Post by A®heim on Aug 11, 2011 5:01:39 GMT -5
Sometimes I find myself in a very specific circumstance where I have a computer, no internet, no saved records of web pages for posts to work on, and nothing better to do. So I've started writing origin stories for some of my characters. The ones I choose I pick sometimes to work up a muse for which to get them through a later post, and sometimes to shutup an overactive one--the quality of these differ incredibly, the crappier ones being the museless sods. Basically I take a look through their unwritten history, find an event that truly made them the way they are now, and narrate it in significantly greater detail than in their biographies (if any). Anyway, here are a few I've written so far:
"Roger that, Solar Wind, you are cleared for landing at hub four."
"Alright, thank you." The young man, no more than twenty, switched off the comlink and and removed the slightly frayed headset. "We've made it, Lea. That's Corellia." The kima stared pensively out of the narrow viewport strip and said nothing. She never did, but Jeremy still liked to imagine she could--it made him feel a little less alone in the galaxy. The shuttle began to shake dangerously as it began reentry, that suspicious rattling under the control bank had started up again. The clouds eventually parted before him and the bustling indomitable life of Coronet struck him like a sledgehammer. All around everything from personal transports to luxery cruisers buzzed and glided around--a beehive in slow, graceful motion.
A few eyes went to the tiny, battered craft as it hovered to a bumby landing in one of the smaller hangars, but they soon returned to their business having seen nothing special. Solar Wind was one of his family's house shuttle, or at least it had been before he ran off with it in the middle of the night. He supposed that still technically made it his family's shuttle seeing that he was more or less a member of said family. The exterior was well-worn from faulty reflective plating during reentry, the controls were stiff and unresponsive, and the interior has that brownish, dusty feeling of your great aunt's vintage landspeeder. Whatever the case, the thing was a piece of junk that had (hopefully) seen its final flight at long last.
Young Blackstone had spent the last two years flitting sporadically across the galaxy, in a sort of general centerly path, taking odd transport jobs wherever he could. On hindsight, it may have just been a better idea to depart home legitimately--confront his parents with his intention to drop out of the university and request a portion of their considerable estate to get himself started out here. Of course his pride hadn't let him, it never did. The tattoo on his shoulder was testament to that. As it were, after years of dirty starports, shoddy accomodations, morally unascertained cargo, fleeing unofficial 'tax collectors' with the shuttles paltry armament (notably dragging destabilized spent fuel rods into the airlock, hitting the button, and praying), and running his ship into the ground he had at last scraped together the funds for a decent spacecraft worthy of his untrained skills.
He paused at the hatch and turned around, the kima sat down on her haunches behind him. Jeremy squinted sidelong at her.
"Ssstay..." He commanded with uncertain suspicion.
The kima stared at him evenly. Several seconds passed in silence before Jeremy decided to drive the notion home.
"Stay."
She yawned and blinked. That would have to do. He stepped through the hatch and sealed it behind him. Leadre watched for a while to be sure he really wasn't coming back for a while, then paced lazily to her corner, took a few mouthfuls of dry food, a quick drink of water, stretched out with another yawn, and casually exited through the ventral ventilation hatch.
He had a contact to meet, one who claimed he had a bargain for an old friend, old friend here meaning that he had been one of the first to hire the runaway for a less-than-legal cargo run. Jeremy wasn't even sure if had met the blackguard in person before, but if the price of this man being his 'friend' was a good deal on a good ship, he was more than happy to tolerate it. Arriving at some private courier's garage, a gruff voice called to him him from the shadows of the doorway. Striding in (confidence was rule one in the transport business), he found himself rattled to a stop by two things: the alumiron rod ('salvaged' from an unfortunate mop) held in the magnetic clasp on his back, and the sight of the ship towering in front of him.
Understand now that "towering" was in no way to imply an emotion of inspiring awe. This ship towered not in the majestic way that demands humility and submission, but rather in the rickety, disproportionate kind of towering more befitting to a stack of dishes neglected for several months. "You have got to be kidding me."
"A real beauty, doncha' think?" Mr. Rotunda was much like his namesake--a man where fat and muscle were difficult to differentiate as they went rather hand in hand. The bulging white tank top that barely came down to his belly button was stained with any number of grease spots, hydraulic fluid, and barbecue sauce. His face was bulbous, plastered over an unkept black beard which in turn sat squarely on his shoulders with almost no evidence of possessing a neck. He smelled exactly like Jeremy had imagined he would 2 years ago, only 2 years more ripe.
The ship was, if anything, barely a greater wreck than its owner--dark stains from either ozone or blaster fire covered every discernible inch of the oddly proportioned ship, one of the dorsal thrusters was off-color in that way that suggested it was not the original, several shielding panels were outright missing, and the defensive turret he knew came standard with this model was most assuredly absent--removed for a bit more profit on this 'deal' no doubt, and done with little if any regard to hull integrity at that. Jeremy just stared at it, praying that the "real beauty" was some sleek, state-of-the-art Comara model hiding behind this scrap heap. Leadre bumped into the back on his legs, almost causing them to buckle. "How...much did you want for this again?"
Rotunda laughed, a wheezy sound probably caused by years of breathing grease fumes, drinking at every meal, and smoking deathstix. "Seventeen-thousand an' she's yers."
_________________________________________________________
"Well, look on the bright side...Lea," The conduit release valve gave beneath the mighty assault of his monkeywrench, "at least now we can haul around even more reasons for pirates to blast us into the next world. I should have asked that crook for any spent rods he needed getting rid of..." He tiredly realigned the ruptured conduit--plasma scarring evident around it--then picked up the fusion cutter to seal the breach. "Maybe we can at least find a more respectable courier..."
"Are you Jeremy Blackstone?"
The entire panel crashed to the floor. Jeremy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up from his foiled repairs. An older woman, brown hair almost completely overcome with grey, deep wrinkles, and a pair of wire spectacles balanced on her nose stood in the doorway holding a steel clipboard in her hands. She stared at him evenly. He and Leadre stared back. "James. James Blackstone."
Her eyes went down to the clipboard and narrowed. "It says Jeremy on here."
"What do you want," he growled, "I've already told dock management if they want the shuttle they can have it. I'm not even sure if I can move it."
The woman straightened up to her fullest height--a good foot shorter than Jeremy and yet her polished looming made it seem as though she could tower over him. "I'm not a dock worker," she spoke curtly, in a refined manner like a librarian correcting an ignorant child, "My name is Tara Sentiri, I am a representative of the Galactic Historical Institute. I imagine you've heard of it.
"You're from GHI?" He heaved the panel up off the ground and set to reattaching it. Leadre laid back down, her eyes following the dancing sparks from the fusion cutter. "Of course I've heard of it. My father is one of your benefactors."
"As was your godfather. A key one in fact."
Jeremy switched off the cutter. "I have a godfather?"
"A Mr. Raxan Vosh. His ventures have a formed a significant contribution to our collection, more specifically those in our Mysteries of the Force exhibit."
"I haven't an idea why I'm surprised." He switched it back on and focused his full attention on the repairs again. At this rate, he might even be able to get off world in the next century--depending on what condition (or lack thereoff) the central wiring was in.
Tara made a small noise with her throat and continued. "Unfortunately we've received news that he's gone missing. As it is, it's not him we are looking for."
Jeremy made something resembling 'mmm.'
"We're looking for you."
"Grats you found me."
"For employment."
"Keep talking."
The woman tucked the clipboard underneath her arm and continued. "We need a field archaeologist. Someone to analyze potential sites for large-scale digs and preservation efforts."
He set down the cutter and tried to jiggle the panel, relieved when it didn't budge. One down, 300,000 to go. "And you think I'm the best one for the job?"
Her cold stare never relented. "You came very highly recommended--your father, your godfather, even the university you dropped out of had nothing but merit to speak of about your ability in the subject area." She paused, glaring at Jeremy's disparate attention. "Of course, the payment will be considerable.
That got his attention. Jeremy's head snapped from examining the hull of his "new" ship to Tara. Money had never been much of an object to him in the past, mainly because he always had it. However, since he had recklessly struck out on his own, the financial reality of the universe had begun to impress upon him. Money was good. He needed more of it. "...go on."
"I thought that might get your attention," she sighed. "annual wages are stable but more importantly include a hefty bonus for any objects of value you may acquire. In addition, you will have a monthly research fund further subsidized with cutting edge GHI surveying technology." She looked up at the towering dish stack with distaste. "Are you attached to this...ship?"
As if on cue, the panel next to the one he had just finished welding on crashed to the floor. Leadre leaped up from her nap, saucer-eyed. Jeremy didn't turn around but one could just see his left eye twitch. "Not particularly."
"Good. We can exchange it for some new fuel rods." She turned on her heel in almost militaristic fashion and made for the door.
Jeremy frowned and stood to confront her. "You expect me to cover your gas bill?"
She halted, though did not turn around, and gave another exasperated sigh. "No. I expect you to cover yours."
____________________________________________________
Jeremy's jaw dropped.
"This is GHI's latest work of art, the SI-4000 Star Collector. Accept our offer, and it's yours." She shoved the clipboard into his hands.
Work of art was no understatement. A black angel balanced daintily on shadows in the executive port ring, her face was a featureles beauty and her ebony wings swept gracefully behind her like a raven in flight. She seemed to hum with a silent power, a will to break the sky's bounds and add her body to the starry void. Next to this ship, all others paled (his old one imploded), and not a passing eye wasn't drawn to her elegance. Speechlessly, eyes never leaving the spectacle before him, he signed the contract.
Leadre trotted up to one of the landing legs and butted her head against it in the unmistakeable way that a cat says, 'this is mine.'
A grey haze billowed from under the great stone doors moments before cracks tore across it like a delicate spiderweb. For a moment only the muffled din of the Battle to End All echoed through the looming archways of the throne room--a refuge from the cruel reality of it all right up until now--the door imploded.
From the cloud a robed figure darted forward, dispatching a pike-wielding guard with a flash of steel. Another lunged towards the assailant only to be crushed into the wall as one of the stones that had once made up the door seemingly hurled itself into him. Four more rushed in only to combust in a towering wall of brilliant yellow flames, the heat of which created a strong gust of warm air that blew back the figure's hood. He was young, with dirty brown hair and eyes that glinted with the same righteous defiance as the ornately etched rapier he held in his hand. Several more guards rallied.
"Stand down." The voice spoke from the other end of the lengthy hall, echoing unnaturally across it and laced with a bemused malice. A silhouette rose from the throne, striding confidently down from his pedestal to stand across from the intruder. There he regarded him with a sigh and shake of the head. "How predictably valiant."
"Your foul taint has infested this Verse long enough, Magdeleth. The infernal legions you have called upon will fall alongside your head." The cloaked wizard stepped further forward, raising his sword to point at his adversary. "Your demonic rituals have brought corruption to this land that have angered the very Keepers themselves and it is for that I now do them the service of ending it."
The other man merely laughed darkly and turned his back to the wizard. One hand moved to something at his waist. "You make a grave error..." The battle below the keep raged on shadowed by an astral storm--flashes of unworldly lightning lit up the skies. "In coming alone!" He spun about and made a grasping motion with one arm. Without warning the wizard found himself hurtling towards the man until he found himself inches from his face, impaled upon a curved dagger.
There was a crashing sound down the hallway followed by a ripple of air that carried several guards off their feet and clattering to the floor. A creature stood in the doorway, six feet tall at the shoulder, covered head to tail in shimmering blue and green scales. Arrow shafts protruded from multiple wounds and signs of recent combat showed on the tattered pair of giant moth-like wings on its back. The guards that still stood advanced on her, bringing their polearms to bear only to be swatted aside by a combination of a whip-like tail and fearsome claws. She looked up to see the man who had first beseeched her aid from the Linkdream so many years past stumble back clutching at the dagger in his stomach with shaking hands.
<No!> The word pierced all other sounds, echoing not through the room but through the minds of all within in. The wizard, with great effort, turned to face her and took several stumbling steps. "Ash, get out of here...run!" He spoke through burning pain and clenched teeth.
"How sweet. A little fairy to attend your funeral." The man thrust his hand out again, though this time a crackling bolt of what looked like purple lighting arced from it and struck the wizard, finishing him. He derisive snort and approached the draconic creature, taking a light hop over the smoldering corpse of her ally. Her friend. "Yes, I suppose I should be honored that the Universe sees fit to send an Emerald Enforcer to foil my plans. Truly a sign that I've moved on to bigger and better things." He paused to peer out one of the large windows that overlooked the conflict, reveling in the surprised emotions that washed from her at his words. It was night now and the battlefield was bathed in flames that illuminated the chaos. "That's right. I know what you are and what you do, and you are right to fear that I do not care. What I'm doing is bigger. Bigger even than your all mighty Court." He spat out the last words with contempt.
The creature surged forward, but pikes and spears pierced her flesh from all sides. Reinforcements had arrived and all but had her pinned. Her wings fluttered feebly, too damaged for flight. Never before had she felt such fear, and anger. Murderous emotions flowed from her into the minds of those nearest, some nearly faltering at the mental assault.
"Well that's enough monologuing." He turned back towards her and raised his arm. "Now it's your turn. Die knowing you failed to protect him. Maybe you'll have better luck in oblivion." The same bolt of energy that taken the wizard's life struck her full on. Her mind cried out as it seared her flesh. This was not the arcane energy she was immune to, this was something far more primal, far more destructive. Her eyes shut tight in the pain that penetrated to her very soul until it felt that there was nothing more in the world. Yet there was still something, something that outshined the anguish. Was it hope? No. It was rage.
She opened her eyes to a new world. Her mind felt through the energy that was quickly destroying her body and found it everywhere. The walls, the air, it poured in great quantities from the horrific fighting outside. She felt it in him. A lot of it. So much that he was nearly engorged with these evil energies. What a power. What a beautiful balloon to pop. She stepped forward and the world spun about her in a purple and black typhoon. Another step, her wings disintegrated into dust. She could feel it all, all the raw energy--the force that would one day destroy the very Universe. She could feel it. She could harness it.
It happened in an instant.
With the natural technique her kind used to bend the forces of creation back upon their abusers, she warped the entropic energies around her, redirecting it at her target. The man's eyes widened as the power he had launched at her came coursing back into him ten thousand-fold. The balloon popped and everything ended.
_________________________________________________________________
We are disappointed.
He killed him.
What have you done?
I brought justice.
You used entropy.
I used his.
You fueled it further.
I did what I had to.
You fed the fire that consumes all.
What should I have done?
What you exist to do.
I did that.
You did more.
Is he dead?
Everyone is dead.
Am I dead?
Everyone is dead.
What happens now?
Nothing.
"STATE YOUR NAME." The doorknob instructed the shaggy young man in its electronic monotone.
The man leaned back and raised an eyebrow. Sure this was the age of automation, but doorknobs were not a commonplace item to have suddenly start talking to you, certainly not one that appeared to be a brass antique on a door in a rather sorry-looking shack in the middle of nowhere on an otherwise highly populous planet. The man was dressed in basic military fatigues, though they were wrinkled and ill-fitting. He wore no special armor, his belt was bare but for a commlink that didn't work and a knife he had never used before. He was human, tallish with shorn brown hair, grey eyes, and just enough muscle tone to suggest his soldierly background, but all and all nothing special. His name was-
"Sean...Mu'haro?"
A long moment passed in silence. Sean looked around the room waiting for something to explode or someone to step out of the dusty old armoire to laugh at him and point at the camera and tell him this whole ominous letter with vague coordinates and unknown motives was all a big joke. Finally the doorknob replied.
"STATE YOUR NAME."
"Sean Mu. Har. Oh." He enunciated the words very carefully.
"STATE YOUR NAME."
"What- Sean Muharo!"
A series of clicks and whirrs came from the door. Finally some progress. Now to see what all this secret agent hubub was all about. Whatever was behind this door would no doubt-
"STATE YOUR NAME."
"OH COME ON!" Sean shouted at the door and gave it a swift taste of his big-booted toe.
"Jeez, relax," said the doorknob, "I'm just messin' with ya. You've been expected Private Sean Mu'haro. Please enter."
This sudden change from the monotone to a very rhythmic and lifelike banter (not to mention was it said) really threw the man for a loop who recoiled several feet. Meanwhile the door had completed another series of snaps crackles and pops and clicked slightly ajar. "Please enter, and relax--we don't bite. Most of us..."
With the eerie invitation from the doorknob, Sean placed his hand on the door and swung it open, preparing his mind for whatever confounding mystery would lie behind it. With a deep breath he stepped into the room. Then he looked around with a puzzled frown. "This is a broom closet."
The door shut behind him. The whirring started up again, though it sounded most closer this time. The room began to quiver right around the time Sean began to have a sinking feeling that he was...well, sinking. Sure enough, several of the various tools and objects hanging on the walls were beginning to raise out of his reach as the floor descended like what he could only assume was some sort of lift system. That are a pit of hydrochloric acid. That would be a bad day.
"And an awfully elaborate assassination attempt..."
It also occured to him just then that though the dim light from the shack's interior had long ago drifted into the heavens, it had not gotten any darker. In fact it was getting brighter. He had just begun to try to narrow down its source when the floor stopped moving and the wall took its place revealing a blinding white hallway. A figure stood in the center of it looking at the now very bewildered Sean, bewildered not just because a broom closet had just transported him to what looked like the interior of a spacecraft, but because the figure in front of him was about a foot tall and decidingly bird-shaped. To top it all off it started talking.
"Welcome, Sean Mu'haro, to Project Familiar."
Sean's keen eyes scanned the hallway, featureless walls almost (or possibly were) glowing white and curved slightly out of sight around a bend. Featureless that is but for the occasional single steel door with a bold print label reading simple things like 'A1,' or mysteriously following that one, 'A2.' His brain couldn't take it and thus was only able to conjure a single word reply to the bird.
"What?"
The bird tilted its head to one side and it was then that Sean realized the creature was not a creature at all but a droid. An extremely lifelike droid. "You are Sean Mu'haro, are you not?"
"Yeah that's me alright, but I think I must have missed a memo..."
The bird...robot...thing shook its head. "I am sorry to say you have been purposely left in the dark. It is the way it has to be. But now that you are here, allow me to explain everything."
______________________________________________________
"So let me get this straight," Sean leaned forward across the white oval table and narrowed his eyes this 'Hephaestus' as the bird had introduced himself. "You've been here, underneath the largest remaining artificial structure known to the galaxy, for years gathering up a veritable legion of paranoid crackpot geniuses whose potential has been labelled by level-headed society as much too dangerous to develop....and developing them?"
"Something like that, though there's a lot more to it than that." The bird replied evenly. Sean had managed to get a closer look at the construct as it had led him to the briefing room on A level--apparently one of six giant rings making up a huge cylindrical underground complex. From afar, it was nearly indistinguishable in both appearance and movements from the real thing, but up close he could see the seams in the chassis plating, bare servos beneath the bases of the wings and on the legs, the soft hum of said servos as they moved about, and most noticeably the bloated T-like red visor that took the place of the eyes--though the two faint black circles of the photoreceptors could just be made out from beneath it. All in all, an incredible work of engineering decades, if not centuries beyond what could be found on the civilian market these days.
"You mean like yourself? Putting all those nutcases under one to six roofs has to reap some benefit."
"Precisely. Though I myself am not a product of their minds, but of the single greatest mind amongst us all." The bird stood up slightly straighter, speaking in a more prideful tone.
Sean raised an eyebrow. "And who might that be?"
The bird's beak cracked open slightly in what could only be called a mocking smile. "I can't tell you that, but know that it was he who chose you over so many other applicants who were far more...well more."
Sean leaned back a bit, perturbed by yet another unusual expression of emotion from this AI. "What exactly did he choose me to do?
"I'll show you. Come with me." The bird spread its wings and hovered steadily off the table with a rush of warm air; repulsor engines built into the wings.
"Whatever you say, Heffa...heff- don't you have a nickname or number or something?"
"AER-00, but people around here just call me Phae." Phae glided out the door back into the hallway. Sean shrugged and followed.
They traveled back to the lift but continued further down this time. E level. Core Engineering. Phae led the way as usual with Sean tailing close behind getting suspicious stares from every white-coated aforementioned crackpot that bustled about the slightly busier E corridors. He was beginning to feel like a bacterium amongst a horde of white blood cells and he imagined at any moment any one of them would start hurling massive antibodies at him. What an odd image... curse you Magic School Shuttle. He realized Phae had been talking for a while now and he should probably start listening.
"While you are by no means one of the...intellectuals we've been gathering, you offer a different asset in being a Republic soldier. Your potential is not one that could endanger the general public if developed incorrectly, but potential you have, and that's what we want to protect." Phae approached one of the steel doors which opened on its own with a soft hiss, and hopped inside.
Sean followed and once more took in his surroundings. It was a simple room compared to the others he had glimpsed on their short journey over having only a couple computer banks along the wall, some sort of machine on the ceiling, and single table at the far end upon which was a square metal box upon which was printed in neat black lettering '03.' He approached the table cautiously, eyes frozen upon it as Phae hopped onto one of the computer banks and hooked himself into it with a thin cable he drew from a compartment in his chassis. The machine overhead rumbled to life, but Sean's attention remained on the box. He had the oddest feeling that whatever was inside was about to change his life forever. Slowly he reached out to touch the box, but it acted first, a section of the top raising up and splitting into two halves which folded down to reveal a glittering stick of metal.
"Take it," spoke Phae patiently.
Hesitantly, Sean grasped the object between two finger and removed it from the slot. Holding it up to the light he saw that it was made partially of a crystal material that shimmered in the light. Turning it over, he found a symbol engraved into the gold metal; a swirling feather with a gear-like pattern at the base and below it the numbers 03.
"Now watch your head..." Phae murmered as the machine extended like a long steel arm towards the steel box. Sean stepped back several paces and watched in wonder as the appendage, tipped with a strange cylindrical key inserted itself into a ring atop the box. With a hiss, the box began unfold itself, laying out flat and revealing its contents. It was another bird droid, similar to Phae but newer, sleeker, and sporting black and white coloration similar to a seabird Sean had once seen in his youth. The machine then inserted the same key into an indentical slot at the base of the droid's neck. the panels there slid aside revealing a slot about the same width as the chip Sean still held in his hand. "Well? What are you waiting for?"
"I was kinda hoping you would tell me," Sean breathed, "but I think I played this game as a child once; triangle goes in the triangle hole, circle in the round one..." He reached forward and slid the chip into the slot. It immediately pulled it inside and the panels snapped shut seamlessly. "And the rectangle in the squarish one. I still got it."
The droid in front of him lifted its head suddenly, the visor flickering to life. Standing tall on its two legs, it extended its wings to their full lengths, rotating them to various angles and testing the servos--almost as though it were stretching after a long nap. It shook its head from side to side and then first seemed to notice Sean. It made a single hop to face him. "SOLdrive successfully integrated. Running initiation protocol. Setting interface perameters. Perameters set. Spyglass system enabled. All AER Familiar systems online. Greetings, I am AER-03 and you are my partner."
Sean's brain couldn't take it and thus was only able to conjure a single word reply to the bird.
"Cool."
_______________________________________________________
"Hyo haff chosen a fool. I don't like him."
"He is talented for his age. He has been through much yet his spirit remains--there is much to be said for that. A different kind of strength."
"Und vhat good is spirit if he cannot protect our secret? He is a Republic soldier, how are hyo so sure he can be trusted?"
"His connections with the military will be invaluable for locating further individuals worthy of a Familiar guide. Speaking of which, we have located one such individual I believe our initiate may have the greatest luck contacting."
"Who?"
"Her name is Rahja Kel."
Despite being shrouded head to toe in brown hooded robes, the two figures did their best to remain unseen--stalking from shadow to shadow in the long-abandoned starport. Clothing was a notion their species found strange and unusual, but they dared not remove it as even more strange and unusual would be two individuals of their color creeping around a place like this. Not to mention what they were delivering...
Stopping at a corner, one leaned around to see if it was clear. A faltering light ahead illuminated the golden scales and raptor-like face beneath the hood. He spoke to his mate in a language of flute-like whistles and clicks. <This is the place we were told, though I see and smell nothing...>
The female came slightly into the light, enough to that she too was gold-scaled and that she carried something in her arms bundled in the same brown canvas. <The Resistance has taken great pains in staying unfound. They have proven themselves to be cunning and slippery if nothing else, I dislike having to trust them, but...> Her slitted amber eyes glanced at the cloth bundle and back up at him. <They are the only hope we have. The only hope she has.>
The other nodded and motioned for her to follow him. They approached the empty building where they had been told a group of freedom fighters consisting of the oppressed brown-hued illigetimate offspring of two different colors of their people, the other sentient reptillian species--smaller, slimmer creatures who had served their kind since the beginning of their history--of their planet, and any others who dared support their cause had found a means of escaping. They could only pray that they had found the right place.
They had. Just before they had reached the darkened doorway, about a dozen armed figures appeared from the discarded scrap metal scattered along the building's side, weapons trained on the couple. One stepped forward, an unusually large brown-scale clutching an ion beamer in both claws keeping it steadied on the male. He spoke in a low, grunting series of clicks. <Who are you? What are you doing here? Answer quickly!>
The male lowered his head in a submissive gesture and muttered to the female. <Show him.>
She stepped forward, keeping her head low, and presented the bundle she carried. The guard peered into it. A tiny white and black-striped head stared back, terrified. Its eyes were large, slitted, and nearly colorless but for the faintest shade of red.
The guard's eyes narrowed and he stepped back again, lowering his weapon. <I see. The child is an albino.>
The mother pulled the bundle back to her and nodded solemnly. <We committed no crime, but in the eyes of society my child has. For coming into this world the way she is, she will be given the death penalty.> She looked up, a spark of defiance in her eyes. <I will die for her, but I wish not for her to die with me!>
The other gold-scale lifted his head as well to address the guard. <We were told you had found a way off-world. We ask only for freedom, if not for us then at the very least for our daughter. We can still have a future, but her own is out of our control. Will you help us?>
The guard looked between the two in contemplation. It was a predicament rarely encountered outside of illegal cross-breeding--that two of the same caste, the political one of all things, produce an offspring with a genetic deformity. Any such child would, of course, be immediately executed as a blight upon the galaxy's chosen people. <We will. There is not space on the ship for you and your mate, but we will take the child.> He motioned to the shadows of the starport and then indicated to the couple that they were to follow him.
Inside the portring was a sight that restored a small amount of hope to the two. The ship wasn't magnificent, arranged as it was for vertical rocket takeoff and patched together from various salvaged hulks from the nearby scrapyard, but it was spaceworthy and that made it beautiful in their eyes. The guard approached another brown scale standing with one of the other species at an entrance hatch to the ship. After a few moments of conversing, he returned to them. <They're making the final preparations for takeoff, we should be able to get out of here before dawn.>
The female nodded. <We'll wait here until it is time. Thank you.>
Nearly an hour had passed when one of the smaller creatures dashed up to the guard--who the two had recently learned to be the closest thing to a leader this small group of Resistance had--and began to deliver its report in a panicked broken version of their language. The brown-scale frowned, stalking nearer to the center of the ring before shouting up at a yellow-scale who had been going over the launch prep with another brown-scale. <We got approaching Conclave military forces, ETA ten minutes! I want this ship up in five!> His head then snapped to the couple and his glare bored into them as he rushed over. <If you sold us out, so help me I kill you both and your daughter where you stand!>
The male stepped forward, returning the guards glare. <We took every precaution not to be followed. We have no part in this other than to save my daughter!>
The guard remained silent. A long, black tongue flickered out of one nostril and back in. Finally he growled back. <I believe you speak the truth. Get her on board and then take my advice: get out of here. You don't want the Conclave to catch you dealing with terrorists like us.>
The three of them stood now before the open hatch of the ship, lowering herself she tenderly unravelled the child and placed just inside. She was the purest ivory white but for the rows of black jagged stripes that creeped across her head, down her back, and to the tip of her tail. She stared up at her mother and whimpered.
<I know you don't want to go, but you can have no future in this horrible world, not until the prophet of many colors restores it. That is why we must leave you now. Know that wherever your destiny takes you from here that we will always love you.> Mother smiled sadly at daughter who shut her eyes tight, willing the universe to make sense again.
<They'll be here any second, we need to go.>
She nodded to the refugee and touched noses with her child. <Be brave, Sarnui. Stay strong for me.> At a word from her mate she slowly, reluctantly took several steps back from the hatch and pulled the hood back over her head. The child stared after her, wide-eyed and frightened, but she did not try to follow. With a hiss, the hatch closed that would forever seperate her from her family.
Shortly after the two robed figured ducked back into the shadows, a red-scaled group of Conclave warriors blasted through the door, opening fire on the remaining brown-scales and the other reptillian creatures. Within seconds, the defenders had fallen to a hail of ion beam fire. The Resistance leader charged head-on into them, shrugging off several glancing blows and delivering a few more lethal ones before he too was cut down. One of the soldiers raised a portable missile launcher and fired on the ship even as its engines roared to life and it lurched skyward. The missile struck the hull sending a rivoulette of flame roaring from the ruptured plating. With the damaged engine bank flaring feebly, the craft nevertheless managed to crawl to safety amongst the stars.
From afar the two figures watched it peel back the clouds. One shed a tear, the other pulled her close and beheld their entire world escape the nightmare their old one had become.
___________________________________________
The ship never made it to its destination. The crude hyperdrive engines, damaged in the escape, gave out shortly into the jump. Ship logs state that hull integrity was compromised and decompression destroyed the entire vessel. However, those same logs state that several escape pods were jettisoned, though no survivors have ever been located.
Officially.
Origin: Jeremy Orion Blackstone
Event: Flight from home and subsequent employment by GHI and acquisition of the Raven's Shadow.
Event: Flight from home and subsequent employment by GHI and acquisition of the Raven's Shadow.
"Roger that, Solar Wind, you are cleared for landing at hub four."
"Alright, thank you." The young man, no more than twenty, switched off the comlink and and removed the slightly frayed headset. "We've made it, Lea. That's Corellia." The kima stared pensively out of the narrow viewport strip and said nothing. She never did, but Jeremy still liked to imagine she could--it made him feel a little less alone in the galaxy. The shuttle began to shake dangerously as it began reentry, that suspicious rattling under the control bank had started up again. The clouds eventually parted before him and the bustling indomitable life of Coronet struck him like a sledgehammer. All around everything from personal transports to luxery cruisers buzzed and glided around--a beehive in slow, graceful motion.
A few eyes went to the tiny, battered craft as it hovered to a bumby landing in one of the smaller hangars, but they soon returned to their business having seen nothing special. Solar Wind was one of his family's house shuttle, or at least it had been before he ran off with it in the middle of the night. He supposed that still technically made it his family's shuttle seeing that he was more or less a member of said family. The exterior was well-worn from faulty reflective plating during reentry, the controls were stiff and unresponsive, and the interior has that brownish, dusty feeling of your great aunt's vintage landspeeder. Whatever the case, the thing was a piece of junk that had (hopefully) seen its final flight at long last.
Young Blackstone had spent the last two years flitting sporadically across the galaxy, in a sort of general centerly path, taking odd transport jobs wherever he could. On hindsight, it may have just been a better idea to depart home legitimately--confront his parents with his intention to drop out of the university and request a portion of their considerable estate to get himself started out here. Of course his pride hadn't let him, it never did. The tattoo on his shoulder was testament to that. As it were, after years of dirty starports, shoddy accomodations, morally unascertained cargo, fleeing unofficial 'tax collectors' with the shuttles paltry armament (notably dragging destabilized spent fuel rods into the airlock, hitting the button, and praying), and running his ship into the ground he had at last scraped together the funds for a decent spacecraft worthy of his untrained skills.
He paused at the hatch and turned around, the kima sat down on her haunches behind him. Jeremy squinted sidelong at her.
"Ssstay..." He commanded with uncertain suspicion.
The kima stared at him evenly. Several seconds passed in silence before Jeremy decided to drive the notion home.
"Stay."
She yawned and blinked. That would have to do. He stepped through the hatch and sealed it behind him. Leadre watched for a while to be sure he really wasn't coming back for a while, then paced lazily to her corner, took a few mouthfuls of dry food, a quick drink of water, stretched out with another yawn, and casually exited through the ventral ventilation hatch.
He had a contact to meet, one who claimed he had a bargain for an old friend, old friend here meaning that he had been one of the first to hire the runaway for a less-than-legal cargo run. Jeremy wasn't even sure if had met the blackguard in person before, but if the price of this man being his 'friend' was a good deal on a good ship, he was more than happy to tolerate it. Arriving at some private courier's garage, a gruff voice called to him him from the shadows of the doorway. Striding in (confidence was rule one in the transport business), he found himself rattled to a stop by two things: the alumiron rod ('salvaged' from an unfortunate mop) held in the magnetic clasp on his back, and the sight of the ship towering in front of him.
Understand now that "towering" was in no way to imply an emotion of inspiring awe. This ship towered not in the majestic way that demands humility and submission, but rather in the rickety, disproportionate kind of towering more befitting to a stack of dishes neglected for several months. "You have got to be kidding me."
"A real beauty, doncha' think?" Mr. Rotunda was much like his namesake--a man where fat and muscle were difficult to differentiate as they went rather hand in hand. The bulging white tank top that barely came down to his belly button was stained with any number of grease spots, hydraulic fluid, and barbecue sauce. His face was bulbous, plastered over an unkept black beard which in turn sat squarely on his shoulders with almost no evidence of possessing a neck. He smelled exactly like Jeremy had imagined he would 2 years ago, only 2 years more ripe.
The ship was, if anything, barely a greater wreck than its owner--dark stains from either ozone or blaster fire covered every discernible inch of the oddly proportioned ship, one of the dorsal thrusters was off-color in that way that suggested it was not the original, several shielding panels were outright missing, and the defensive turret he knew came standard with this model was most assuredly absent--removed for a bit more profit on this 'deal' no doubt, and done with little if any regard to hull integrity at that. Jeremy just stared at it, praying that the "real beauty" was some sleek, state-of-the-art Comara model hiding behind this scrap heap. Leadre bumped into the back on his legs, almost causing them to buckle. "How...much did you want for this again?"
Rotunda laughed, a wheezy sound probably caused by years of breathing grease fumes, drinking at every meal, and smoking deathstix. "Seventeen-thousand an' she's yers."
_________________________________________________________
"Well, look on the bright side...Lea," The conduit release valve gave beneath the mighty assault of his monkeywrench, "at least now we can haul around even more reasons for pirates to blast us into the next world. I should have asked that crook for any spent rods he needed getting rid of..." He tiredly realigned the ruptured conduit--plasma scarring evident around it--then picked up the fusion cutter to seal the breach. "Maybe we can at least find a more respectable courier..."
"Are you Jeremy Blackstone?"
The entire panel crashed to the floor. Jeremy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up from his foiled repairs. An older woman, brown hair almost completely overcome with grey, deep wrinkles, and a pair of wire spectacles balanced on her nose stood in the doorway holding a steel clipboard in her hands. She stared at him evenly. He and Leadre stared back. "James. James Blackstone."
Her eyes went down to the clipboard and narrowed. "It says Jeremy on here."
"What do you want," he growled, "I've already told dock management if they want the shuttle they can have it. I'm not even sure if I can move it."
The woman straightened up to her fullest height--a good foot shorter than Jeremy and yet her polished looming made it seem as though she could tower over him. "I'm not a dock worker," she spoke curtly, in a refined manner like a librarian correcting an ignorant child, "My name is Tara Sentiri, I am a representative of the Galactic Historical Institute. I imagine you've heard of it.
"You're from GHI?" He heaved the panel up off the ground and set to reattaching it. Leadre laid back down, her eyes following the dancing sparks from the fusion cutter. "Of course I've heard of it. My father is one of your benefactors."
"As was your godfather. A key one in fact."
Jeremy switched off the cutter. "I have a godfather?"
"A Mr. Raxan Vosh. His ventures have a formed a significant contribution to our collection, more specifically those in our Mysteries of the Force exhibit."
"I haven't an idea why I'm surprised." He switched it back on and focused his full attention on the repairs again. At this rate, he might even be able to get off world in the next century--depending on what condition (or lack thereoff) the central wiring was in.
Tara made a small noise with her throat and continued. "Unfortunately we've received news that he's gone missing. As it is, it's not him we are looking for."
Jeremy made something resembling 'mmm.'
"We're looking for you."
"Grats you found me."
"For employment."
"Keep talking."
The woman tucked the clipboard underneath her arm and continued. "We need a field archaeologist. Someone to analyze potential sites for large-scale digs and preservation efforts."
He set down the cutter and tried to jiggle the panel, relieved when it didn't budge. One down, 300,000 to go. "And you think I'm the best one for the job?"
Her cold stare never relented. "You came very highly recommended--your father, your godfather, even the university you dropped out of had nothing but merit to speak of about your ability in the subject area." She paused, glaring at Jeremy's disparate attention. "Of course, the payment will be considerable.
That got his attention. Jeremy's head snapped from examining the hull of his "new" ship to Tara. Money had never been much of an object to him in the past, mainly because he always had it. However, since he had recklessly struck out on his own, the financial reality of the universe had begun to impress upon him. Money was good. He needed more of it. "...go on."
"I thought that might get your attention," she sighed. "annual wages are stable but more importantly include a hefty bonus for any objects of value you may acquire. In addition, you will have a monthly research fund further subsidized with cutting edge GHI surveying technology." She looked up at the towering dish stack with distaste. "Are you attached to this...ship?"
As if on cue, the panel next to the one he had just finished welding on crashed to the floor. Leadre leaped up from her nap, saucer-eyed. Jeremy didn't turn around but one could just see his left eye twitch. "Not particularly."
"Good. We can exchange it for some new fuel rods." She turned on her heel in almost militaristic fashion and made for the door.
Jeremy frowned and stood to confront her. "You expect me to cover your gas bill?"
She halted, though did not turn around, and gave another exasperated sigh. "No. I expect you to cover yours."
____________________________________________________
Jeremy's jaw dropped.
"This is GHI's latest work of art, the SI-4000 Star Collector. Accept our offer, and it's yours." She shoved the clipboard into his hands.
Work of art was no understatement. A black angel balanced daintily on shadows in the executive port ring, her face was a featureles beauty and her ebony wings swept gracefully behind her like a raven in flight. She seemed to hum with a silent power, a will to break the sky's bounds and add her body to the starry void. Next to this ship, all others paled (his old one imploded), and not a passing eye wasn't drawn to her elegance. Speechlessly, eyes never leaving the spectacle before him, he signed the contract.
Leadre trotted up to one of the landing legs and butted her head against it in the unmistakeable way that a cat says, 'this is mine.'
Origin: Ashenta
Event: One of my non-SWU characters (and my first named OC), a naive, curious familiar spirit in the form of a faerie dragon that perished in a cataclysmic event that shattered her mind and body thousands of years in the past. This is the event.
Event: One of my non-SWU characters (and my first named OC), a naive, curious familiar spirit in the form of a faerie dragon that perished in a cataclysmic event that shattered her mind and body thousands of years in the past. This is the event.
A grey haze billowed from under the great stone doors moments before cracks tore across it like a delicate spiderweb. For a moment only the muffled din of the Battle to End All echoed through the looming archways of the throne room--a refuge from the cruel reality of it all right up until now--the door imploded.
From the cloud a robed figure darted forward, dispatching a pike-wielding guard with a flash of steel. Another lunged towards the assailant only to be crushed into the wall as one of the stones that had once made up the door seemingly hurled itself into him. Four more rushed in only to combust in a towering wall of brilliant yellow flames, the heat of which created a strong gust of warm air that blew back the figure's hood. He was young, with dirty brown hair and eyes that glinted with the same righteous defiance as the ornately etched rapier he held in his hand. Several more guards rallied.
"Stand down." The voice spoke from the other end of the lengthy hall, echoing unnaturally across it and laced with a bemused malice. A silhouette rose from the throne, striding confidently down from his pedestal to stand across from the intruder. There he regarded him with a sigh and shake of the head. "How predictably valiant."
"Your foul taint has infested this Verse long enough, Magdeleth. The infernal legions you have called upon will fall alongside your head." The cloaked wizard stepped further forward, raising his sword to point at his adversary. "Your demonic rituals have brought corruption to this land that have angered the very Keepers themselves and it is for that I now do them the service of ending it."
The other man merely laughed darkly and turned his back to the wizard. One hand moved to something at his waist. "You make a grave error..." The battle below the keep raged on shadowed by an astral storm--flashes of unworldly lightning lit up the skies. "In coming alone!" He spun about and made a grasping motion with one arm. Without warning the wizard found himself hurtling towards the man until he found himself inches from his face, impaled upon a curved dagger.
There was a crashing sound down the hallway followed by a ripple of air that carried several guards off their feet and clattering to the floor. A creature stood in the doorway, six feet tall at the shoulder, covered head to tail in shimmering blue and green scales. Arrow shafts protruded from multiple wounds and signs of recent combat showed on the tattered pair of giant moth-like wings on its back. The guards that still stood advanced on her, bringing their polearms to bear only to be swatted aside by a combination of a whip-like tail and fearsome claws. She looked up to see the man who had first beseeched her aid from the Linkdream so many years past stumble back clutching at the dagger in his stomach with shaking hands.
<No!> The word pierced all other sounds, echoing not through the room but through the minds of all within in. The wizard, with great effort, turned to face her and took several stumbling steps. "Ash, get out of here...run!" He spoke through burning pain and clenched teeth.
"How sweet. A little fairy to attend your funeral." The man thrust his hand out again, though this time a crackling bolt of what looked like purple lighting arced from it and struck the wizard, finishing him. He derisive snort and approached the draconic creature, taking a light hop over the smoldering corpse of her ally. Her friend. "Yes, I suppose I should be honored that the Universe sees fit to send an Emerald Enforcer to foil my plans. Truly a sign that I've moved on to bigger and better things." He paused to peer out one of the large windows that overlooked the conflict, reveling in the surprised emotions that washed from her at his words. It was night now and the battlefield was bathed in flames that illuminated the chaos. "That's right. I know what you are and what you do, and you are right to fear that I do not care. What I'm doing is bigger. Bigger even than your all mighty Court." He spat out the last words with contempt.
The creature surged forward, but pikes and spears pierced her flesh from all sides. Reinforcements had arrived and all but had her pinned. Her wings fluttered feebly, too damaged for flight. Never before had she felt such fear, and anger. Murderous emotions flowed from her into the minds of those nearest, some nearly faltering at the mental assault.
"Well that's enough monologuing." He turned back towards her and raised his arm. "Now it's your turn. Die knowing you failed to protect him. Maybe you'll have better luck in oblivion." The same bolt of energy that taken the wizard's life struck her full on. Her mind cried out as it seared her flesh. This was not the arcane energy she was immune to, this was something far more primal, far more destructive. Her eyes shut tight in the pain that penetrated to her very soul until it felt that there was nothing more in the world. Yet there was still something, something that outshined the anguish. Was it hope? No. It was rage.
She opened her eyes to a new world. Her mind felt through the energy that was quickly destroying her body and found it everywhere. The walls, the air, it poured in great quantities from the horrific fighting outside. She felt it in him. A lot of it. So much that he was nearly engorged with these evil energies. What a power. What a beautiful balloon to pop. She stepped forward and the world spun about her in a purple and black typhoon. Another step, her wings disintegrated into dust. She could feel it all, all the raw energy--the force that would one day destroy the very Universe. She could feel it. She could harness it.
It happened in an instant.
With the natural technique her kind used to bend the forces of creation back upon their abusers, she warped the entropic energies around her, redirecting it at her target. The man's eyes widened as the power he had launched at her came coursing back into him ten thousand-fold. The balloon popped and everything ended.
_________________________________________________________________
We are disappointed.
He killed him.
What have you done?
I brought justice.
You used entropy.
I used his.
You fueled it further.
I did what I had to.
You fed the fire that consumes all.
What should I have done?
What you exist to do.
I did that.
You did more.
Is he dead?
Everyone is dead.
Am I dead?
Everyone is dead.
What happens now?
Nothing.
Origin: Sean Mu'haro
Event: His induction into Project Familiar and reception of AER-03, Ayer.
Event: His induction into Project Familiar and reception of AER-03, Ayer.
"STATE YOUR NAME." The doorknob instructed the shaggy young man in its electronic monotone.
The man leaned back and raised an eyebrow. Sure this was the age of automation, but doorknobs were not a commonplace item to have suddenly start talking to you, certainly not one that appeared to be a brass antique on a door in a rather sorry-looking shack in the middle of nowhere on an otherwise highly populous planet. The man was dressed in basic military fatigues, though they were wrinkled and ill-fitting. He wore no special armor, his belt was bare but for a commlink that didn't work and a knife he had never used before. He was human, tallish with shorn brown hair, grey eyes, and just enough muscle tone to suggest his soldierly background, but all and all nothing special. His name was-
"Sean...Mu'haro?"
A long moment passed in silence. Sean looked around the room waiting for something to explode or someone to step out of the dusty old armoire to laugh at him and point at the camera and tell him this whole ominous letter with vague coordinates and unknown motives was all a big joke. Finally the doorknob replied.
"STATE YOUR NAME."
"Sean Mu. Har. Oh." He enunciated the words very carefully.
"STATE YOUR NAME."
"What- Sean Muharo!"
A series of clicks and whirrs came from the door. Finally some progress. Now to see what all this secret agent hubub was all about. Whatever was behind this door would no doubt-
"STATE YOUR NAME."
"OH COME ON!" Sean shouted at the door and gave it a swift taste of his big-booted toe.
"Jeez, relax," said the doorknob, "I'm just messin' with ya. You've been expected Private Sean Mu'haro. Please enter."
This sudden change from the monotone to a very rhythmic and lifelike banter (not to mention was it said) really threw the man for a loop who recoiled several feet. Meanwhile the door had completed another series of snaps crackles and pops and clicked slightly ajar. "Please enter, and relax--we don't bite. Most of us..."
With the eerie invitation from the doorknob, Sean placed his hand on the door and swung it open, preparing his mind for whatever confounding mystery would lie behind it. With a deep breath he stepped into the room. Then he looked around with a puzzled frown. "This is a broom closet."
The door shut behind him. The whirring started up again, though it sounded most closer this time. The room began to quiver right around the time Sean began to have a sinking feeling that he was...well, sinking. Sure enough, several of the various tools and objects hanging on the walls were beginning to raise out of his reach as the floor descended like what he could only assume was some sort of lift system. That are a pit of hydrochloric acid. That would be a bad day.
"And an awfully elaborate assassination attempt..."
It also occured to him just then that though the dim light from the shack's interior had long ago drifted into the heavens, it had not gotten any darker. In fact it was getting brighter. He had just begun to try to narrow down its source when the floor stopped moving and the wall took its place revealing a blinding white hallway. A figure stood in the center of it looking at the now very bewildered Sean, bewildered not just because a broom closet had just transported him to what looked like the interior of a spacecraft, but because the figure in front of him was about a foot tall and decidingly bird-shaped. To top it all off it started talking.
"Welcome, Sean Mu'haro, to Project Familiar."
Sean's keen eyes scanned the hallway, featureless walls almost (or possibly were) glowing white and curved slightly out of sight around a bend. Featureless that is but for the occasional single steel door with a bold print label reading simple things like 'A1,' or mysteriously following that one, 'A2.' His brain couldn't take it and thus was only able to conjure a single word reply to the bird.
"What?"
The bird tilted its head to one side and it was then that Sean realized the creature was not a creature at all but a droid. An extremely lifelike droid. "You are Sean Mu'haro, are you not?"
"Yeah that's me alright, but I think I must have missed a memo..."
The bird...robot...thing shook its head. "I am sorry to say you have been purposely left in the dark. It is the way it has to be. But now that you are here, allow me to explain everything."
______________________________________________________
"So let me get this straight," Sean leaned forward across the white oval table and narrowed his eyes this 'Hephaestus' as the bird had introduced himself. "You've been here, underneath the largest remaining artificial structure known to the galaxy, for years gathering up a veritable legion of paranoid crackpot geniuses whose potential has been labelled by level-headed society as much too dangerous to develop....and developing them?"
"Something like that, though there's a lot more to it than that." The bird replied evenly. Sean had managed to get a closer look at the construct as it had led him to the briefing room on A level--apparently one of six giant rings making up a huge cylindrical underground complex. From afar, it was nearly indistinguishable in both appearance and movements from the real thing, but up close he could see the seams in the chassis plating, bare servos beneath the bases of the wings and on the legs, the soft hum of said servos as they moved about, and most noticeably the bloated T-like red visor that took the place of the eyes--though the two faint black circles of the photoreceptors could just be made out from beneath it. All in all, an incredible work of engineering decades, if not centuries beyond what could be found on the civilian market these days.
"You mean like yourself? Putting all those nutcases under one to six roofs has to reap some benefit."
"Precisely. Though I myself am not a product of their minds, but of the single greatest mind amongst us all." The bird stood up slightly straighter, speaking in a more prideful tone.
Sean raised an eyebrow. "And who might that be?"
The bird's beak cracked open slightly in what could only be called a mocking smile. "I can't tell you that, but know that it was he who chose you over so many other applicants who were far more...well more."
Sean leaned back a bit, perturbed by yet another unusual expression of emotion from this AI. "What exactly did he choose me to do?
"I'll show you. Come with me." The bird spread its wings and hovered steadily off the table with a rush of warm air; repulsor engines built into the wings.
"Whatever you say, Heffa...heff- don't you have a nickname or number or something?"
"AER-00, but people around here just call me Phae." Phae glided out the door back into the hallway. Sean shrugged and followed.
They traveled back to the lift but continued further down this time. E level. Core Engineering. Phae led the way as usual with Sean tailing close behind getting suspicious stares from every white-coated aforementioned crackpot that bustled about the slightly busier E corridors. He was beginning to feel like a bacterium amongst a horde of white blood cells and he imagined at any moment any one of them would start hurling massive antibodies at him. What an odd image... curse you Magic School Shuttle. He realized Phae had been talking for a while now and he should probably start listening.
"While you are by no means one of the...intellectuals we've been gathering, you offer a different asset in being a Republic soldier. Your potential is not one that could endanger the general public if developed incorrectly, but potential you have, and that's what we want to protect." Phae approached one of the steel doors which opened on its own with a soft hiss, and hopped inside.
Sean followed and once more took in his surroundings. It was a simple room compared to the others he had glimpsed on their short journey over having only a couple computer banks along the wall, some sort of machine on the ceiling, and single table at the far end upon which was a square metal box upon which was printed in neat black lettering '03.' He approached the table cautiously, eyes frozen upon it as Phae hopped onto one of the computer banks and hooked himself into it with a thin cable he drew from a compartment in his chassis. The machine overhead rumbled to life, but Sean's attention remained on the box. He had the oddest feeling that whatever was inside was about to change his life forever. Slowly he reached out to touch the box, but it acted first, a section of the top raising up and splitting into two halves which folded down to reveal a glittering stick of metal.
"Take it," spoke Phae patiently.
Hesitantly, Sean grasped the object between two finger and removed it from the slot. Holding it up to the light he saw that it was made partially of a crystal material that shimmered in the light. Turning it over, he found a symbol engraved into the gold metal; a swirling feather with a gear-like pattern at the base and below it the numbers 03.
"Now watch your head..." Phae murmered as the machine extended like a long steel arm towards the steel box. Sean stepped back several paces and watched in wonder as the appendage, tipped with a strange cylindrical key inserted itself into a ring atop the box. With a hiss, the box began unfold itself, laying out flat and revealing its contents. It was another bird droid, similar to Phae but newer, sleeker, and sporting black and white coloration similar to a seabird Sean had once seen in his youth. The machine then inserted the same key into an indentical slot at the base of the droid's neck. the panels there slid aside revealing a slot about the same width as the chip Sean still held in his hand. "Well? What are you waiting for?"
"I was kinda hoping you would tell me," Sean breathed, "but I think I played this game as a child once; triangle goes in the triangle hole, circle in the round one..." He reached forward and slid the chip into the slot. It immediately pulled it inside and the panels snapped shut seamlessly. "And the rectangle in the squarish one. I still got it."
The droid in front of him lifted its head suddenly, the visor flickering to life. Standing tall on its two legs, it extended its wings to their full lengths, rotating them to various angles and testing the servos--almost as though it were stretching after a long nap. It shook its head from side to side and then first seemed to notice Sean. It made a single hop to face him. "SOLdrive successfully integrated. Running initiation protocol. Setting interface perameters. Perameters set. Spyglass system enabled. All AER Familiar systems online. Greetings, I am AER-03 and you are my partner."
Sean's brain couldn't take it and thus was only able to conjure a single word reply to the bird.
"Cool."
_______________________________________________________
"Hyo haff chosen a fool. I don't like him."
"He is talented for his age. He has been through much yet his spirit remains--there is much to be said for that. A different kind of strength."
"Und vhat good is spirit if he cannot protect our secret? He is a Republic soldier, how are hyo so sure he can be trusted?"
"His connections with the military will be invaluable for locating further individuals worthy of a Familiar guide. Speaking of which, we have located one such individual I believe our initiate may have the greatest luck contacting."
"Who?"
"Her name is Rahja Kel."
Origin: Pantamime Lenarski (Pan)
Event: Fleeing her home world and what reasons led to it--a bit of family history for the ill-mannered scientist.
Event: Fleeing her home world and what reasons led to it--a bit of family history for the ill-mannered scientist.
Despite being shrouded head to toe in brown hooded robes, the two figures did their best to remain unseen--stalking from shadow to shadow in the long-abandoned starport. Clothing was a notion their species found strange and unusual, but they dared not remove it as even more strange and unusual would be two individuals of their color creeping around a place like this. Not to mention what they were delivering...
Stopping at a corner, one leaned around to see if it was clear. A faltering light ahead illuminated the golden scales and raptor-like face beneath the hood. He spoke to his mate in a language of flute-like whistles and clicks. <This is the place we were told, though I see and smell nothing...>
The female came slightly into the light, enough to that she too was gold-scaled and that she carried something in her arms bundled in the same brown canvas. <The Resistance has taken great pains in staying unfound. They have proven themselves to be cunning and slippery if nothing else, I dislike having to trust them, but...> Her slitted amber eyes glanced at the cloth bundle and back up at him. <They are the only hope we have. The only hope she has.>
The other nodded and motioned for her to follow him. They approached the empty building where they had been told a group of freedom fighters consisting of the oppressed brown-hued illigetimate offspring of two different colors of their people, the other sentient reptillian species--smaller, slimmer creatures who had served their kind since the beginning of their history--of their planet, and any others who dared support their cause had found a means of escaping. They could only pray that they had found the right place.
They had. Just before they had reached the darkened doorway, about a dozen armed figures appeared from the discarded scrap metal scattered along the building's side, weapons trained on the couple. One stepped forward, an unusually large brown-scale clutching an ion beamer in both claws keeping it steadied on the male. He spoke in a low, grunting series of clicks. <Who are you? What are you doing here? Answer quickly!>
The male lowered his head in a submissive gesture and muttered to the female. <Show him.>
She stepped forward, keeping her head low, and presented the bundle she carried. The guard peered into it. A tiny white and black-striped head stared back, terrified. Its eyes were large, slitted, and nearly colorless but for the faintest shade of red.
The guard's eyes narrowed and he stepped back again, lowering his weapon. <I see. The child is an albino.>
The mother pulled the bundle back to her and nodded solemnly. <We committed no crime, but in the eyes of society my child has. For coming into this world the way she is, she will be given the death penalty.> She looked up, a spark of defiance in her eyes. <I will die for her, but I wish not for her to die with me!>
The other gold-scale lifted his head as well to address the guard. <We were told you had found a way off-world. We ask only for freedom, if not for us then at the very least for our daughter. We can still have a future, but her own is out of our control. Will you help us?>
The guard looked between the two in contemplation. It was a predicament rarely encountered outside of illegal cross-breeding--that two of the same caste, the political one of all things, produce an offspring with a genetic deformity. Any such child would, of course, be immediately executed as a blight upon the galaxy's chosen people. <We will. There is not space on the ship for you and your mate, but we will take the child.> He motioned to the shadows of the starport and then indicated to the couple that they were to follow him.
Inside the portring was a sight that restored a small amount of hope to the two. The ship wasn't magnificent, arranged as it was for vertical rocket takeoff and patched together from various salvaged hulks from the nearby scrapyard, but it was spaceworthy and that made it beautiful in their eyes. The guard approached another brown scale standing with one of the other species at an entrance hatch to the ship. After a few moments of conversing, he returned to them. <They're making the final preparations for takeoff, we should be able to get out of here before dawn.>
The female nodded. <We'll wait here until it is time. Thank you.>
Nearly an hour had passed when one of the smaller creatures dashed up to the guard--who the two had recently learned to be the closest thing to a leader this small group of Resistance had--and began to deliver its report in a panicked broken version of their language. The brown-scale frowned, stalking nearer to the center of the ring before shouting up at a yellow-scale who had been going over the launch prep with another brown-scale. <We got approaching Conclave military forces, ETA ten minutes! I want this ship up in five!> His head then snapped to the couple and his glare bored into them as he rushed over. <If you sold us out, so help me I kill you both and your daughter where you stand!>
The male stepped forward, returning the guards glare. <We took every precaution not to be followed. We have no part in this other than to save my daughter!>
The guard remained silent. A long, black tongue flickered out of one nostril and back in. Finally he growled back. <I believe you speak the truth. Get her on board and then take my advice: get out of here. You don't want the Conclave to catch you dealing with terrorists like us.>
The three of them stood now before the open hatch of the ship, lowering herself she tenderly unravelled the child and placed just inside. She was the purest ivory white but for the rows of black jagged stripes that creeped across her head, down her back, and to the tip of her tail. She stared up at her mother and whimpered.
<I know you don't want to go, but you can have no future in this horrible world, not until the prophet of many colors restores it. That is why we must leave you now. Know that wherever your destiny takes you from here that we will always love you.> Mother smiled sadly at daughter who shut her eyes tight, willing the universe to make sense again.
<They'll be here any second, we need to go.>
She nodded to the refugee and touched noses with her child. <Be brave, Sarnui. Stay strong for me.> At a word from her mate she slowly, reluctantly took several steps back from the hatch and pulled the hood back over her head. The child stared after her, wide-eyed and frightened, but she did not try to follow. With a hiss, the hatch closed that would forever seperate her from her family.
Shortly after the two robed figured ducked back into the shadows, a red-scaled group of Conclave warriors blasted through the door, opening fire on the remaining brown-scales and the other reptillian creatures. Within seconds, the defenders had fallen to a hail of ion beam fire. The Resistance leader charged head-on into them, shrugging off several glancing blows and delivering a few more lethal ones before he too was cut down. One of the soldiers raised a portable missile launcher and fired on the ship even as its engines roared to life and it lurched skyward. The missile struck the hull sending a rivoulette of flame roaring from the ruptured plating. With the damaged engine bank flaring feebly, the craft nevertheless managed to crawl to safety amongst the stars.
From afar the two figures watched it peel back the clouds. One shed a tear, the other pulled her close and beheld their entire world escape the nightmare their old one had become.
___________________________________________
The ship never made it to its destination. The crude hyperdrive engines, damaged in the escape, gave out shortly into the jump. Ship logs state that hull integrity was compromised and decompression destroyed the entire vessel. However, those same logs state that several escape pods were jettisoned, though no survivors have ever been located.
Officially.