-production facilities were dead too.
* * * * *
Mayday! Mayday! This is Goodship 'Monica Deyring', of the Yazmarean Imperium, requesting assistance as quick as possible.
"Let's hope this works" - said Nathan Raven, the ship's 'communications boy' (he was actually 39 years old) as he put the communicator down. "In a few hours, if nobody responds, we'll probably have to start drawing lots..."
"Holy mother of all gods out there... oh, I am sorry, your Honor, I could not see you were in the room."
Morven Deyring the second grinned at the sailor before him. "Nevermind, Arthur. I know it's not your fault..." - he placed a hand gently on the sailor's cheek. "After all, you didn't know that..." he suddenly grabbed the relaxed man by ear and pulled viciously, the young man screaming in pain. "I! Don't! Like! People that say the Gods' name in vain!" The sailor dropped to his knees.
"Your Highness... the screens... there's a..."
"I don't care what is there!"
"Your highness... please... have mercy... look at those screens..."
"What in the name of the ceo himself..."
And then, the meteorite hit the [i]Monica Deyring, hard. It blew a hole maybe fifteen centimeters in diameter in the computing room, tearng two of the computing modules apart. A pity. They were excellent lads.
The ship began to tumble, it's engines out of control, it's computing power dead, spinning uncontrollably into Sol. Several hours later, when the air began to go stale, the crew and noblemen aboard discovered that the air-production facilities were dead too.
* * * * *
Mayday! Mayday! This is Goodship 'Monica Deyring', of the Yazmarean Imperium, requesting assistance as quick as possible.
"Let's hope this works" - said Nathan Raven, the ship's 'communications boy' (he was actually 39 years old) as he put the communicator down. "In a few hours, if nobody responds, we'll probably have to start drawing lots..."