Tyrande
Imran
Join Date: 2002-11-26 Member: 10018Members
Join Date: 2002-11-26 Member: 10018Members
<div class="IPBDescription">A Natural Selection Fan Fiction</div> <span style='color:red'>Hey all, this is my first attempt at an NS fan fiction... but It should be a long time to get this story done <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
And On a Side note - please understand that the text in the other font are excerpts from the TSA database.
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<a href='http://www.chemicalextreme.com/Tyrande.htm' target='_blank'>HTML Text Version HERE (The Only PLACE you'll get to continue the story from now on)</a>
Part 1
The pistol shook in his hands, one bullet left in the clip. The barrel was stained with crimson, and as he placed it to his temple and looked around him, at all his fellow soldiers, he smiled.
<span style='font-family:Courier'>Standard TSA protocol dictates that all soldiers, before being officially enlisted into the Frontiersmen program have to pass a rigorous training excursion in order to qualify. Recently, the location of the training exercise has been moved to the reclaimed station Tyrande. </span>
?I am sick and tired of all these god damn training exercises, first we go through that whole **** hole of endurance training, and then we spent three weeks at Hera viewing holomaps, and now were going to waste 3 months of my time for something not even our commander knows about. This is bullsh-? ?That?s enough LaRusso, you can **** when were with someone who gives a damn, as of now, everyone in here cares about your problems with our regimen about as much as an Onos cares about whether you washed behind your ears or not before it eats you whole.? Commander Miros interrupted LaRusso?s bantering and returned to his position in the chair, tweaking the hydraulic shield panels and the remote navigation system. Staff sergeant Williams was brandishing his custom built automatic shotgun, with the name ?Susan? etched into the side. The rest of them were of no real rank, just the catch-all group only known as ?Marines?. Their names were Ramirez, Suderland, McTaggart, the Washingtons, and Sarento, all assuming the rank of Private. Ramirez and Suderland were best friends, lifelong friends. They both joined up, in hopes of experiencing that ?brotherly bond? that is always seen in the holo-arhives, McTaggart was a decorated naval hero, but TSA mandates required him to go through training anyways. Finally, there was Lucas and Shawn Washington - no relation. Shawn looked like he was the complete antithesis of a soldier, he was a scrawny, tall boy with a pair of thick military issue glasses, but he was probably the best tactical combat expert in the bunch. Lucas had an itchy trigger finger, and signed on just to ?fight the good fight?, he wasn?t really good at anything - except following orders. Finally, there was Sarento. Sarento kept to himself usually, a man who never spoke of his life before the military, he was quiet , but he followed all orders without question. Though his companions probably wouldn?t risk themselves for him, hell, even some of the robots merited more effort.
<span style='font-family:Courier'> The TSA station Tyrande dissapeared from interstellar tracking nearly 3 years ago. TSA databanks at Eclipse Command recorded the last transmission at 25152363431 Exact Space Time. The transmission was however deleted and sent to General Douglas for examination and evaluation. </span>
The cockpit transport ship began to glow with the soft light from the docking beacon. Sarento flinched as the light directly enveloped his head and then passed out of view. ?Ok boys this is it, lets do it, remember - just because because this is a training op doesn?t mean we can?t take this seriously.? The pilot signaled the release and the rear loading door opened with a loud rattling sound. Williams headed towards the front of the door, and his squad lined up behind him, with LaRusso and Commander Miros gripping both ends of the Com Chair. Sarento trailed behind, blankly staring into the dark cargo bay as his fellow men rushed inside.
And On a Side note - please understand that the text in the other font are excerpts from the TSA database.
</span>
<a href='http://www.chemicalextreme.com/Tyrande.htm' target='_blank'>HTML Text Version HERE (The Only PLACE you'll get to continue the story from now on)</a>
Part 1
The pistol shook in his hands, one bullet left in the clip. The barrel was stained with crimson, and as he placed it to his temple and looked around him, at all his fellow soldiers, he smiled.
<span style='font-family:Courier'>Standard TSA protocol dictates that all soldiers, before being officially enlisted into the Frontiersmen program have to pass a rigorous training excursion in order to qualify. Recently, the location of the training exercise has been moved to the reclaimed station Tyrande. </span>
?I am sick and tired of all these god damn training exercises, first we go through that whole **** hole of endurance training, and then we spent three weeks at Hera viewing holomaps, and now were going to waste 3 months of my time for something not even our commander knows about. This is bullsh-? ?That?s enough LaRusso, you can **** when were with someone who gives a damn, as of now, everyone in here cares about your problems with our regimen about as much as an Onos cares about whether you washed behind your ears or not before it eats you whole.? Commander Miros interrupted LaRusso?s bantering and returned to his position in the chair, tweaking the hydraulic shield panels and the remote navigation system. Staff sergeant Williams was brandishing his custom built automatic shotgun, with the name ?Susan? etched into the side. The rest of them were of no real rank, just the catch-all group only known as ?Marines?. Their names were Ramirez, Suderland, McTaggart, the Washingtons, and Sarento, all assuming the rank of Private. Ramirez and Suderland were best friends, lifelong friends. They both joined up, in hopes of experiencing that ?brotherly bond? that is always seen in the holo-arhives, McTaggart was a decorated naval hero, but TSA mandates required him to go through training anyways. Finally, there was Lucas and Shawn Washington - no relation. Shawn looked like he was the complete antithesis of a soldier, he was a scrawny, tall boy with a pair of thick military issue glasses, but he was probably the best tactical combat expert in the bunch. Lucas had an itchy trigger finger, and signed on just to ?fight the good fight?, he wasn?t really good at anything - except following orders. Finally, there was Sarento. Sarento kept to himself usually, a man who never spoke of his life before the military, he was quiet , but he followed all orders without question. Though his companions probably wouldn?t risk themselves for him, hell, even some of the robots merited more effort.
<span style='font-family:Courier'> The TSA station Tyrande dissapeared from interstellar tracking nearly 3 years ago. TSA databanks at Eclipse Command recorded the last transmission at 25152363431 Exact Space Time. The transmission was however deleted and sent to General Douglas for examination and evaluation. </span>
The cockpit transport ship began to glow with the soft light from the docking beacon. Sarento flinched as the light directly enveloped his head and then passed out of view. ?Ok boys this is it, lets do it, remember - just because because this is a training op doesn?t mean we can?t take this seriously.? The pilot signaled the release and the rear loading door opened with a loud rattling sound. Williams headed towards the front of the door, and his squad lined up behind him, with LaRusso and Commander Miros gripping both ends of the Com Chair. Sarento trailed behind, blankly staring into the dark cargo bay as his fellow men rushed inside.
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Like a machine, they systematically sweeped the Cargo bay and called “Clears” and “OKs”. LaRusso and Miros sprinted with the chair towards an interface switchboard “Damn, this piece of junk is heavy!” LaRusso exclaimed “Cut the chatter LaRusso or I'll make you carry it with me sitting in it!” Both let out a deep breath of relief when the chair hit the ground. “I need a welder up here!” and almost immediately Sarento rushed up with the welder on his arm and stood there. Miros gestured towards the interface board and said sarcastically “Whenever you're ready Sarento.” and the white-hot light of the welder melted the locking mechanisms. After the panel hit the floor, Miros pushed Sarento aside and began fiddling inside. He pulled a series of cables from the back of the Com chair and began to tie and link them with the interface board. Ramirez and Suderland were flashing their lights on the various nooks and corners of the vast docking bay while circling around the chair quickly . “Ok, here goes nothing!” Miros leaped into the chair, panting heavily, and then suddenly all the lights in the docking bay flickered on. Lucas flinched as he frantically adjusted his goggles in order to compensate for the sudden increase in light. “Ok boys, can you hear me.” the voice of Miros was heard on each of the soldier’s audio supplements. “I hear you fine Commander” said Williams in a thick Austrian accent. “Very good, I’m uploading the schematics of the ship onto each of your helmet displays, as well as your squad information” “Commander, I’d like to change my squad please” “Why is that LaRusso” “Because Sarento smells worse than a dead Gorge” Sarento quietly sniffed towards his shoulder and raised his eyebrows as if saying “What are you talking about?”. “LaRusso, you haven’t even smelled a Gorge yet and you know it, so shut your pie hole.” Lucas casually pointed his weapon towards LaRusso’s mouth “Watch where you point that thing Lucas” LaRusso said as he cautiously ducked away from the pointed machine gun. “Ok Boys here we go, Squad One I want you head down into central processing, there’s a resource nozzle there we have to take, everyone else, stay at base and secure the immediate area.”
<span style='font-family:Courier'>TSA Frontiersmen do not carry any type of base constructing material with them, other than the command chair. Everything else is phased in, only requiring minor adjustments in order to fully be compatible with its surroundings. Phase technology is built on the concept of taking waste gasses from various sources and using them as energy for the phase transfers, often times, a simpler model is rendered known as a “resource” model. Where a certain amount of resources are required to phase in equipment and supplies. The Tyrande was meant to be the first ship in the navy to contain its own phase reactor (previously only located on massive outposts on planetary surfaces), with the ability to perpetually regenerate itself, using wormhole physics and technology it was, by very definition, meant to be a perfect machine. The phase reactor’s original runs were superb, with nearly 200% expected output. The phase reactor itself, however, generated a great deal of radiation, and many times resulted in the termination of technicians. Also, the stability of the wormhole generated by the system was questionable, and after only 2 years of existence, the Phase Reactor program was stripped, and the Tyrande was retro-fitted with standard equipment. The Phase reactor still exists, however, on deck 3 of the Tyrande, though the severe amounts of radiation has forced the TSA to quarantine all of deck 3.
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“So what exactly are we doing here Sarge” asked Ramirez. “Our orders are to form a base, and build it up to the extent that we can use our own systems to relay our coordinates to command on Earth, this is pretty much the standard operational procedure in terra-forming and securing outposts lost to the Kharaa, the reason they chose Tyrande is because it actually was reclaimed by a team, and they were able to set up and personally exterminate them, of course, there aren't any Kharra here anymore”.
Miros sat in the chair and blinked, all of the bright lights of the Chair’s HUD were still burned into his vision, he took his canteen and unscrewed the top - it was a replica of a canteen from the 20th century, Miros got a kick out of ancient history like that. He raised it to his mouth and began to let the liquid flow into his mouth - but there was something wrong... it tasted familiar, yet different... it wasn’t water. Miros spat the contents out all over the interface - thankfully, TSA technicians saw it fit to make all of the buildings waterproof both externally and internally. That was the least of Miros’ problems, as he focused back onto the mess he just made he confirmed what he had tasted, the sharp taste of blood. The entire keyboard was stained with red, and the canteen on the bottom was spilling more of it out of the command module.
“Commander what’s going on in there, what happened!” exclaimed LaRusso. Miros hit the switch and the chair flung open “What the hell does it look like to you LaRusso!” screamed Miros, frantically panting and spitting trying to get the taste out of his mouth. “It looks like you sprung a leak sir, there’s water everywhere” “DOES THIS LOOK LIKE WATER TO YOU!” and as Miros looked once again at his chair the blood had lost his color, and the stains on his fatigues were gone. “Didn’t you see it LaRusso? Didn’t you see the blood!” said Miros, “Blood sir? Where? are you hurt!”
“No. I’m fine” Miros took a deep breath “But this wasn’t water LaRusso, it was blood, I even tasted it.” “Miros, you’ve spent way too much time in that chair, its starting to get to you” Miros shuddered and took several successive deep breaths. “Yea, maybe your right LaRusso, I must be hallucinating or somethin’, got any more water?” LaRusso tossed his bottle to him, and Miros cautiously spilled a few drops onto his hand to make sure it was water, and it was - but as he drank the water - he couldn’t help but wonder why the sick taste was still in his mouth...
More, pleash.