The Cold, Dark Space Called Infinity...
Oblivion437
Join Date: 2003-02-06 Member: 13178Members
Join Date: 2003-02-06 Member: 13178Members
Man is a creature of war. War fuels our race like radium. In all war, men are made vicariously human again. Descended into what ticks below the surface, reaching into the workings of Reptilian ancestors hundreds of Eons past. These moments, men make decisions that make them heroes, or villains. Civilization gives way to humanity, and we do what we are to do instinctively. Aboard the USCS <i>Rothstein</i> I found that feeling again.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 1 - Life aboard the USCS <i>Rothstein</i>+
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
All security aboard Union Space Cargo Ships (USCS) were either TSA marines or Union Space guards. We were all skilled, we respected and worked along side one another, we also enjoyed talking to the civilian crew. They were all hard-working, and we ourselves had been or planned to be in their spots someday. I took interest into an armorer who was going to the planet of our delivery zone for the legally huntable big game. He had years of experience, and he reminded me of my uncle.
On a space ship, you accomplish 1/5 normal gravity at best, for Earth dwellers, 1/2 for most off planeteers. Because of that, individuals accustomed to more stressful weight can easily pull 96 hour shifts of labor that would be normally back breaking.
Insomniacs like myself and the armorer would go whole trips without ever really sleeping or even resting. We sat together many of the 796 'nights' before the time of trouble drinking whiskey, chatting about hunting, making plans for the immediate future (which was, at the time, ways to allure the beautiful fraulines of command deck into the bar, which was the only place they felt freely social) and even the far future (getting intimately acquainted with said fraulines).
He was the best friend I'd ever had and he, like I was a total stickler about weapon maintenance. We'd bust heads for failure to maintain a weapon to proper standard. He said after various TSA incidents, and reports of the massive beasts which charged 'like Rhinos' he always packed his old hunting rifle. It turns out it could stop an Onos flat, as several battles would prove, but that's for later.
Money on the ship was free-base nanites for the replicators. Nanites of sufficient number and quality to produce good alcohol could get you a fully assembled TSA issue Heavy Machinegun with anywhere from 0-10,000 rounds of ammo from recently docked crews desperate for some earthy delights. The command crew had a large supply of these nanites, the rest of us couldn't afford the damn things.
That little bit of corrupt authority aside, most missions had something screwy to them, and I can guarantee you any cargo ship hauling more than 2,000,000 kilos worth of mass has at least a few thousand kilos of illegal, unregistered or undeclared hazmat or whatever. There were only two people who could actually testify that anything illegal was going on, the cargo master, who could legally withold the cargo manifest from the appointed Captain, as it was private cargo but it was the companies ship, forcing the manifest to the ship's Captain would violate that policy, but due to some crappy bi-laws the information officer was required to have full access to all records, incidentally including that manifest.
If someone successfully managed the mind bogglingly difficult feat of bribing two underpaid officers with lousy jobs, one could ship a planet load of the latest designer drugs at almost no cost, at the fastest rates possible. In this grew our quandary.
By the 700+days, strange happenings emerged. Several subroutines just plain stopped showing up to the card games on rec, the nanological assemblies began showing insufficient supply, and finally, one man showed up one evening in a dire panic, saying a large animal, about the size of a dog had ripped a crew member to shreds in seconds. The captain called the cargo officer but got static response.
The whole bay was dead. Transmission had been bad for weeks. Now, the whole situation exploded. Within 10 minutes we'd concluded the basic route, and after a few hours of torture, found out a magnetically sealed protoplasm of Kharaa goup had been illegally shipped through our carrier. This stuff couldn't even be shipped legally, and apparently the dispensory nozzles for the lower decks had all been siezed. Cryo Recovery A and B were both registering no power in or out. It was amazing. Only the old armorer, Patty we all called him, guessed it before readouts said everything he knew.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 2 - The Clatter and the Vibration +
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
We sat in the dry, crisp command offices, almost looked like they'd been ripped right out of an office building on Earth, right down to the pseudo-brick fixtures and head-ache inducing lights. There was only one plan I saw, given the level of infestation, and that was to escape. The security staff, all of it, agreed. The TSA boys especially. They knew what the hell was going on, and that even while we were dealing with the innefficiencies of building a plan to agree on the Kharaa were growing down there, getting larger. Our time was ticking away faster, and faster.
It was old Patty who spoke on security's behalf, "Now listen here. We have a total outbreak. We have no chance o' reclaimin' the ship. I say we round everyone up, and get the hell out o' here."
"I agree, this is a total FUBAR. We'll go to the escape shuttles, then when we're all sufficiently far away, blow the ship," I chimed in.
"This is billions worth of cargo! If we just blow it it's my hide gettin' tanned!"
"Now I know how ya' feel about a ship you've run well for so long, but we'll all be there to testify what happened, as will the information officer. Ya' won't get in trouble. Even if you did, they can't possibly do worse to you than the infestation will."
The TSA security man then crashed all notions of a solid escape with the most unpleasant words I'd heard since, "All shuttle bays are now under infestation, rerouting troops to shuttle bay to examine severity," Over a commander's deck PA system. It had now become a serious ploy for survival at best. We now had to fight for even ground to run away to. This had gotten so bad there was only one person I could take counsel in.
"Patrick, what do we do? We don't have time to waste, we have to get out now," trying to sound calm, but my tone was shaking.
He responded with a question,"How many nozzles'r siezed?"
"47," I knew where he was going with this.
"Onos, Fade, God knows what else. We have to account for anyone who can fight, give 'em a gun, and strong arm shuttle bay away from them. What do we have to call armaments?"
"Mainly shotguns and pistols, rifles from the post-modern firearms era, the TSA's armaments of course, our security issued submachineguns, and a few old-timer machineguns."
"It'll do. As for the Onos, I recall you kept a bolt-action rifle loaded with .577 Nitro?" the man was right, and it would be perfect for Onos hunting. About the only sufficient weapon we had.
Then the Captain's mate, who had obviously heard our conversation, butted in, "Why do we have to sieze it? Can't we just run in and grab the shuttles?"
"Yes, without food, fuel or oxygen enough to even get us back into the bay after launch. Why they don't keep the damn things stocked at all times is beyond me, but that's how they did it."
The mate talked to the captain, who then called us all together to work out the details of 'his' plan. We armed up, and were halfway to shuttle bay when we were educated how little we were in control of this now infested bucket of bolts.
Out of nowhere, the repetitious thud of an Onos running started down the massive corridor. A corridor so massive you could fit trains inside. The thud against the steel was maddening. The old armorer drew his old rifle, and as soon as the monster was in view, fired a shot. The results were terrific, the fluidic overpressure had essentially popped him.
While he was spinning in mid air, Onos parts were all over the hallway, and the noise. The noise of that thing going off in here had us deaf for 10 minutes straight. When our hearing and sense of equilibrium recovered, I asked him, "What the hell was that thing?"
"4 bore proper," He said this with that evil Irish smile of his. I definitely appreciated what it did to the Onos, aside from the fact that its internal organs were now a mush all over everyone, myself included.
We got moving again, and picked up the pace to make up for lost time, incidentally stumbling on a gigantic space that shouldn't have existed. It was actually four large computer rooms fuzed into one by the infestation, the computers no longer visible. The air was heavy with a stench of organic waste. None of this mattered next to the Pulsing throb of a gigantic, disgusting organ. Soaked in its own mucuses and fluids, surrounded by small creatures, about the size of a small house, including the basement, this was the largest hive structure I'd ever heard about or saw in person. It had an additional growth on it, like a giant spider-tumor, branching into what used to be the consoles. The stench grew ever more acute with each pulse of the snout like end, and we decided it would be prudent to turn back when we realized this was indeed shuttle bay control, and all the grimy infestation had to be removed somehow, if we were to make it out alive.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 3 - The All Consuming Fire+
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The TSA Marine had the best plan for destroying everything down there, and that was to reverse engineer the spray nozzles on the resource nodes to spray out volatile and radioactive fuel which we could easily detonate at our liesure after it infiltrated the over-amplified metabolisms of the larger creatures, the hive body and of course, the goop itself.
After the TSA techs had made the changes, the beautiful translucently white spray changed to an uncannily familiar yellow, which soon stained everything in the room. The aliens weren't idiotic however, and realized that the stuff was tainted. They were however unable to flush the toxins, and some started acting strangely, like some rabid animals do sometimes, walking in circles and chasing after nothing and such.
The hive began expelling a thick purple liquid according to the marines who were watching, giving rather crude references to female menstruation in the process, infuriating the radio operator, who just happened to be female.
They then dropped several flares into the mess, and fired a few grenades. We heard the explosion from a distance of about 600 meters, give or take 20. While not as earth-shatteringly loud as the 4 bore cannon Patty dared to call a rifle, it still shook a few steel gratings loose and all. We wen't back to the chamber, along the ever downward slope of the corridor, to find we couldn't actually get into the chamber as the sprinkler system had damn near flooded the whole thing. It left us rather perturbed, but the TSA CO had found a substitute, a ventilation shaft that had also been burned out, but lead to the upper part of the chamber.
It turns out that ventilation shafts are really hard to crawl around in, Especially when you're larger than the shaft. Compound this with the fact that there's 30 crew members and 11 security officers, and it really is something of a problem. We got through at the expense of 30 minutes and a pistol which fell down a vent shaft. After getting out, we acted on instructions to purge the overflow, which was a real mess. Most of the clear liquid had turned brown, which meant the nozzles were still hard at work on the toxic explosive fuel...
After resetting the nozzles, and pumping out that crap, the room was revealed to be as black as night. So black it reminded me of a jungle napalming from my past. I watched straw huts, men with rifles, women with children and trees the size of office buildings burn to black nothing. All for man's prejudice against otherworld dwelling examples of itself. The man who had ordered the strike was executed in a revenge I myself had hatched, we brutally dismembered him and force-fed him to his racist pig wife. Moral ambiguities aside, I definitely appreciated that this was not that jungle, that the black masses were indeed aliens, not mothers clutching babies...too young to even stand... I burst in a fit of tears at the mere memory of the sight, when an officer said to me, "Don't worry, we'll get out of this hole, and we'll be ahead for it."
I decided to stammer the tears and continue the charge into the shuttle bay whilst the techs worked on repairs to set the shuttles ready. We trudged down a rampway so large it seemed to be more appropriate for a presidential palace. I'd never really been to this part of the ship before, so it seemed unusual to have such a massive rampway, with handrails and all, which was also too small for a shuttle. The whole design was screwed up like that. A huge affinity for large, difficult to seal spaces, as if whoever designed the thing was just itching for accidents to happen. At the bottom was a small herd of Onos on a platform below us, unable to get to where we were, but in order to get down to the shuttles, we'd have to get through them.
"Let's pop 'em." the old man said in a voice so cold it could form icicles on boiling water.
We both fired, near simultaneously, again a bad idea, but at least we all had a little hearing protection. Still hurt, and sent us spinning and such, but was tolerable compared to what his weapon did before. There were still 6 specimens, and those rifles really taxed you. It was difficult for me to work the bolt afterwards, as my grip was so shaken. The Onos were of course in a few dozen pieces, but we'd **** off several large and annoying lerks, who succumbed to the radio operator's birdshot loaded shotgun. It blew one apart, completely, the other got a soldier in the head before he even saw what was happening.
++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 4 - The Death Throes+
++++++++++++++++++++++
In the next few seconds we retaliated, destroying nearly everything that walked in Shuttle bay, and the TSA marines had regrouped, we were now 50 strong, and fully armed. All that was left to do was hold the large, newly expanded and repainted computer room, and the shuttle bay, prep 5 shuttles, and launch them, all while keeping a potentially insurmountable horde at bay. Not one of my better encounters with these creatures, to be sure.
Just as things seemed to be at their worst, with the difficulties of loading the ship, we discovered welding tools and some TSA issue weapons and armor, which made our stance a little stronger, if only mathematically. Finally the Engineers in the computer room reported full access, and the robots began assisting the load processes. After only 10 minutes, 2 shuttles were stocked.
It was amazing to watch them work, but the motion trackers made entertainment a short order, as said expected horde began to arrive. Before the trackers even reported it, we could feel them coming. There were so many of them that they were clearly sending everything. They knew we were leaving, they knew they were about to lose it all, but most importantly, they knew our need for survival stood paramount to us over everything, and they could take it away. In a mere 11 minutes they were upon us, as the last shuttle was almost filled, and the coordinates for all set, they charged down our welded door like a piece of swiss cheese.
I've seen groups of Fades or Lerks or Onos simply rip through whole battalions of undertrained soldiers, I've seen whole roaming herds of the great quasi-rhinos running free and docile once again on planets no longer under Kharaa influence. Here, so close to their brethren, they did their worst. They didn't stop, not for the explosions, or the automatic rifle fire, nor Patty nor my large caliber guns, there were simply so many of them. As the machinegunners tore into the lighter things, half a gross of Onos charged with a vengeance, smashing their way across the steel floors into the front line men. They moved two ton crates with brute force as they fought us.
Suddenly someone crazy did what crazy people do, and set a few anti-tank slugs after them. They were gyro-jet propelled, and they shot through one beast into the next. We could, seconds later, hear the whine of air escaping. The damn thing was too powerful! As their lines split, some running due to lack of limbs to fight with, the Onos, some bearing weight on only 2 or 3 legs, kept charging, kept getting struck down. Finally, serenity, silence, and the realization that we had to get out in the next few minutes.
22 of our group were dead, 20 of them crew members. We messaged engineers that the threat was past, and we could now launch the shuttles from their cockpits, but there was no response. 7 Men and 2 Women died to make our escape possible, we wouldn't let their sacrifice be in vain. The captain, his mate, the remaining marines and crew members all fit into the first two shuttles, I went with a few others on the third, and we fled. It was a sad escape, followed by one of the most brilliant but short lived lights in history, the explosion of the ship.
The center was a bollus mass of carbon, black and cold now, void of energy, light or life, and here we were, alone, in space, with barely enough to get to the nearest planet. The four aboard our shuttle were especially unlucky as our cryo tubes were broken. We'd live through the 4 months to get there. With only the crooked information officer and two marines as company, I was in for an unpleasant ride.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 5 - Life aboard USES <i>Hope</i>+ (Part II)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 1 - Life aboard the USCS <i>Rothstein</i>+
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
All security aboard Union Space Cargo Ships (USCS) were either TSA marines or Union Space guards. We were all skilled, we respected and worked along side one another, we also enjoyed talking to the civilian crew. They were all hard-working, and we ourselves had been or planned to be in their spots someday. I took interest into an armorer who was going to the planet of our delivery zone for the legally huntable big game. He had years of experience, and he reminded me of my uncle.
On a space ship, you accomplish 1/5 normal gravity at best, for Earth dwellers, 1/2 for most off planeteers. Because of that, individuals accustomed to more stressful weight can easily pull 96 hour shifts of labor that would be normally back breaking.
Insomniacs like myself and the armorer would go whole trips without ever really sleeping or even resting. We sat together many of the 796 'nights' before the time of trouble drinking whiskey, chatting about hunting, making plans for the immediate future (which was, at the time, ways to allure the beautiful fraulines of command deck into the bar, which was the only place they felt freely social) and even the far future (getting intimately acquainted with said fraulines).
He was the best friend I'd ever had and he, like I was a total stickler about weapon maintenance. We'd bust heads for failure to maintain a weapon to proper standard. He said after various TSA incidents, and reports of the massive beasts which charged 'like Rhinos' he always packed his old hunting rifle. It turns out it could stop an Onos flat, as several battles would prove, but that's for later.
Money on the ship was free-base nanites for the replicators. Nanites of sufficient number and quality to produce good alcohol could get you a fully assembled TSA issue Heavy Machinegun with anywhere from 0-10,000 rounds of ammo from recently docked crews desperate for some earthy delights. The command crew had a large supply of these nanites, the rest of us couldn't afford the damn things.
That little bit of corrupt authority aside, most missions had something screwy to them, and I can guarantee you any cargo ship hauling more than 2,000,000 kilos worth of mass has at least a few thousand kilos of illegal, unregistered or undeclared hazmat or whatever. There were only two people who could actually testify that anything illegal was going on, the cargo master, who could legally withold the cargo manifest from the appointed Captain, as it was private cargo but it was the companies ship, forcing the manifest to the ship's Captain would violate that policy, but due to some crappy bi-laws the information officer was required to have full access to all records, incidentally including that manifest.
If someone successfully managed the mind bogglingly difficult feat of bribing two underpaid officers with lousy jobs, one could ship a planet load of the latest designer drugs at almost no cost, at the fastest rates possible. In this grew our quandary.
By the 700+days, strange happenings emerged. Several subroutines just plain stopped showing up to the card games on rec, the nanological assemblies began showing insufficient supply, and finally, one man showed up one evening in a dire panic, saying a large animal, about the size of a dog had ripped a crew member to shreds in seconds. The captain called the cargo officer but got static response.
The whole bay was dead. Transmission had been bad for weeks. Now, the whole situation exploded. Within 10 minutes we'd concluded the basic route, and after a few hours of torture, found out a magnetically sealed protoplasm of Kharaa goup had been illegally shipped through our carrier. This stuff couldn't even be shipped legally, and apparently the dispensory nozzles for the lower decks had all been siezed. Cryo Recovery A and B were both registering no power in or out. It was amazing. Only the old armorer, Patty we all called him, guessed it before readouts said everything he knew.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 2 - The Clatter and the Vibration +
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
We sat in the dry, crisp command offices, almost looked like they'd been ripped right out of an office building on Earth, right down to the pseudo-brick fixtures and head-ache inducing lights. There was only one plan I saw, given the level of infestation, and that was to escape. The security staff, all of it, agreed. The TSA boys especially. They knew what the hell was going on, and that even while we were dealing with the innefficiencies of building a plan to agree on the Kharaa were growing down there, getting larger. Our time was ticking away faster, and faster.
It was old Patty who spoke on security's behalf, "Now listen here. We have a total outbreak. We have no chance o' reclaimin' the ship. I say we round everyone up, and get the hell out o' here."
"I agree, this is a total FUBAR. We'll go to the escape shuttles, then when we're all sufficiently far away, blow the ship," I chimed in.
"This is billions worth of cargo! If we just blow it it's my hide gettin' tanned!"
"Now I know how ya' feel about a ship you've run well for so long, but we'll all be there to testify what happened, as will the information officer. Ya' won't get in trouble. Even if you did, they can't possibly do worse to you than the infestation will."
The TSA security man then crashed all notions of a solid escape with the most unpleasant words I'd heard since, "All shuttle bays are now under infestation, rerouting troops to shuttle bay to examine severity," Over a commander's deck PA system. It had now become a serious ploy for survival at best. We now had to fight for even ground to run away to. This had gotten so bad there was only one person I could take counsel in.
"Patrick, what do we do? We don't have time to waste, we have to get out now," trying to sound calm, but my tone was shaking.
He responded with a question,"How many nozzles'r siezed?"
"47," I knew where he was going with this.
"Onos, Fade, God knows what else. We have to account for anyone who can fight, give 'em a gun, and strong arm shuttle bay away from them. What do we have to call armaments?"
"Mainly shotguns and pistols, rifles from the post-modern firearms era, the TSA's armaments of course, our security issued submachineguns, and a few old-timer machineguns."
"It'll do. As for the Onos, I recall you kept a bolt-action rifle loaded with .577 Nitro?" the man was right, and it would be perfect for Onos hunting. About the only sufficient weapon we had.
Then the Captain's mate, who had obviously heard our conversation, butted in, "Why do we have to sieze it? Can't we just run in and grab the shuttles?"
"Yes, without food, fuel or oxygen enough to even get us back into the bay after launch. Why they don't keep the damn things stocked at all times is beyond me, but that's how they did it."
The mate talked to the captain, who then called us all together to work out the details of 'his' plan. We armed up, and were halfway to shuttle bay when we were educated how little we were in control of this now infested bucket of bolts.
Out of nowhere, the repetitious thud of an Onos running started down the massive corridor. A corridor so massive you could fit trains inside. The thud against the steel was maddening. The old armorer drew his old rifle, and as soon as the monster was in view, fired a shot. The results were terrific, the fluidic overpressure had essentially popped him.
While he was spinning in mid air, Onos parts were all over the hallway, and the noise. The noise of that thing going off in here had us deaf for 10 minutes straight. When our hearing and sense of equilibrium recovered, I asked him, "What the hell was that thing?"
"4 bore proper," He said this with that evil Irish smile of his. I definitely appreciated what it did to the Onos, aside from the fact that its internal organs were now a mush all over everyone, myself included.
We got moving again, and picked up the pace to make up for lost time, incidentally stumbling on a gigantic space that shouldn't have existed. It was actually four large computer rooms fuzed into one by the infestation, the computers no longer visible. The air was heavy with a stench of organic waste. None of this mattered next to the Pulsing throb of a gigantic, disgusting organ. Soaked in its own mucuses and fluids, surrounded by small creatures, about the size of a small house, including the basement, this was the largest hive structure I'd ever heard about or saw in person. It had an additional growth on it, like a giant spider-tumor, branching into what used to be the consoles. The stench grew ever more acute with each pulse of the snout like end, and we decided it would be prudent to turn back when we realized this was indeed shuttle bay control, and all the grimy infestation had to be removed somehow, if we were to make it out alive.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 3 - The All Consuming Fire+
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The TSA Marine had the best plan for destroying everything down there, and that was to reverse engineer the spray nozzles on the resource nodes to spray out volatile and radioactive fuel which we could easily detonate at our liesure after it infiltrated the over-amplified metabolisms of the larger creatures, the hive body and of course, the goop itself.
After the TSA techs had made the changes, the beautiful translucently white spray changed to an uncannily familiar yellow, which soon stained everything in the room. The aliens weren't idiotic however, and realized that the stuff was tainted. They were however unable to flush the toxins, and some started acting strangely, like some rabid animals do sometimes, walking in circles and chasing after nothing and such.
The hive began expelling a thick purple liquid according to the marines who were watching, giving rather crude references to female menstruation in the process, infuriating the radio operator, who just happened to be female.
They then dropped several flares into the mess, and fired a few grenades. We heard the explosion from a distance of about 600 meters, give or take 20. While not as earth-shatteringly loud as the 4 bore cannon Patty dared to call a rifle, it still shook a few steel gratings loose and all. We wen't back to the chamber, along the ever downward slope of the corridor, to find we couldn't actually get into the chamber as the sprinkler system had damn near flooded the whole thing. It left us rather perturbed, but the TSA CO had found a substitute, a ventilation shaft that had also been burned out, but lead to the upper part of the chamber.
It turns out that ventilation shafts are really hard to crawl around in, Especially when you're larger than the shaft. Compound this with the fact that there's 30 crew members and 11 security officers, and it really is something of a problem. We got through at the expense of 30 minutes and a pistol which fell down a vent shaft. After getting out, we acted on instructions to purge the overflow, which was a real mess. Most of the clear liquid had turned brown, which meant the nozzles were still hard at work on the toxic explosive fuel...
After resetting the nozzles, and pumping out that crap, the room was revealed to be as black as night. So black it reminded me of a jungle napalming from my past. I watched straw huts, men with rifles, women with children and trees the size of office buildings burn to black nothing. All for man's prejudice against otherworld dwelling examples of itself. The man who had ordered the strike was executed in a revenge I myself had hatched, we brutally dismembered him and force-fed him to his racist pig wife. Moral ambiguities aside, I definitely appreciated that this was not that jungle, that the black masses were indeed aliens, not mothers clutching babies...too young to even stand... I burst in a fit of tears at the mere memory of the sight, when an officer said to me, "Don't worry, we'll get out of this hole, and we'll be ahead for it."
I decided to stammer the tears and continue the charge into the shuttle bay whilst the techs worked on repairs to set the shuttles ready. We trudged down a rampway so large it seemed to be more appropriate for a presidential palace. I'd never really been to this part of the ship before, so it seemed unusual to have such a massive rampway, with handrails and all, which was also too small for a shuttle. The whole design was screwed up like that. A huge affinity for large, difficult to seal spaces, as if whoever designed the thing was just itching for accidents to happen. At the bottom was a small herd of Onos on a platform below us, unable to get to where we were, but in order to get down to the shuttles, we'd have to get through them.
"Let's pop 'em." the old man said in a voice so cold it could form icicles on boiling water.
We both fired, near simultaneously, again a bad idea, but at least we all had a little hearing protection. Still hurt, and sent us spinning and such, but was tolerable compared to what his weapon did before. There were still 6 specimens, and those rifles really taxed you. It was difficult for me to work the bolt afterwards, as my grip was so shaken. The Onos were of course in a few dozen pieces, but we'd **** off several large and annoying lerks, who succumbed to the radio operator's birdshot loaded shotgun. It blew one apart, completely, the other got a soldier in the head before he even saw what was happening.
++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 4 - The Death Throes+
++++++++++++++++++++++
In the next few seconds we retaliated, destroying nearly everything that walked in Shuttle bay, and the TSA marines had regrouped, we were now 50 strong, and fully armed. All that was left to do was hold the large, newly expanded and repainted computer room, and the shuttle bay, prep 5 shuttles, and launch them, all while keeping a potentially insurmountable horde at bay. Not one of my better encounters with these creatures, to be sure.
Just as things seemed to be at their worst, with the difficulties of loading the ship, we discovered welding tools and some TSA issue weapons and armor, which made our stance a little stronger, if only mathematically. Finally the Engineers in the computer room reported full access, and the robots began assisting the load processes. After only 10 minutes, 2 shuttles were stocked.
It was amazing to watch them work, but the motion trackers made entertainment a short order, as said expected horde began to arrive. Before the trackers even reported it, we could feel them coming. There were so many of them that they were clearly sending everything. They knew we were leaving, they knew they were about to lose it all, but most importantly, they knew our need for survival stood paramount to us over everything, and they could take it away. In a mere 11 minutes they were upon us, as the last shuttle was almost filled, and the coordinates for all set, they charged down our welded door like a piece of swiss cheese.
I've seen groups of Fades or Lerks or Onos simply rip through whole battalions of undertrained soldiers, I've seen whole roaming herds of the great quasi-rhinos running free and docile once again on planets no longer under Kharaa influence. Here, so close to their brethren, they did their worst. They didn't stop, not for the explosions, or the automatic rifle fire, nor Patty nor my large caliber guns, there were simply so many of them. As the machinegunners tore into the lighter things, half a gross of Onos charged with a vengeance, smashing their way across the steel floors into the front line men. They moved two ton crates with brute force as they fought us.
Suddenly someone crazy did what crazy people do, and set a few anti-tank slugs after them. They were gyro-jet propelled, and they shot through one beast into the next. We could, seconds later, hear the whine of air escaping. The damn thing was too powerful! As their lines split, some running due to lack of limbs to fight with, the Onos, some bearing weight on only 2 or 3 legs, kept charging, kept getting struck down. Finally, serenity, silence, and the realization that we had to get out in the next few minutes.
22 of our group were dead, 20 of them crew members. We messaged engineers that the threat was past, and we could now launch the shuttles from their cockpits, but there was no response. 7 Men and 2 Women died to make our escape possible, we wouldn't let their sacrifice be in vain. The captain, his mate, the remaining marines and crew members all fit into the first two shuttles, I went with a few others on the third, and we fled. It was a sad escape, followed by one of the most brilliant but short lived lights in history, the explosion of the ship.
The center was a bollus mass of carbon, black and cold now, void of energy, light or life, and here we were, alone, in space, with barely enough to get to the nearest planet. The four aboard our shuttle were especially unlucky as our cryo tubes were broken. We'd live through the 4 months to get there. With only the crooked information officer and two marines as company, I was in for an unpleasant ride.
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Chapter 5 - Life aboard USES <i>Hope</i>+ (Part II)
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Comments
this looks to be promising, to say the very least
low grav, big spaces, etc
good disriptions, I can hardly wait for the second one...
and the second you said the armourer was into legaly hunting big game, I knew that he was going to be capping an onos or two <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
I used the edit button, it's nothing fancy <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif'><!--endemo-->
this post was made a long while after I made the one above
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WOOT!
I was searching for this story, and aparrently all the chapters were edited in <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
this get's a much deserving *bump* and I'm looking forward to a good read
*prints and goes back to class*
<!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
just read it, wow good story
you should have saved the AWPing of the Oni for later in the story, I'm sure many more people has things to say
you plan do do more right?
I'm appeasing sparkeh over there, so ignore my "double post" even though there a day apart... <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
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I recall reading this when it was only the first chapter, and I was REALLY looking forward to it and so I found the thread again, but this time the whole story was on it, so I think he did release it over time...
OBLIVION! where did you go?!
Lol, he got it, I should of just done it as one big one. <a href='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/index.php?act=ST&f=6&t=36754' target='_blank'>http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/in...=ST&f=6&t=36754</a>
PS - I'm not releasing this over time, I'm actually releasing the chapters as I write them.