Taerkasten
15-02-2009, 18:10
Three long years had passed since the Valhalla-class ship Visund had arrived at this arbitrary point of unclaimed space in the Milky Way. Manned by only a solitary Asgard, Captain Afvaldr, its purpose here was the completion of a long-desired objective which High Command had held for almost a century - the construction of a large space station, designed to serve as a neutral outpost in this galaxy for all races to converge upon for trade and diplomacy.
The Asgard Union had remained isolated from the Milky Way since its inception; the various alien races of the galaxy had been sufficiently advanced in technology and culture to 'go it alone' for thousands of years now, with several extant alien civilisations even matching or surpassing the high level of technology possessed by the Asgard. The few species that the old Asgard government had historically protected no longer needed them, and studying cultures with sufficient technology to repel Asgard scientists should they take a disliking to their presence was a dangerous occupation at best. High Command, at the time suffering from a deficiency of resources and labour, had no interest in interfering or even monitoring such a wartorn galaxy, thwart with danger and suspicion. So, aside from occasional excursions of curiosity and humanitarianism, all Asgard ships were recalled to Ida to serve more domestic duties.
Fading from myth and memory, the Asgard doubted if any even remembered their existence. While the Asgard Union hardly represented the entirety of their species, and since the self-inflicted obliteration of the original homeworld it was just one of numerous different offshoots, the Union so far as they knew was the largest and most consistent grouping of Asgard culture since the original society destroyed itself, and considered itself (rightly or wrongly) to be the 'rightful heir' to the legacy of their species. With such a lofty responsibility as carrying the flame of an ancient species, they wanted more of the universe to remember them, to respect them, and more importantly they wanted to be able to offer help to any species which needed it. Remaining neutral to intergalactic conflicts was their primary objective, but that didn't necessarily mean that they should remove themselves from universal society.
Such was the goal of the colossal space station that Visund was now constructing. Supposed to measure a dozen or more kilometres when completed, construction of the station was slow thanks to the minuscule resources High Command had assigned to the task. Visund replicated as much material as it could, neutronium in particular being difficult to manufacture artificially, and beamed it into position, while automated construction drones pieced it all together. Occasional bursts of progress were prompted by the arrival of other Asgard ships bearing large quantities of mined and prepared metals and materials, which greatly augmented the terribly slow matter replication procedure. By now almost three-quarters of the station had been completed, and High Command planned to activate what was there while the rest of the station was finalised, and announce the existence of the station to the interstellar community.
Afvaldr couldn't wait. Living alone aboard a large ship, whilst administrating a largely automated, extremely mundane mission, was not the ideal life for any sentient being. He did establish contact with High Command occasionally to deliver progress reports and make requisitions, but it was hardly the social life he would have wanted. Most of the time he busied himself with his hobbies, such as playing games on the computer, or studying astrophysics. On the occasions when other Asgard vessels burst into normal space to deliver material and supplies he availed himself of the opportunity to spend some time conversing with other beings, but the visits were infrequent and short-lived. No aliens had noticed, or at least cared enough to investigate, the construction project, so he hadn't even needed to conduct diplomacy or fend off attackers.
When this station was complete, and Visund finally received a full crew to embark upon more interesting tasks, Afvaldr would rejoice.
At first glance the tall, narrow station was impressive. While not the largest structure built by the Asgard or indeed other, more extravagant, alien species it was aesthetically pleasing; designed to strike an amicable appearance to as many species as possible, its smooth, blue-grey surface and sweeping lines were broken only by large windows and occasional protrusions such as long-range sensor and communication arrays. As much of the internal machinations, such as the multitude of weapons and shield generators, were self-contained to retain the elegant design as much as possible. A number of hangar bays were built into the thing, mostly hidden by integrated blast doors when closed. And even though it was a space station, it was equipped with sublight engines and even an emergency hyperdrive to allow it to remain relatively static in relation to the nearest star system - both of which were covered with bulkheads when offline. Built as it was in deep space, numerous light sources illuminated the structure, to allow people to see its elegance in all its beauty.
Now missing only the lower sections, which were still being constructed and assembled by Visund, it was habitable, though empty. Afvaldr had sent word that the station was ready to be activated and opened to the general spacefaring public, though he still awaited a response from High Command. After three years out here alone, he had learned the value of patience.
He sat, bulbous head in skinny hands, in the main control centre of Visund, occasionally manipulating the gem-like control panel in front of him as he watched the matter replication output monitors. Running constantly as it had been, its efficiency had dipped somewhat in recent months, and Afvaldr had to give it more and more of his attention as time went by. A huge holographic representation of the station hovered over the circular pedestal in the centre of the room, bathing everything in a gentle blue light as it flashed to symbolise newly-completed sections.
Just as he stuffed another yellow, foam-like cube of food in his mouth, a soft alarm sounded from the tactical consoles on the far side of the room. Surprised at the sudden activity after so much silence, he barely even noticed the alarm for a few minutes before he finally clicked, and almost fell from his stool as he scrambled to take a look at it. The computer had detected a small ship approaching on Visund's stern. It appeared to be badly damaged, as only one of its two ion drives seemed to be functioning and numerous micro-breaches were recorded - it was slowly venting atmosphere. Five weak lifesigns were detected aboard, and it was emitting a weak, badly distorted distress signal on a loop.
"Hmm," Afvaldr mumbled quietly in his high-pitched voice. He had taken to talking to himself in his isolation, something which he was often concerned with. "They look to be in danger. I should beam them aboard and tractor their ship for repairs."
When he noticed himself talking to nobody again he shook his head angrily and moved to another set of controls. Sweeping his hand across a panel, the computer chirruped happily and carried out his command. In a sudden, bright flash of white light, five humanoid bodies were deposited on the floor nearby. Disorientated, the five seemed conscious and quickly lifted their heads to look around. Afvaldr's skinny legs took tentative steps towards them, his head cocked to one side in curiosity.
"I am Afvaldr," he said in his soothing, slightly flanging voice. "Welcome aboard the Visund - you are safe now. What transpired to induce such catastrophe on your vessel? Do you require medical treatment?"
At that, one of the men jumped up and pulled out a sleek black pistol from beneath his grubby brown duster. He looked human, or at least a closely related species, though his disheveled face was strewn with scars and pockmarks beneath his week-old, grey stubble, suggesting a lifetime spent far from civilised worlds. One of his bloodshot eyes rapidly closed and opened, and one corner of his lips pulled up in a cheeky grin.
"It was self-inflicted," he said in a gruff voice. "We need your ship."
Before lonely, good-natured Afvaldr could open his mouth to utter a response, the pistol erupted with a bang and sent a bright bolt of red light rapidly into the diminutive Asgard's chest, knocking the short fellow off his feet and into the wall behind him. He was dead before he even hit the ground, a smoking hole in his slender chest having violently removed many of his vital organs.
The aggressor, a mercenary named Peter Wright, smiled in satisfaction before twirling his pistol around his finger and slotting it back into a holster on his chest. He span around and smiled at his comrades, who had all risen to their feet and seemed just as uninjured as him.
"Boys - and girl - we have just caught ourselves an Asgard warship!" the man bellowed. "I'm no drama critic, but y'all did a fantastic job."
"Told ya he'd beam us aboard, boss," the only female in the group, named Catal, uttered. Contrary to popular fiction, she was thoroughly unattractive; built like a walking set of muscles, her angry face had its own share of scars and her voice was grating. "Gullible as fuck them grey midgets."
"Are you sure there are no other crew aboard, though?" the boss asked.
"Just him," Catal said. "These ships are largely automated."
Wright patted her on the shoulder before turning to look at one of the other men in the group, Kellen. A half-breed human, whose other half had never been determined thanks to the poor memory of his promiscuous mother, Kellen was essentially a 'geek for hire' - in these days of spaceships and fantastical computers, remotely capable mercenary groups could no longer consist entirely of butch morons with a predilection for high-calibre armaments. Kellen was adept at both mechanical maintenance and operating computers, and was quick to learn how to use even the most alien of systems. Asgard computers were meant to be highly user-friendly, but even so they needed somebody who knew what he was talking about, and Kellen had a high fee for a good reason - he was just good.
When it came to fighting he couldn't hit a barn door with a nuclear warhead, though.
"Kellen, we need to get this ship outta here before any more of those grey guys turn up looking for their friend here," Wright told him. "Get us into hyperspace, ASAP, and make sure we're not emitting any homing signals or anything."
"Gotcha," Kellen nodded. "Give us a sec." With that, he began looking over various controls to find whichever one was responsible for navigation.
Wright took a deep breath, looking over the serene surroundings that constituted a Valhalla-class Asgard battleship. With enough power at his command to lay waste to entire solar systems, Wright's career as a pirate cum mercenary was about to become a lot more successful. None of their usual prey would stand a chance against them now.
After a few minutes, Visund ceased its everlasting replication process and suddenly shot forwards, disappearing into a greenish-blue cloud of energy as it entered hyperspace. Floating in the space it had once occupied was the dead corpse of an Asgard captain, his chest dominated by a charred cavity, his expression frozen into a visceral display of fear and betrayal.
(OOC: I figured it'd be fun to spice up the opening of a planned space station by having it interrupted by the theft and subsequent criminal antics of an Asgard warship by delinquents. I was bored, sue me!
If you wish to help out with rampant destruction, or stumble upon the unguarded, half-finished space station, ask me here or in a TG and I'll give thee a yay or a nay.)
The Asgard Union had remained isolated from the Milky Way since its inception; the various alien races of the galaxy had been sufficiently advanced in technology and culture to 'go it alone' for thousands of years now, with several extant alien civilisations even matching or surpassing the high level of technology possessed by the Asgard. The few species that the old Asgard government had historically protected no longer needed them, and studying cultures with sufficient technology to repel Asgard scientists should they take a disliking to their presence was a dangerous occupation at best. High Command, at the time suffering from a deficiency of resources and labour, had no interest in interfering or even monitoring such a wartorn galaxy, thwart with danger and suspicion. So, aside from occasional excursions of curiosity and humanitarianism, all Asgard ships were recalled to Ida to serve more domestic duties.
Fading from myth and memory, the Asgard doubted if any even remembered their existence. While the Asgard Union hardly represented the entirety of their species, and since the self-inflicted obliteration of the original homeworld it was just one of numerous different offshoots, the Union so far as they knew was the largest and most consistent grouping of Asgard culture since the original society destroyed itself, and considered itself (rightly or wrongly) to be the 'rightful heir' to the legacy of their species. With such a lofty responsibility as carrying the flame of an ancient species, they wanted more of the universe to remember them, to respect them, and more importantly they wanted to be able to offer help to any species which needed it. Remaining neutral to intergalactic conflicts was their primary objective, but that didn't necessarily mean that they should remove themselves from universal society.
Such was the goal of the colossal space station that Visund was now constructing. Supposed to measure a dozen or more kilometres when completed, construction of the station was slow thanks to the minuscule resources High Command had assigned to the task. Visund replicated as much material as it could, neutronium in particular being difficult to manufacture artificially, and beamed it into position, while automated construction drones pieced it all together. Occasional bursts of progress were prompted by the arrival of other Asgard ships bearing large quantities of mined and prepared metals and materials, which greatly augmented the terribly slow matter replication procedure. By now almost three-quarters of the station had been completed, and High Command planned to activate what was there while the rest of the station was finalised, and announce the existence of the station to the interstellar community.
Afvaldr couldn't wait. Living alone aboard a large ship, whilst administrating a largely automated, extremely mundane mission, was not the ideal life for any sentient being. He did establish contact with High Command occasionally to deliver progress reports and make requisitions, but it was hardly the social life he would have wanted. Most of the time he busied himself with his hobbies, such as playing games on the computer, or studying astrophysics. On the occasions when other Asgard vessels burst into normal space to deliver material and supplies he availed himself of the opportunity to spend some time conversing with other beings, but the visits were infrequent and short-lived. No aliens had noticed, or at least cared enough to investigate, the construction project, so he hadn't even needed to conduct diplomacy or fend off attackers.
When this station was complete, and Visund finally received a full crew to embark upon more interesting tasks, Afvaldr would rejoice.
At first glance the tall, narrow station was impressive. While not the largest structure built by the Asgard or indeed other, more extravagant, alien species it was aesthetically pleasing; designed to strike an amicable appearance to as many species as possible, its smooth, blue-grey surface and sweeping lines were broken only by large windows and occasional protrusions such as long-range sensor and communication arrays. As much of the internal machinations, such as the multitude of weapons and shield generators, were self-contained to retain the elegant design as much as possible. A number of hangar bays were built into the thing, mostly hidden by integrated blast doors when closed. And even though it was a space station, it was equipped with sublight engines and even an emergency hyperdrive to allow it to remain relatively static in relation to the nearest star system - both of which were covered with bulkheads when offline. Built as it was in deep space, numerous light sources illuminated the structure, to allow people to see its elegance in all its beauty.
Now missing only the lower sections, which were still being constructed and assembled by Visund, it was habitable, though empty. Afvaldr had sent word that the station was ready to be activated and opened to the general spacefaring public, though he still awaited a response from High Command. After three years out here alone, he had learned the value of patience.
He sat, bulbous head in skinny hands, in the main control centre of Visund, occasionally manipulating the gem-like control panel in front of him as he watched the matter replication output monitors. Running constantly as it had been, its efficiency had dipped somewhat in recent months, and Afvaldr had to give it more and more of his attention as time went by. A huge holographic representation of the station hovered over the circular pedestal in the centre of the room, bathing everything in a gentle blue light as it flashed to symbolise newly-completed sections.
Just as he stuffed another yellow, foam-like cube of food in his mouth, a soft alarm sounded from the tactical consoles on the far side of the room. Surprised at the sudden activity after so much silence, he barely even noticed the alarm for a few minutes before he finally clicked, and almost fell from his stool as he scrambled to take a look at it. The computer had detected a small ship approaching on Visund's stern. It appeared to be badly damaged, as only one of its two ion drives seemed to be functioning and numerous micro-breaches were recorded - it was slowly venting atmosphere. Five weak lifesigns were detected aboard, and it was emitting a weak, badly distorted distress signal on a loop.
"Hmm," Afvaldr mumbled quietly in his high-pitched voice. He had taken to talking to himself in his isolation, something which he was often concerned with. "They look to be in danger. I should beam them aboard and tractor their ship for repairs."
When he noticed himself talking to nobody again he shook his head angrily and moved to another set of controls. Sweeping his hand across a panel, the computer chirruped happily and carried out his command. In a sudden, bright flash of white light, five humanoid bodies were deposited on the floor nearby. Disorientated, the five seemed conscious and quickly lifted their heads to look around. Afvaldr's skinny legs took tentative steps towards them, his head cocked to one side in curiosity.
"I am Afvaldr," he said in his soothing, slightly flanging voice. "Welcome aboard the Visund - you are safe now. What transpired to induce such catastrophe on your vessel? Do you require medical treatment?"
At that, one of the men jumped up and pulled out a sleek black pistol from beneath his grubby brown duster. He looked human, or at least a closely related species, though his disheveled face was strewn with scars and pockmarks beneath his week-old, grey stubble, suggesting a lifetime spent far from civilised worlds. One of his bloodshot eyes rapidly closed and opened, and one corner of his lips pulled up in a cheeky grin.
"It was self-inflicted," he said in a gruff voice. "We need your ship."
Before lonely, good-natured Afvaldr could open his mouth to utter a response, the pistol erupted with a bang and sent a bright bolt of red light rapidly into the diminutive Asgard's chest, knocking the short fellow off his feet and into the wall behind him. He was dead before he even hit the ground, a smoking hole in his slender chest having violently removed many of his vital organs.
The aggressor, a mercenary named Peter Wright, smiled in satisfaction before twirling his pistol around his finger and slotting it back into a holster on his chest. He span around and smiled at his comrades, who had all risen to their feet and seemed just as uninjured as him.
"Boys - and girl - we have just caught ourselves an Asgard warship!" the man bellowed. "I'm no drama critic, but y'all did a fantastic job."
"Told ya he'd beam us aboard, boss," the only female in the group, named Catal, uttered. Contrary to popular fiction, she was thoroughly unattractive; built like a walking set of muscles, her angry face had its own share of scars and her voice was grating. "Gullible as fuck them grey midgets."
"Are you sure there are no other crew aboard, though?" the boss asked.
"Just him," Catal said. "These ships are largely automated."
Wright patted her on the shoulder before turning to look at one of the other men in the group, Kellen. A half-breed human, whose other half had never been determined thanks to the poor memory of his promiscuous mother, Kellen was essentially a 'geek for hire' - in these days of spaceships and fantastical computers, remotely capable mercenary groups could no longer consist entirely of butch morons with a predilection for high-calibre armaments. Kellen was adept at both mechanical maintenance and operating computers, and was quick to learn how to use even the most alien of systems. Asgard computers were meant to be highly user-friendly, but even so they needed somebody who knew what he was talking about, and Kellen had a high fee for a good reason - he was just good.
When it came to fighting he couldn't hit a barn door with a nuclear warhead, though.
"Kellen, we need to get this ship outta here before any more of those grey guys turn up looking for their friend here," Wright told him. "Get us into hyperspace, ASAP, and make sure we're not emitting any homing signals or anything."
"Gotcha," Kellen nodded. "Give us a sec." With that, he began looking over various controls to find whichever one was responsible for navigation.
Wright took a deep breath, looking over the serene surroundings that constituted a Valhalla-class Asgard battleship. With enough power at his command to lay waste to entire solar systems, Wright's career as a pirate cum mercenary was about to become a lot more successful. None of their usual prey would stand a chance against them now.
After a few minutes, Visund ceased its everlasting replication process and suddenly shot forwards, disappearing into a greenish-blue cloud of energy as it entered hyperspace. Floating in the space it had once occupied was the dead corpse of an Asgard captain, his chest dominated by a charred cavity, his expression frozen into a visceral display of fear and betrayal.
(OOC: I figured it'd be fun to spice up the opening of a planned space station by having it interrupted by the theft and subsequent criminal antics of an Asgard warship by delinquents. I was bored, sue me!
If you wish to help out with rampant destruction, or stumble upon the unguarded, half-finished space station, ask me here or in a TG and I'll give thee a yay or a nay.)