Post by Zeke on Oct 11, 2007 12:56:41 GMT -5
A quick break from my hectic schedule to deliver this story.
The docking bay was cramped and cold. The metal grille floor was oily and beneath pipes could be made out carrying various liquids to different areas of the complex. Decrepit coolant tanks stood abandoned in the corners, forgotten and unused after years of neglect. The airlock was an old model, still powered by gears and it hadn’t received maintenance for too long; the motors were rusty and damaged. The warning paint at the edges was faded and scratched, the black and yellow stripes barely visible under a build up of grease and dirt.
Darius staggered into the hangar through the destroyed doors. His dark hair was matted with blood, and his normally handsome face was contorted in pain with tear-tracks clear in the dirt on his face. His armour was all but destroyed, with large rents gouged into the chest plate and torn conduits leaking energy into the servo-joints. The Netherflux Gauntlets on his wrists were sparking feebly, and the generators on the back were battered beyond repair.
Making full speed towards the spaceship, he stumbled on the greasy floor and had to pause to regain his balance. As he did so a bullet lanced out of the shadows, hammering into his shoulder and breaking his collar bone. Darius roared in pain as a second bullet shattered three of his ribs, punching clean through his power armour and driving him to his knees. From the darkness emerged a tall figure, arms cradling a rifle.
Panting, Darius lifted his one working arm and desperately tried to activate the repulsor. A light flickered on, then went blank. He groaned and tried to stand, forcing his legs to move when the figure raised the rifle again and shot him in the knees.
“Oh, holy nuts!” Darius screamed, falling back to the ground, pain splitting his skull as he tried to concentrate on his task. His vision was becoming blurred, and he could feel his lungs beginning to fill with blood. Coughing, he retched onto the grating, blood trickling from his mouth into the piping below. Tears were pouring from his eyes, and he felt his heart begin to give out.
With his last ounce of defiance, he pulled out his sidearm and fired it blindly at the man who had killed him, emptying the cartridge as he screamed in pain and anguish. The pistol bucked in his hand, spewing lead into the man who stood before him, watching him die.
The sidearm fell to the floor and Darius collapsed, sobbing in pain and sorrow. He had not been able to save them, and now he would never be able to. He screamed one last time, a scream filled with the horror of death and the torment of failure.
Then he lay still.
24 Hours Earlier
Darius Adalon sat in his fighter, casually disengaging the Netherflux generator and dropping back into real space. Checking his navigation system, he found that he’d reached his destination, and sat back. He was just about to enter communications range with Memnarch, the planet to which he’d been called for his assignment.
Darius was an enforcer for the Planetary Council, and didn’t really enjoy his work. The pay wasn’t great, and as a result his marriage was in jeopardy. All of his previous assignments had been in system, but now they were sending him halfway across the galaxy by himself, when the entire message had been ‘There’s a disturbance in the capital. Could you send somebody to investigate?’ That was it. There hadn’t been any further calls since them, but they sent him anyway. And now here was, two weeks later, cruising towards what looked like any other planet. He sighed, and opened a radio channel.
“This is Darius Adalon of the Galactic Council. A request came through two weeks ago, and I have been sent to investigate. Docking code 07FT4. Over.” He flicked off the microphone and set the channel onto repeat, before engaging the autopilot and walking into the rest compartment of his ship.
It was a cramped space, with a bunk and a vid-screen being the only pieces of furniture. He was not here for those, however. Flicking a switch, he opened a side compartment and looked in. A suit of white servo-armour greeting him as per usual, with a standard issue Ranger pistol and Netherflux Gauntlets for armament. The Gauntlets were the only reason he stayed with the Galactic Council.
On the back of the gauntlets was a pair of Netherflux generators. A highly efficient source of power, they allowed the gauntlets to manipulate certain forms of matter on a molecular level, as well as manage repulsors, which were otherwise only found on spacecraft.
Pulling on the armour, he left the helm in the case. It was only for use in military situations, and he doubted it would come to that. Pulling on the padding, he snapped the armour into place, pulled on the gauntlets and slid the pistol into the concealed shoulder holster. Activating the servos in the joints which would make the armour support itself, he walked back into the thingypit and sat down.
The first thing he noticed was that he was now a lot closer to the planet. The second thing he noticed was that by now, there should have been a response to his signal. As it was, his message was still broadcasting and he had received no return transmission. Frowning, he turned off the repeat on his channel and reactivated the microphone.
“This is Darius Adalon of the Galactic Council. Ground Control, is anybody receiving this message. Over.”
He sat down in the navigation seat and checked his dashboard. It was now too late to stop re-entry safely. If he attempted to pull out, then his ship could buckle under the pressure of banking too sharply, and death really wasn’t on his to do list.
Making his decision, he angled his ship towards the planet and initiated the docking procedure.
The docking bay was cramped and cold. The metal grille floor was oily and beneath pipes could be made out carrying various liquids to different areas of the complex. Decrepit coolant tanks stood abandoned in the corners, forgotten and unused after years of neglect. The airlock was an old model, still powered by gears and it hadn’t received maintenance for too long; the motors were rusty and damaged. The warning paint at the edges was faded and scratched, the black and yellow stripes barely visible under a build up of grease and dirt.
Darius staggered into the hangar through the destroyed doors. His dark hair was matted with blood, and his normally handsome face was contorted in pain with tear-tracks clear in the dirt on his face. His armour was all but destroyed, with large rents gouged into the chest plate and torn conduits leaking energy into the servo-joints. The Netherflux Gauntlets on his wrists were sparking feebly, and the generators on the back were battered beyond repair.
Making full speed towards the spaceship, he stumbled on the greasy floor and had to pause to regain his balance. As he did so a bullet lanced out of the shadows, hammering into his shoulder and breaking his collar bone. Darius roared in pain as a second bullet shattered three of his ribs, punching clean through his power armour and driving him to his knees. From the darkness emerged a tall figure, arms cradling a rifle.
Panting, Darius lifted his one working arm and desperately tried to activate the repulsor. A light flickered on, then went blank. He groaned and tried to stand, forcing his legs to move when the figure raised the rifle again and shot him in the knees.
“Oh, holy nuts!” Darius screamed, falling back to the ground, pain splitting his skull as he tried to concentrate on his task. His vision was becoming blurred, and he could feel his lungs beginning to fill with blood. Coughing, he retched onto the grating, blood trickling from his mouth into the piping below. Tears were pouring from his eyes, and he felt his heart begin to give out.
With his last ounce of defiance, he pulled out his sidearm and fired it blindly at the man who had killed him, emptying the cartridge as he screamed in pain and anguish. The pistol bucked in his hand, spewing lead into the man who stood before him, watching him die.
The sidearm fell to the floor and Darius collapsed, sobbing in pain and sorrow. He had not been able to save them, and now he would never be able to. He screamed one last time, a scream filled with the horror of death and the torment of failure.
Then he lay still.
24 Hours Earlier
Darius Adalon sat in his fighter, casually disengaging the Netherflux generator and dropping back into real space. Checking his navigation system, he found that he’d reached his destination, and sat back. He was just about to enter communications range with Memnarch, the planet to which he’d been called for his assignment.
Darius was an enforcer for the Planetary Council, and didn’t really enjoy his work. The pay wasn’t great, and as a result his marriage was in jeopardy. All of his previous assignments had been in system, but now they were sending him halfway across the galaxy by himself, when the entire message had been ‘There’s a disturbance in the capital. Could you send somebody to investigate?’ That was it. There hadn’t been any further calls since them, but they sent him anyway. And now here was, two weeks later, cruising towards what looked like any other planet. He sighed, and opened a radio channel.
“This is Darius Adalon of the Galactic Council. A request came through two weeks ago, and I have been sent to investigate. Docking code 07FT4. Over.” He flicked off the microphone and set the channel onto repeat, before engaging the autopilot and walking into the rest compartment of his ship.
It was a cramped space, with a bunk and a vid-screen being the only pieces of furniture. He was not here for those, however. Flicking a switch, he opened a side compartment and looked in. A suit of white servo-armour greeting him as per usual, with a standard issue Ranger pistol and Netherflux Gauntlets for armament. The Gauntlets were the only reason he stayed with the Galactic Council.
On the back of the gauntlets was a pair of Netherflux generators. A highly efficient source of power, they allowed the gauntlets to manipulate certain forms of matter on a molecular level, as well as manage repulsors, which were otherwise only found on spacecraft.
Pulling on the armour, he left the helm in the case. It was only for use in military situations, and he doubted it would come to that. Pulling on the padding, he snapped the armour into place, pulled on the gauntlets and slid the pistol into the concealed shoulder holster. Activating the servos in the joints which would make the armour support itself, he walked back into the thingypit and sat down.
The first thing he noticed was that he was now a lot closer to the planet. The second thing he noticed was that by now, there should have been a response to his signal. As it was, his message was still broadcasting and he had received no return transmission. Frowning, he turned off the repeat on his channel and reactivated the microphone.
“This is Darius Adalon of the Galactic Council. Ground Control, is anybody receiving this message. Over.”
He sat down in the navigation seat and checked his dashboard. It was now too late to stop re-entry safely. If he attempted to pull out, then his ship could buckle under the pressure of banking too sharply, and death really wasn’t on his to do list.
Making his decision, he angled his ship towards the planet and initiated the docking procedure.
