Solace

Crispy · October 2004

<div class="IPBDescription">Backgorund story to a map I'm working on</div>Chapter One: Home, Sweet Home

"Cut that out Walters!", the cockpit bellowed. Unlike most unit commanders, Vogel's bark tamed in comparison to his bite. There had been as many stories of broken noses as ribs for those who aroused the mildest displeasure in the man. The most famous rumour detailed -with as much accuracy that a rumour can- a castigation resulting in a cranial fracture with an early return to the homeworld for the rookie and a new left gauntlet for the Commander.

You would have thought that he would have a new recruit for every glove he went through, what with all the injuries in Vogel's team; all in the line of duty, naturally. But the fact was no-one had the heart to apply for a transfer, let alone a holiday. Putting in for R&R was like inviting a half-starved Xectaclion death lizard round to your home for Sunday lunch, and burning the roast; the Commander wouldn't like it, and for this fact and this fact alone it was a tight unit Vogel kept. Snivelling over photographs of loved ones wouldn't get you his sympathy either. His head hadn't the heart for flashbacks of friends and family. He saw them as heavy baggage, hating to have to fork out extra emotional currency for something he'd eventually realise he should never have brought in the first place.

But that was Simian Vogel. He travelled light through life and expected the same from his men. But when shore-leave came he was as sexually ravenous as the rest of the men, all eager to swap that empty space in their hearts for an empty space in their wallets. But the sad truth of the matter was that the Commander didn't like being tied down to one girl or to one place. He had to keep moving, which was why for him the TSA scoutship Agudo was the only corner of the universe worthy of the foreign-sounding nomenclature: "home".

A jolt. The crew steadied themselves before another shunted the ship, this time throwing them against the cold, metal sheen of the sides and floor of the vessel. Something had hit them -or they had hit something- hard, and had richocheted off-course. As Crawford wrenched his weedy counterpart from the floor to strap him in Polluck was in the process of doing the same for the new guy, Rivers. This orderly, string of soldier-ants was a pocket of irony inside the chaos that was spiralling its way through the calm of space like a sycamore leaf in the twilight hours of a winter's day.

Meanwhile Vogel's frenzied hollers were the cue for the rest of the Frontiersmen to panic. "Walters, check the starboard engine, our readouts aren't telling us squat!". No response. Crawford prodded the palsied, limp marionette he had just instinctively secured in-place. Their training drills didn't allow pause for thought and as such it had not occurred to Crawford to check the squad's engineer for signs of life.
"Hammer's down, sir!".
"Dead?", the Commander lost his authoritative poise for a second and his voice uncharicteristically upped an octave.
"No, just out cold", came the reply.
"Well didn't he just pick the wrong moment to go sheep-counting", Vogel remarked with clout, his composure reinstated as the shephard informed his own flock of what they were going to do next. "Looks like we're gonna have to pay this place a visit", he said, his index finger eclipsing an anonymous blip on the radar.

Under his finger sat Solace. Prior to RelaxationStation #873's construction the planetoid had been known simply by it's co-ordinates, having no biological, geological or strategical value. Now it bore the same name as the terminal that RS-Corp had carved into its inconsequential surface. As the Agudo hurtled towards its perimiter a welcome message flashed up on its cockpit and aft screens in an over-friendly, neon glare.

Housed on a distant planetoid on a 514 day orbit around Horus, Solace is currently the Betelgeuse System's only RelaxationStation. Catering for travellers from every corner of the universe, Solace provides nourishment, sleeping accomodation and secure cargo storage facilities for its guests.

Remember, for a safe trip and a good kip, choose: RelaxationStation

Solace will not accept fugitives outlawed by Supreme Justice, Inc. or store volatile or organic goods which have not passed quarantine measures implemented by the Interplanetary Assurance Collective

Kester · October 2004

I like it... I like it alot =]

Crispy · October 2004

Chapter Two: Crash and Burn

"Try to establish voicecoms with that RelaxationStation", Simian Vogel ordered the helmsman, spitting out the distaste this brand's cheap, turquoise lettering had etched upon his memory. Saltzberg made no verbal reply, his rapid manipulation of the Agudo's naviglobe his only reciprocation. Fingers dancing upon its surface and thumbs twitching in their glowing, crimson inserts, Saltzberg's seemingly inhuman extensions were spasming in a controlled, yet instinctive manner. It was as if his hands were feeling the same effects that a master pianist might encounter through the length of his career. A cocktail of immense dexterity with a dash of rheumatism was jolting through his appendiges as they blurred away on the Rubix-sphere console. Saltzberg was particularly good at what he did, but at that alone. He had barely any strength and almost no communication and social-skills to speak of but his arms and hands were more sprightly than anything you're likely to see in the charted universe. For this reason alone he had earnt the respect of his squad.

At this point in time, he was succeeding in simultaneously stabilising the ship's course for what he viewed as an inevitable and unavoidable landing, severing power to the dead starboard engine -power which he knew would come in handy once they were down on the surface- and had already made several attempts to contact Solace.
"No reply, eh?", Vogel scowled. He knew if Saltzberg had made contact he would already be speaking to a RelaxationStation representative. Glancing at the fuel levels he finally grasped the jist of the situation. "We'll be landing in as controlled a manner as possible boys", he shouted down the spine of the ship, "So if you're not sittin' pretty I suggest you make like Monroe and strap yourself in!".

Bowman was still on his feet, making desperate efforts to revive Walters, whose only movements were afterthoughts of the judders of the Agudo entering Solace's atmosphere.
"Better just to leave him as he is, Doc", Gruber grunted.
"And when did you finish your six years' medical training Sickle?", retorted Bowman breathlessly, an obvious twang of distemper in his voice.
"I was just sayin'-"
"Well don't!", the physician threw an empty stimpack to the floor and it skimmed towards a corner. His face was a picture of exhaustion. He hung it in his hands, fingers extending across his features to conceal his fatigue from his crewmates. He would no doubt have to deal with an abundance of injuries after the crash. But by then he would be burnt-out, fresh out as he now was of the latest high intensity tranq he'd become attached to. He was getting lax, they were beginning to suspect. He couldn't show any signs of debility. But his head was getting heavy and his vision hazy...

The Agudo's belly had taken on the same characteristics of a work transport, its passengers all waiting impatiently but politely for another day of hell. Eyes studied faces, trying to see how best it was to act in such uncertainty, before their path intersected that of another pair and they were compelled to dart downwards apologetically to renew their study of the floor below. Bowman, still cradling his head, was massaging his scalp with his fingertips in time with his throbs of agony. It seemed to be having the desired effect, nullifying each agonising pulsation. It felt like someone had put his brain in a bag and was, little by little, trying to pull it out of a small hole just between his temples.

Suddenly he was up above, legs dangling and his arms flailing for something to grab to offset the pressure on his ribs as the harness tightened around his chest. He studied the view below him: Polluck and Crawford were nursing head trauma from the Agudo's impact on the planet's surface; Rivers, still wearing his helmet, was holding on for dear life but was safe from harm locked inside his untarnished newbie armour. He'd kept it on since they'd left the spaceport, not daring to remove it for fear of being impaled by the purple spine from a chard rat. Like all those fresh out of training he had been told certain stories which were designed to keep his armour and make him slightly uncomfortable so that he would pay more attention to his surroundings and learn the tricks of the trade.

Through evolution or chemical pollution-induced mutation -Rivers couldn't remember which- the rodent's prong-like tail had curved back round fusing itself onto the dorsum. From the tip a poisonous needle had grown, like a violet glass straw housed in a pink, fleshy firing mechanism. This appendige allowed only the nose of the biomissile to be visible while keeping its payload well lubricated, ready to be launched into the agressor, or the prey. One was ferreting its way towards Bowman now as he struggled to focus on the hazy inquisitor. It sniffed his cheek as he lay paralysed and was somehow unable to knock it away. Now its rigid tail was perilously close to his cheek, scraping furtively at the skin without actually breaking it. It was hinting at something more, he knew that much... something worse. Everything he was witness to was being drawn out like some horrible nightmare. As seconds became minutes the tail began to move upward and was now slowing with the same anticipative tension as a catapult being readied for release. Sooner or later it would...

Snap! The doctor lunged up, heart thumping. With this movement his vision faded in from a fuzzy kaleidoscope of disarray and suddenly he was filled with energy. Everything zoomed into perspective and he realised that the tranq wasnt entirely to blame for the sentiment of heaviness his limbs held for his current situation.

Crispy · October 2004

Chapter Three: Aftermath

As the scene sharpened he could make out two figures before him. To one belonged the easily recognizable gaunt features of Saltzberg, his scrawny body hunched over with his bone-like arms the last of him to fade into focus. The other was Rivers, his young face contorting, mouthing something that Bowman was unable to discern. He was now on the floor and a low, muffled verbatim filled the room. Gradually it shrank to a stream of babble directed at him, becoming more and more clear until suddenly as if his ears had just popped, it was comprehensible.

"Bowman, Bowman! Are you with us, buddy? Say something!". Bowman groaned, finding it a stuggle to separate his parched lips and an equal reluctance to return them to their former position. "Hey Saltzberg he's coming round", exclaimed the excitable rookie as the doctor ruminated repeatedly, desperate to encourage moisture back to his lips, tongue and roof of his mouth.
"Water", Saltzberg grunted in a way that overtly conveyed his irritation at the boy's inattentiveness.
"You think he needs some water?", Rivers said amidst scattered supply boxes that told the story of their crash-landing.
"Yes", he would have screamed if his reserves had permitted.

"Ugh! Tastes like...ugh!" Bowman scowled and got to his feet, steadying himself momentarily as the room swirled round him. He shrugged it off and made his way outside, a giddy union of tranq withdrawal and adrenaline shot.

Metallic skeletal corpses and limbs littered the exterior of ship which had now found permanant residence on Solace's barren landscape. In the middle of the turmoil Vogel was conducting the somewhat unharmonious process of establishing some sort of order, his orchestral sections all reading different manuscripts in an effort to bring together his new symphony, a complete rewrite of the ship's inventory in line with his ultimate goal of getting off this hellish brimstone that could only have come from some greater Evil.

He grew to understand that amidst the confusion of the impact and subsequent grounding of the Agudo several boxes of munitions had caught fire and exploded, spitting a peppered soup of shrapnel and Walters' upper body to her stern. It was only after sifting through the graveyard of burnt-out technological hasbeens, lining the ship's belly like a jagged funeral veil, that they'd found his legs which in their present state were unrecognizable of human form. Remorse had filled the cabin like an icy mist condensing on their eyes and freezing the crew perfectly still as they tried to shake themselves from the scene. The only thing on Vogel's mind was how long it would take before they were able to repair the ship without their engineer. If it wasn't possible Vogel would have to ask the TSA to spare yet more Frontiersmen to retrieve them. The Commander's superior enjoyed the same amnesty from inconvenience that he himself had grown accustomed to and he wasn't about to change that, neither would his men.

Crispy · October 2004

Chapter Four: In Memoriam

Later that afternoon in the still, sweltering heat a burial would be held for Walters. Feeling increasingly distanced from his surroundings and his stomach crying out for him to obey his involuntary waves of wretching, Bowman was collecting the meat chunks of the ship's engineer. He fell to his hands and knees and suppressed the reflex once more, reluctant to give himself even more mess to clean up. The heat in the ship's shell was rising, or maybe it was due to the state he was in. Composing himself again for the umpteenth time, Bowman returned his attention back to his labours on the gloopy red floor, vowing that when this was over he would do whatever was needed to bury the matter of Walter's death.

Polluck, Crawford and Gruber had been lobbying the Commander for several hours now. Like Bowman they wanted Walter's remnants out of sight to keep them out of mind. Unlike Bowman this wish had nothing to do with erasing the sickening memory of scooping up human flesh that looked like it had been frozen and not thawed out properly before being brought to a gentle simmer on the steel floor. Their's was the loss of a comrade (friend is a strong word to use to describe a fondness that existed only through habitual coexistance)

Fraught with the prolonged horror of a child whose lastest creative accolade has been knocked to pieces by some higher and wholly unjust power, Rivers' tempestual emotions had died down, their replacement a steely-eyed resolve. He slowly rose, paced calmly over to the carefully assembled debris that served Vogel as a makeshift table and slammed his fist down on the counter.
"We must bury this man!" he demanded. "It is our duty", he paused, "not as soldiers, but as children of his Earth", he paused again, "to give this man the funeral he deserves" and, remembering his position, "...Commander". Bowman added a convincing argument about the possibility of the increasing risk of a reaction between the decaying body parts and foreign particles in the air, of which they had little information, which could give rise to a biohazard of undeterminable potency. But Vogel wasn't listening.

Rivers had involuntarily shook himself away from the hauntung image that the medic had summoned up before him. He slowly gulped and forcibly pursed his eyelids for an instant, before turning back to his superior. The commander gently lifted his gaze to meet the rookie's, a hint of a smile spreading across his features. Then it was gone, and he uttered solemnly: "It will be done"

Vogel had secretly enjoyed Rivers' blatant disregard for position and rank. His display had shown the commander that he was ready for the many difficulties that he and the rest of the squad would have to face in the coming months. There was no substitute for this kind of trauma; no training conceivable that could simulate the upheaval of reality that Walter's loss had forced upon them. In a sense there was an element of fortune in the timing of Rivers' swift introduction to the habitual misfortunes of serving in a Frontiersmen unit. "Now he knows the dangers of emotional attachment", he thought to himself, "-something he'll remember for the rest of his life" and shuddered at the thoughts flooding back, in memoriam.

Rivers had been studying the remorse on the commander's face for the past few minutes as they stood, legs shoulder-width apart with hands clasped behind their backs. The circle was motionless and silent until Gruber began the euligy. As he recited his sermon to the storage container that housed Hammer's remains, the young gun made a secret vow never to allow emotion to cost him a moment's weakness.

Crispy · October 2004

Chapter Five: Raising the Dead

Looking back over the caterpillar track trail Vogel retraced its path back to the last of the markers they had buried and switched it to hibernation mode via a panel hidden away on the underside of the main dashboard of the command console. They would use the chain of lights and radio beacons to make their way back to the Agudo with what they could scavenge from RelaxationStation Solace. A wind had kicked up and while Saltzberg cohersed the main entrance controls into doing his bidding Vogel returned his attention to the tracks. Already they had all but been swept from recognition. He hoped the same fate would not befall he and his men.

A high-pitched servo broke Vogel's thoughts as it squealed suddenly into earshot, announcing the resurrection of the doors it had held in stasis for so long. Sensing the eternity had come to an end, his brothers joined him in chorus and they swung into position releasing the maglock. They fell silent for a moment. Something clunked into its housings and then a long, drawn-out hum of invocation was kept in chant as they dragged the doors along their threshold in a steady but determined crawl.

Before he could give the order his men had taken their places on either side of the entrance. Remembering his training, Rivers was about to follow suit when Vogel's hand came thundering down on his shoulder stopping him dead in his tracks. "You stay here, son". The rookie was incensed at the command. He wasn't scared, not any more. Not ever again, he had promised himself that much.

Gruber and Polluck swung round in a synchronised manouvre, sweeping the interior with their fields of vision. Below Gruber Crawford appeared, staying perfectly still momentarily while he waited for the slightest sound or movement to enter the peripheral of his senses. He searched for his first point of cover but he could only see five clicks into the darkness, where a set of maybe half a dozen stairs led up into a larger space, a faint glow eminating from their summit.

He scurried inaudibly to the foot of the stairs and paused for the instant it would take for Gruber and Polluck to move in, their posts immediately retaken by a shaky Bowman and an eager Rivers. Without looking back he somehow gauged them to be in position and the scout advanced in a low crouch halfway up the stairs. When he reached the desired point he eased out of his crouch in a deftly controlled movement until his eyes were level with the upper tier and, in front of them, the barrel of his light machine gun, unerringly still.

From their position behind the command console, squatting at its rear behind a caterpillar track on either side, Vogel and Saltzberg had lost sight of their pointman. An air of edginess seemed to fill the commander. He had the option of tuning in to Crawford's heads up display via the command console, but he turned it down in favour of saving resources. They had been left with little in reserve and so he thought it better to keep some for ammunitons and medpack manufacture (although nothing in that day and age was still handmade) should they meet a threat. Having spoken with his superiors some days ago he had been advised of the latest extraterrestrial threat that reared its ugly head. "We humans have a knack of pi§§ing everyone else in this universe off", he mused.

They had been on their way back to divisional headquarters for a full briefing on the matter when the Agudo had hit Solace and the §hit had hit the fan. The munitions explosion had damaged the transmission records' cache and the priority transmissions backup module had been crushed in the overturning of the ship. All he could remember -the alerts were all much of a muchness- was the highlights of this species. Dangerous, no change there; highly adaptive, they'd have to be to survive in this corner of the galaxy; some sort of primative psychic communication and reports also indicated bionanotechnology of some sort. He wasn't looking forward to joining the fight against that sort of monster.

When Crawford had peeked over the staircase' horizon he had been caught in the glare of the RelaxationStation welcome screen. It was carved into the wall facing him which continued for a bit to his left and right and then fell out of existence, the abyss into which they plunged containing a faint neon glow that lit the perimeter of the room's floor panelling. Rounding the corner two more screens bore the RS-Corp logo and between them a gatescan stood between him and the reception desk which was bedecked with yet more fluorescent blurb. Hypnotised by the dim light shed by the screens, Crawford had left it to Gruber and Polluck to check his rear where fortunately a fifth screen awaited them, it's message this time emblazened in bright green:

AWAITING IMAGE _

Michael · October 2004

It's looking great so far <img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/smile-fix.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile-fix.gif' /> keep up the good work

Crispy · May 2005

Chapter Six: Tools of the Trade

Vogel booted up the rest of the primary systems while he waited for his cortex implants to kick in. It used to be that he would have wait for his eyes to adjust to the feed but he had gone through the startup routine so many times that now they were ready before the safety systems would allow him to switch to full exposure. As usual the seconds that elasped were infuriatingly elongated...

...and then the live feed kicked in.

Of course he had no way to verify this visually, but he felt his eyes shoot wide open as the information poured in. The slightest blink would allow him to switch to a different viewscreen, the rims of the eyepieces of the headset sensitive enough to measure the most minimal of movements, such that only a fraction of a blink was needed to trigger the switch.

Vogel brought up the navscreen and plotted a waypoint on the green carpet grid that was blanketed over the virtual terrain, mimicking its topography to perfection. With his eyes focussed in he followed the route to its final destination and glared accusatively to conforim his choice. He waited a second, letting a fine film of moisture glide over the curvature of his lens reestablishing the h2o content to nominal levels and allowing him to continue in his operations. He shot a glance skyward and the mobile CC unit lerched forward and into motion. With his thumb held down, an X-shaped cursor in a box appeared at the centre of his squad. He gently eased the joystick forward to scan for a suitable waypoint a little further than his own. His selection confirmed, his eyes darted upwards before flicking back to the same spot to see that the cursor had lost the upper body of the X and only the lower side of the box remained, leaving a green triangle which pulsed between a blank and a neon fill. Almost as if they'd collectively hallucinated this green signpost, the squad began their advance, one by one, down the corridor to the airlock.

Spiderlike, each of its members burst forward in turn over a short distance, before halting and taking up a covering position, all the while the nucleus at its centre keeping a steady speed and direction. Soon the convoy had reached the airlock and sent a member out to the outer hatch controls. It jabbed at them repeatedly until, satisfied somehow, it withdrew back to the body of men. The fruit of its labours became apparant as, with a prolonged hiss, the door slowly swung round into its brackets. There was what sounded like a circular motion and then a muffled clunk as the pressure seal shunted into place. An indicator light to one side of the inner hatch lit up red and the room was bathed in a warm pinkish shade of rouge. The squad waited in silence for a few seconds by which time the red light had faded. The team hadn't liked the notion of what the red light might indicate and presently it breathed a sigh of relief in unison.

On the intake the breath was cut short as a thundering rush of air like ethereal wildebeast roared overhead. It ceased as abrubtly as it had begun. In due course a short hiss, probably the depressurisation, burst into some unknown chamber. The clunk of the pressure seal being released and the dormant light indicator triggered green as the inner hatch pivoted round lethargically on its fulcrum.

No sign of life. The spider squad stood its ground momentarily before shuffling a feeler to the fore. Seconds later it was joined by another and they edged along the walls until they reached a suitable vantage point. They stopped at a T-junction and the head of the body of men dragged itself out of the airlock as the remaining appendiges pushed up behind it.

The corridor looked prectically untouched but felt eerily quiet.

Rivers looked down at his LMG to find that his safety was on, an oversight he promptly remedied. He wondered how this installation had been deserted for, at least, that's how it appeared...deserted. He'd seen more life out on the surface; sand hoppers, bowdeks, a few longhorns, a half-submerged olf in the sand. Hell, one night he'd even seen the shaggy outline of a venteuse mammoth, although he hadn't known it at the time.

He'd been out on patrol when the silhouette of a huge beast had drawn his attention. He he had wanted to get a closer look at the animal, maybe even bring back something different for the guys to eat, but then he'd remembered that the commander had given strict orders 'not to waste ammo on anything that wasn't gonna waste him', so he'd logged a cap of it in his longviews and moved on.

The following morning he'd shown it to Crawford who had a particular interest in highly dangerous animals, something about 'knowing your prey inside and out'. Crawford had been a professional guide for hunting parties in the inner ring of the Neraphus cluster, but he'd grown tired of hunting the same old thing, claiming it just wasn't a challenge anymore, and had moved to the outer ring in search of better sport. It was there that he had been told about the Frontiersmen and had signed up immediately -not because he felt any sort of patriotism for the TSA colonies or a sense of brotherhood towards fellow soldiers, as he saw it most of those flyboys didn't know their trigger-finger from their arsehole- but because he was guaranteed a good hunt.

The huntsman had been the perfect replacement for the TSA XTDB that befell the same fate as most of the half-useful clutter on the Agudo, Walters included. Recognising the gargantuan creature immediately, his eyes had lit up with glee and he'd shaken his head from side to side, murmuring:
"You lucky son of a-" before jumping up in exclamation and disbelief, "Do I know what this is? Do I know what this is? Why, that's a venteuse mammoth! He's only gone and stumbled across a venteuse mammoth! That son of a-", he interrupted himself: "Geez, I don't believe it! I don't believe it! I can't bloody believe it. I was on that shift just forty minuted before you".

Then disappointment and envy gave way to enthusiasm and he'd begun to tell his story about his last experience with a venteuse mammoth:
"Last time I saw a toosie I was serving my second week under Simian Vogel here. Yeah, the old commander, well it's a pretty gruesome story and one I'm sure Vogel wouldn't wanna hear repeated, see, Mahler was a good friend of his before...", he'd reconsidered, "Well anyway, venteuse mammoths, they're immense creatures! Hobbling around pretending they're bovines until you get right up close and then -bam!- they get up onto their back legs, their chest opens up -right down the middle- and you can see all these suckers lining the inside. Then they tip their head back and show you the pair of tusks they've got stashed away there. Not so much tusks as big downward-pointing, pointy daggers of doom!" there he'd paused, concluding: "Beautiful creatures, really they are", and then soberly, "But deadly".

Rivers definitely felt safer inside the echoing walls of RS Solace than outside with the unknown to content with. Not that he was scared.

BadMouth · May 2005

lolz. where did you pop out from?

Crispy · May 2005

I started writing this fanfic while I was in Barcelona towards the end of last year. It was while I was unemployed and while EasyInternet was doing a month's unlimited internet access for 20€. Then they made it 30 or something and I got a job so I had less time on the net. The map it relates to was started about a year before I started writing this and is probably less complete than the story <img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif' />

I haven't been on the FanFic forums for such a long time because I've been writing a lot for the Source Mod I started, Citadel Utopia. Now I've got writer's block for CU so I thought I'd switch back to continuing this story.

Crispy · June 2005

Chapter Seven: The Lights Are On But Nobody's Home

"Move to waypoint" suddenly appeared in bright blue lettering on Rivers' HUD, rousing him frop deep thought. His eyes focussed back in on reality and sought out the blue ringlet that signposted his every journey while wearing his standard issue Frontiersman armour.

Crawford and Polluck had returned from their recon mission with details of the route that would take them to the upper deck. They would head right and double back on themselves towards a service lift nex tto one of the cargo storage bays. This led up to the observation bridge that looked out onto an empty docking bay.
"I don't like this one bit", scowled Polluck.
"Me either", Gruber agreed, tapping the barrel of his seemingly weightless LMG into the open alm of his left gauntlet. "There's nothing relaxing about a ghost ship".
"The man's right", Polluck continued, "It doesn't add up. Everything we've seen so far tells us the station's in full working order. So why did everyone leave? and why", his voice moved from accusation to concern, "Why would they leave the main power systems running unless they were in a hurry?" A puzzled look spread across the faces of his audience. "hurry, from what? or whom?

"OK, that's enough of your conspiracy theories, Crawford. We've got a job to do. Hell, I'll do it all myself if I have to, but anyone who doesn't muck in is getting left on this hellhole. You got that, men?"
"Yes, sir!" they chanted in unison and Vogel smirked to himself. That last word never failed to allay any doubts or fears the men might have. All it took was to question their manhood every once in a while and he was guaranteed a mutiny-free ship.
"OK, that's what I like to hear. I'd hate to think I had a bunch of Susans in my squad", he persisted with added effect. "Listen up! While you crybabies were busy soiling yourselves I was looking at the layout for this here piece of crap. Just on the other side of this bay is Cargo Management. It's a fairly central location and it's close to the cargo storage depots and the Medbay, so we should be able to gather our supplies quickly so that we can find a way to contact TSA HQ", he paused.

"Well, what are you waiting for? You've got your waypoints so jump to it!"

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Vogel swung himself down from the comchair, as his men affectionately called it. He saw it more as a throne of power that gave him total control over any given situation, and total impunity.

Uncovering a service panel, the commander was pleasantly surprised to see thathis gambme had paid off. At his feet was a resource node, probably used to power the holo display in the middle of the room. He ordered his men to unload their packs and to discharge the nanite canisters, one by one, into the reserves tank at the base of the command console -Vogel hadn't seen the point in using res to transport the extra load when his men could do the job just as well). He ejected the replicator via the touch of the main controls. It shot out two inches from the back of the chair and then continued its release in a slow, controlled motion. It was only a basic model, a crude piece of machinery but it served its purpose well. When the commander saw that the operation had been completed successfully he returned his attention to the main screen and queued up several units for production.

Each time another nondescript hunk of metal finished its rotation in the nanite field, another Marine was ready to catch its full weight as it plummeted earthward. The jogsaw fit together perfectly. Four appendiges gripped the terrain while the derrick plunged its siphon into the nanite stream, tapping off as much as it could before its cache was full and ready to be phased to the command console. The resource tower model that the Frontiersmen used was limited to a 2-3 tetrananites capacity, as most internal nanite stream loads rarely supported taps higher than this amount without resulting in what might be described in Leyman's terms as air pockets. This was one of the reasons Vogel was goign to have to split his men up and send them further afield in the search for extra res nodes. The other was to position the three beacon pylons suitably in order to receive accurately triangulated coordinates for each soldier. He wanted to set up a network of phase gates to speed up the supply line, and for that he would need pinpoint accuracy on his tracking and targetting systems.

From what the local monitoring system was telling him they were all alone in this place, save some low level biosign readings clustered in the Sewage Treatment and Climate Control sections. That was probably an infestation of ome kind, a job for pest control. However, there was little to explain why there should be a large concentration of low level lifesigns at the Gospel Generator; the installation's power core.

Crispy · June 2005

Chapter Eight: Hibernation Interrupt

In the still depths of RS Solace a chorus could be heard, but there was no sound. Many minds spoke, but there was one voice. All were present, and they were as one.

"A presence has been detected. The Humans are among us.
They enter our domain and drink from our waters.
They come bearing weapons, but ours is the slaughter.
Brethren, hear the call.
Come one, many, all.

We summon our strength, our power, our might.
We foresee the conflict, prepare for the fight!
Awaken the Matriarch, she will reward
With great augmentation to our warrior's sword.
Come one, many, all."

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Commander Simian Vogel blinked twice to check that he hadn't misread the information on the screen. If it was correct, the biosigns at the power core were growing at an astronomical rate. It had been a long morning and, as the live transmission from the local systems died and the world outside the comchair was thrown into obscurity, he had a feeling this day was far from over.

The End

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I'm gonna leave it here for the moment, but there may be a conclusion to the Solace story with action, suspense and drama. We'll just have to see.

Crispy · June 2005

So out of the 296 times this has been viewed, probably of which 50 were me because I'm an edfit ****, the remaining people haven't got anything to say about it?

<img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/confused-fix.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='confused-fix.gif' />

BadMouth · June 2005

I have something to say. Your use of the english language is very good and you are able to express yourself throughly. Your story is quite descriptive and has good atmosphere. Some effort has been put in the characters but I would like to know more about them.

and it took you eight chapters just to give a hint of Kharaa. Your story is going a bit too slow. But other than that, good work.

P.S. I had to re-read the whole story because I had forgotten the first part when you stopped writing.

Crispy · June 2005

Yeah had a feeling I didn't go into enough detail with the characters. I'll probably go back and maybe write a bit more dialogue in the first chapter, or maybe even a new beginning chapter to insert infront of it.

To give you a heads up on what's to come in the second marathon of Solace, there'll be:

- Khaara-Marine confrontation
- More detail to main characters: Vogel, Bowman and Rivers. With a continuation of the traits I've only really paid lip service to.
- More detail to sub-characters: Polluck, Gruber, Crawford and Saltzberg. Each character has an equipment-based role in the team, so more characterisation will come through in the action packed second episode <img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/wow.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wow.gif' />

The 2nd part will be a while in the making, as just recently my writer's block for the Mod I'm developing has given way to a fountain of inspiration. Rest assured, however, that those wanting action will most definitely get it in the second episode; the first was just the quiet before the storm <img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/wink-fix.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wink-fix.gif' />

I think the reason the characterisation is weak is because some of the characters are only going to come into their own in battle. I've tried to convey an element of extreme professionalism in the team, which is why they haven't been very talkative. I will probably go back and properly introduce Polluck and Walters, and work more on Gruber's character (as I've planned some developmental scenes for him later on in the story, but they need backing up with some sort of preface).

Unlike most FanFiction writers on these forums I haven't had time to work on this regularly all the way through, so I fear some sectiond might be a bit misjointed and there might be elements that I introduced in the first 3 chapters that I haven't followed up, or in the last chapters that I haven't supported properly beforehand.

Thanks for your criticism and if you, or anyone else could help me out with the last point I raised in the previous paragraph, I'd be much obliged.

Solace

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