IEF Venture (Light Sci-Fi): IC (Episode 1: Flight of the Valkyries, Part 1)

[Brovo]

Episode 1: Flight of the Valkyries, Part 1

There are a great many things in the universe, some terrifying, some spectacular, some both. Some stories deal with those elements. Some deal with wars of great renown. Some further still, deal with the heart of the galaxy itself... This is not one of those stories. This is a simple story about a fledgling, young, naive race reaching for the stars. Some wonder if they made it. Others think they couldn't make it... Lets find out.

The IEF Venture was starting to wrap up pre-FTL checks. The last shuttle, on the ground, was awaiting clearance to take off from the Berlin Flight Pad. The IEF Venture couldn't leave without it, however, the captain himself returned with it to the Earth to pick up the last members of the crew still awaiting transport to the Venture. Many thought it was a publicity stunt, that the captain of one of the five explorer class vessels would return to the Earth one last time was the stuff of fiction perhaps... Yet, there were a few conspiracy nuts who thought he was doing other things.

They were right.

Aaron Tynnava himself was motioning for some last minute cargo to be loaded into the belly of the shuttle, where vehicles would normally go. There it could clearly be seen that there was a vindicator, a few crates full of supplies marked "inventor's insane supplies do not peek", another crate labelled "MEI's equipment", a series of religious artifacts located in a box with a transparent lid with Markov's personal stamp upon it, and finally, the last crate being brought aboard looked more like a coffin than a crate. This one was a rather large crate, requiring machine assistance to load it. As ground crews move to inspect it all, Aaron motions them away. "No." One of the ground crew steps forward. "I'm sorry sir but we can't let those go uninspected." Aaron pulls out a small piece of paper, handing it to the ground crewman. Paper was often not issued anymore, digital inventions were simply more convenient than paper. The ground crew read the orders, and authorization given with those orders, and quickly leave the premises. Aaron smiles briefly, stepping inside. "Alpha, close the vehicle bay door." After a few moments of hesitation, the AI makes an auditory, confirming beep and closes the door. That was one part of his goals down. Now, for the second, less cloak-and-dagger part.

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The final crew members boarding the IEF Venture would have to find their way through a myriad of people. Their commander, Nikolai Strasnicov, leading them through the crowd with half a dozen security forces stationed at the ground pad assisting him. There were reporters of several different stations from all around the world crowding in and attempting to ask questions. Not much had changed in that regard for over a hundred years. Nikolai points to a shuttle waiting for them as the group turns a corner. Down a twenty foot hallway was standing the second generation clone who had recruited them all personally; Captain Aaron Tynnava. He motions for them to approach and board the shuttle while the security guards keep the reporters at bay. "Be quick. We are running behind schedule, comrades." Nikolai remarks wearily with a thick Russian accent.

The shuttle had a fairly simple configuration despite its size, akin to that of an aircraft. One walks in, and to their right they would find the cockpit. There, a pilot from the ship was already sitting and waiting for orders to take off. To the left, a narrow hall leading to two rows of seats. These seats have all the safety gear one would expect of a militarily designed craft. There is enough seating capacity for up to fifty people. Behind that was a door to the vehicle bay, which in this case, was locked.

[Gunther]

"Toly, I love you," Gabriella Stoessel told her husband.

"I love you too, Gabby." Master Sergeant Stoessel responded to his wife just before he ended the call. The ship was leaving soon and he still wanted to check on the troops. He knew he woud miss her, but he was more concerned with how much she would miss him. He was indeed worried about her.

Since Master Sergeant Anatole Stoessel was under arms, he wore his garrison cap aboard ship. It has been tradition for many centuries for unarmed soldiers to remove their caps inside and armed soldiers to wear headgear.

"Sergeant Major!" a voice from down the corridor yelled. "Sergeant Major!" the voice belonging to a British Colour Sergeant by the name of Stewart ran towards Master Sergeant Stoessel. In the five years that he has been with the IEF Venture project getting accustomed to being called sergeant major has been a difficult one. He would have preferred Stabsfeldwebel, but only the soldiers of Germanic descent called him that. The IEF preferred the term Master Sergeant and he had become accustomed to that title. But soldiers are inherently stuck on tradition and some of the old terms remained in organic units from native countries. He was glad there were very few Americans in the Company. He didn't care for the term, First Sergeant.

"Yes Sergeant Stewart, what can I do for you?"

"Sergeant Major, the Captain is returning to the ship soon, did the First Officer mention a formal reception? Were we supposed to provide a formation of troops available for him upon his return? I mean, this is the ship's Captain we are talking about. Shouldn't we put on the show?"

"No, Colour Sergeant," Anatole Stoessel responded to the platoon sergeant. "There will be no show. Is your platoon on watch right now?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major."

"Do you have anyone to spare to meet the Captain?"

"No, Sergeant Major."

"And neither do the other two platoons. Sure, the FIST Team is available. But there was no FRAGO put out about a reception. Why cause a problem where none already exists. Check on your platoon, Colour Sergeant." The company NCOIC referred to a Fragmentation Order detailing a need for a reception committee hand picked to meet the Captain. But since there was no order to do so from the First Officer, then there would be no reception.

"Roger that, Sergeant Major," and the two senior NCOs parted company. Toly knew the British platoon sergeant meant well, but the Company NCOIC knew if there was to be a formal reception for the Captain, a memo would have been sent out on everyone's PDAs.

'I may as well head to the docking bay to greet him when he arrives.' The XO was asleep and the acting Chief Security Officer was with the Captain. He would need to be prepared to brief the CSO on the company's current status. All 66 MWCSs and twenty Vindicator suits were packed in stasis on Deck 9. All were operational. The Deck 9 amoury also housed the security company's small arms, mostly Laser Rifles and pistols, but a few .50 caliber sniper rifles. A separate armoury housed grenades and spare ammunition packs for the rifles and pistols.

When he arrived at the docking bay, he found two soldiers from Sergeant Stewart's platoon walking around checking locks and making sure everything was secured to the decking. They checked doors as well to insure all was secure. Anatole was happy to see something was going well. That's what's funny about the troops. If you leave them alone, they may surprise you and actually do their job.

Duty uniform aboard the Venture was a standard set of grays; a black and gray camouflaged uniform with matching patrol cover and thigh holster for the laser pistol. In the event the company was to be deployed to the surface of some yet to be seen planet, they would strap on shin guards, knee pads, Assault Vest, kevlar polymer ballistic armor, magnetic field laser absorption armor, a kevlar composite helmet with breathing apparatus and Heads Up Display (HUD) for the non-firing eye, med kit, nano kit, water, 2 dos food, spare ammunition cells and primary weapons. Half the company fought mounted in Mech Warrior Combat Suits or Vindicators while the other half moved on foot. There was still a need for infantry.

[Alex McDaniel]

"Be careful with that!" Fae hollers to her co-workers, goggles lit up.

"what?" a voice in her earpiece asks.

"Sorry ma, just making sure they don't drop the anything." she responds, lowering her goggles to see her mother. "It's mostly just nerves, ya know? How are things on your end?"

This conversation continues on for a few minutes until a voice over her earpiece asks for a status update

Fae jumps, previously oblivious to her surroundings "o crap, that's the check off. I better get going or I'll end up sleeping in the brig." After her farewells, she hangs up and her standard HUD flashes on the screen before shutting down. After uncliping and grabbing a drink from her thermos, Fae works her way over towards the biodome and tinkers with a small gizmo while she enjoys her last few minutes of break

She continues to toy with the parts she keeps on hand until her earpiece pings, she looks to check her messages and disappointed to find its simply another stupid advertisement for penis enlargement pills. Exasperated, she mutters to herself "I swear, no matter often I set my spam filter. God, I don't even have a -" Irritated, she sits down to focus on trying to keep the ads from reappearing. After a few minutes of tearing thru her settings, she sighs before moving on to her musings about work.

Having finally assured herself free (for now) of further spam, Fae works her way back over to the docking area, and notices a few of the wires here seem to be tangled "great, one more things to deal with" she mutters. Sighing over lost break time, she quickly untangles the mess of wiring someone left half done. Making her way back to her workstation a coworker spots her. "Coffee! Where the hell have you been? We still have a million little things to do before launch!"

"I was on my lunch, so I wandered. Might be my last chance for a while anyway, busy as things are getting. Ended up finding some messed wiring near the deck entrance and ended up wasting time fixing that crap"

"Fine, whatever, get back to your station"

After making her way further into Deck 2, she passes the armory and enters one of the many interconnected biodomes on the ship. She quickly resumes her work of double and triple checking every nook between the biodomes, checking in her data sheet as she goes along. It's a long and arduous task, but one slip up can make something come loose during takeoff causing twice the time repairing damage in the best case scenario. The goggles help as she continues to scan pluming and electrical, updating her checklist after each point of the inspection. Tired voices came over the headpiece as each section continued their search for any flaw they may have overlooked.

During breaks she would call her mother and assure her that yes, even after they break out of the system they would be able to stay in touch and answering a million concerns about the design of the ship. After what seemed an eternity of checklists later, the ship was finally deemed ready for liftoff. All that was left now were last minute personal preparations and the ship would leave Earth, likely forever.....

[Kadaeux]

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Kong Xu Tai; Shuttle Bay
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Kong Xu Tai stood with a small knot of reporters looking proud, tall and definitively cutting the very figure one imagined of an EA Political Officer. "So what is your purpose on the IEF Venture?" One of the reporters, a squad looking european woman asked. The smell of the bay filled Kongs nostrils as he considered the answer the sound of machinery in the background continued as they loaded the ship.

"As you know Maria, I am stationed aboard the Venture to see that the EA's interests are being met, in addition I manage the small intelligence unit aboard the Venture and am the most qualified for first-contact meetings should we come across another sapient race." Kong said with a small smile he knew was warm and receptive. "It should be a most enlightening experience and one to benefit the whole human race." Especially the Party, Kong thought to himself.

An elderly gentleman spoke up, the Fox news logo emblazoned on his camera drone. "Even now we can see military equipment being loaded, do you plan on starting a war out there? Taking a new world by force? Does the EA plan to use alien allies against the Western Coalition?"

Kong's expression changed to rolling his eyes. "Now I realise you're a 'special'" Kong even used the air-quotes hand sign, "person hired by Fox news to comply with anti-discrimination laws, but even that doesn't excuse the rank stupidity and ignorance in asking those questions when anyone with eyes can see this is a multi-national mission. Do you think Christopher Columbus travelled unarmed? Did the Colonial Settlers of the US go un-defended to get slaughtered by Indians?" There was a lot of positive response and some snickering at the Fox News reporter, "Of course we have a sizeable military contingent and an armed ship, we're explorers out to find the unknown and try and find a new world to settle on, but we're not the naive fools who go to UFO conventions, we don't assume that any alien race with space travel must be enlightened or pacifist, after all. We are not."

As the elderly reporter fumed a reporter from the EA, a petite russian lass spoke up. "So you are going to be exploring the galaxy to secure the future of mankind, do you expect tension between the nationalities to become prevalent or a problem?"

"Naturally there will be a degree of tension no matter the circumstances, however we are embarking on this great mission for the benefit of all mankind, though no doubt some will be quick to plant flags given the opportunity this is only natural, you can be sure i'll claim my little bit of land when we find a world worthy of calling New Earth, I think its only fair we crewmen on the Venture get first pick of the land after all." Of course, he would do his utmost to secure the interests of the EA on such a world and damn the other nations. "But time is running out. I thank you all for your time but I must embark now for the good of all mankind. Hopefully next time I get to speak with you all," He said tweaking the Russian's chin flirtatiously, "it will be from a new world for all of us, and a new future of hopefully peace and prosperity." As others began to bark questions he turned politely and headed down the hallway before climbing into the shuttle. Turning to the right he saw the pilot and dismissing him turned left and took a seat near the back of the shuttle where he took out a PDA and began to read the novel he was in the middle of. Pandora's Star.



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HERCAD-X001; Shuttle Cargo Bay
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HERCAD kept his systems powered despite being loaded into the box for transfer to the Venture. It was close to departure time but HERCAD still didn't like being cooped up in a box. Fortunately he was at the top. But soon enough boredom began to set in and HERCAD began firing up his targeting sensors and laser simulation. "Ninety nine planks of wood in the crate, ninety-nine planks of wood. Shoot one down pass it around, ninety-eight planks of wood in the box." As he sung the little ditty it struck him it was going to be a long shuttle flight.



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Wilhelm Marcus Cavendish; Shuttle Bay
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Wilhelm sat down on a seat in the Shuttle with Tarkin and Gideon beside him. "Yes Boys, we're going on a great adventure." He said patting the animals with a naked hand, they purred in Gideons case and barked playfully in Tarkins. "It'll be a grand adventure and we'll be able to study so much new life away from the stuffy godless confines of the gene-engineering labs here on Earth." A pilot came down the hall of the Shuttle.

"I'm sorry sir. But you can't have these animals in here." She said with a kindly smile, and a cute bum. "They'll have to go in cages in the cargo bay with the rest of the cargo." She put her hand lightly on his. "You understand yes?"

"Madam, I am very flattered you want me to help you break Ms Eva Teindall's record of most passengers seduced in the chemical toilets but please remove your hand from mine." Marcus said and she flinched not having known he was a reader. "I apologise for that but contact triggers it you understand. But I will not allow Tarkin and Gideon to be stored in the Cargo hold like so many crates of simple goods. They are my companions and will remain with me on the shuttle trip, this is non-negotiable, and if you have a problem with it you can explain to Captain Tynnava why the only fully trained Xenologist is being left behind because you objected to an old man's companions. I'm sure if you really want help breaking that record the Asian gentleman up the back would be more than happy to help you, but please leave me be." Wilhelm's words cut through the woman like butter and she rushed off mortified, and more than a little aroused, Wilhelm just had that.. that voice...

[LTDan]

The sound of old psychedelic rock floated through Deck 5 and most of the rest of the ship, at this point Grand Funk Railroad was playing. To this beat a veritable army of engineers scurried through every corridor on the ship as the Venture went through her pre-flight checks. Reports of electrical flaws,loose bolts and other various typical last minute issues flooded through the Chief Engineers ear. Everything seemed to be in order mostly with only one major mechanical failure being detected in the shuttle bays hydraulic closing arm. Fusion reactors were turned on one by one and were reading at a nice nominal level. No leaks detected so with the major systems all green Frank Stacks and the team were spending most of the past weeks going through the nonessential systems. Most of them were running on coffee to meet the launch deadline especially Veronika, his wife and first assistant engineer, and him. Reaching up he turned down his earpiece slightly to tone down the incessant chatter of other engineers.

"Wrench honey?" Voice echoed through the bare metal corridor on the middle deck as Frank was half stuck inside a small hatch working on a loose pipe.

"Da" Came the, to his sleep addled brain, angelic voice of the tiny Russian woman who was working in the same crawlspace. They were crammed together in the tiny space together, bodies pressed close together but never getting in each others way. They seemed to work in prefect unison without speaking except for some smart remarks back and forth. Feeling the cold metal press into his hand Frank began to tighten the pipe that carried water.Feeling Veronika crawl up and begin removing another panel caused their jumpsuits rub together with some friction. That only served to increase the already sweltering air in the crawlspace which in turn caused their sweat soaked bodies to sweat more. Wiping his brow he gave the bolt another turn,

"When did you gain weight? I don't remember you being this big on the honeymoon." Feeling the slight pressure of a attempted kick to the back of his leg caused Frank to flinch.

"Or maybe it's all those damn Western hotdogs you gorge yourself on...honey?" Came the accented remark back along with a curse. "This pipe is a bit loose too and in the Westerner made section too. Damn lazy Westerners! Wrench?"

"Of course in a second, you know not all Westerners are lazy?" Frank said back as he finished tightening the bolt twisting to pass the wrench before going back to replacing the panel. "This side is clear" Keying the mike he sighed and wiped some more sweat off his brow only to find the back of his hand smeared in black grease. Sighing he looked down at the blue jumpsuit to find it had been mawled by the grease monster too. Man he would kill for a long hot shower and if Veronika was there it would only be a bonus. "Sure that is why all the pipes in our house leaked for five years..." Smirking at her response Frank twisted around to now be spooning her. "Decks report in." A sharp command went out over the ship net as he reached around Veronika to help her. Holding the pipe up so she could slip the bolt back in Frank listened to the reports that flooded in.

"Deck 1 is clear, a few loose pipes and conduits that we had to restrap in."

"Deck 2 is clear...." This went on for the next few minutes as the teams that Frank had assigned to each deck were checking in after weeks of combing the ship for faults. It was tiring and it showed in everyone's voice. While there was a slim chance that they had missed something major given the fact that this was the second sweep, it was also likely someone cut a corner or missed something. The song flipped in the middle of the role call just as Veronika finished up. Slowly they made themselves out of the small crawl space but not before at the end of the report some ensign complained about the music which was promptly cut off by a rant by Frank. This caused a number of older engineers to laugh.

"Right team leads make your reports and have them in my office by morning. Get some rest people you earned it." Unkeying the mike Frank looked as Some Kind of Wonderful played. Veronika stood at a average five foot five some foot below Frank who towered at six five so the couple seemed quite odd to see dancing. Reaching into the pocket of her jumpsuit which did her slim fit form no justice that way it sagged around her curves. The smallness was something of a misnomer when it came to dealing her, ask any of her wrestling opponents in high school and university. Meanwhile Frank complimented her by being large and seemingly made of muscles but yet that was a misnomer of it's own accord. Frank was no fighter in fact he detested war by and large being one of the reasons he signed up. On those nice red lips a smile appeared as Veronika regarded her husbands grease stained face. Reaching up she gently pushed the mike out of the way to begin to clean up his angular face, the red rag quickly becoming black as it ran over the angles.

"God I'm glad we're finally down..." Frank let out a sigh of complete and total relief almost relaxing into her gentle wipes and brushes. "That was too much of a tight deadline for launch, I feel the engineering crew won't be doing much for the next few days." Pulling her hand away as the song turned to Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd which made of them smile tiredly. This was the song they had their first dance to during the wedding, nothing too corny but not obscure. Taking the rag from her he began to return the favor, gently tracing the soft curves and gentle slopes of his wife's face. Pushing a stray strand of raven hair that manged to loosen itself from the bun Frank put the rebel back in its place. Tucking the now soiled rag back into her pocket they both stared at each other contemplating silent dreams for a few minutes before she broke the silence.

"Want to head up to Deck 1? We can grab something from the kitchen and sit down in one of the observation bubbles." Both of them showed wear and tear of the long weeks, deep bags hung under their eyes and they looked sore. They felt sore as hell having to crawl through numerous small passage ways to check power cables,pipes and other mechanical aspects of the Venture. Taking her hand softly Frank nodded as he intertwined his fingers with hers in an unprofessional but nostalgic gesture. Hand in hand and with Veronika leaning on him, her head on his forearm they made their way out of Life Support through Deck 5. A deck they had now grown tired of same as the other engineers were feeling with their perspective decks. For them they were looking for just a simple hour or so of relaxing before the last shuttle arrived.

"Chief?" Came the urgent tired voice of one of the team leaders, Hanson. Sighing heavily and with Veronika frowning Frank let go of her and keyed the mike with his finger. If it wasn't one thing it was always something else on this damned bucket of metal. With his other hand he rubbed his face before dragging his large hand down his face. Meanwhile Veronika called the cargo lift because they were far too tired for the stairs. She looked quite upset that their alone time was about to be interrupted. The last time they even had time to have a decent conversation not about work had been a month or so ago. The last few weeks of their lives were purely dedicated to just getting this thing ready to fly.

"Go ahead Hanson"

"We were preparing for the shuttle arrival before getting some rest and we got another failure of the hydraulic arm."

"Again? Alright I'm coming down." Removing his finger he looked at Veronika with a very apologetic look. "We're not done and might as well make that a coffee too." On time after he finished speaking the lift dinged and the massive doors slid open.

[Commander Kalic]

Caught in the final security checks line, Bodybag was bored out of his skull. The IEF soldiers in charge were waving a little wand over people and asking questions about where they had been, and what they were bringing on board. “Seems can’t even go to space without being arranged by the TSA”

Standing in line for so long had left a bitter taste in Tyler’s mouth, so when his turn came up, he felt the need to pay the man in kind for the delay. “Name?” The officer asked his attention more on his tablet than the people, letting one of his subordinates wave the wand over him.

“Henry the VIII” Tyler responded, this garnered a quirked eyebrow at him over the tablet.

“Alright, you got me, Dr. Tyler Johnson.” The man nodded and went down the list of questions.

“Did you go anywhere last night off compound?”

“Yeah, went to this little dive bar full of South American Seditionists, we shared a few drinks and ya know, they have some valid points.” This time the tablet wielder crossed si arms, not saying anything but starting to look a bit annoyed. It was at this time that Tyler noticed the wand waving private was standing behind him, his little detector replaced with a rather dangerous looking baton.

“Umm, actually no sir.” Tyler responded, his fire muted.

“Good, final question: Are you bringing anything on the shuttle?” as Tyler went to answer, he quickly interjected “If you say one more smart remark, so help me god, I’ll see to it that you never see the light of day again.”

“Uh, yeah, nothing aside from my pda, clothes, and my checked luggage.” Tyler said.

“Good, get on board and take you seat.” The officer ended, gesturing Tyler towards the shuttle.

Climbing on board he sat down next to one of the other medical staff members “Remind me never to talk shit to security.” He said, strapping himself in.

[Slade]

Shortly after the small group led by the 2nd in Command had entered the shuttle. Another man was briskly walking towards the entrance, pushing and shoving anyone who stood in his way. His Combat boots had been polished the night before and his old Rhodesian army pants he wore had been ironed as well, along with his uniform and other clothes that he had packed into the two backpacks that hung around one shoulder loosely. He was not in uniform at the moment; with an unbuttoned long sleeve shirt and a white muscle shirt underneath. Still, he had a hand-made leather holster wrapped around his waist, with a 3 foot long African Machete dangling at the side. Even so, at the moment his outfit was clean and gave the distinction of a man who took care of himself.

Until people saw his face. Haggard and worn out, with a messy beard and mustache and his black hair unkempt, he looked like he just got out of bed. His eyes were sunken and dark, giving them a nasty quality. Small but permanent bags could be seen under his eyes along with small, but prevalent wrinkles that were strewn across his face. He looked like a man easily in his 50’s, needless to say people were always a little shocked and concerned when they found out he wasn't even 25.

Pushing through reporters was starting to be a major pain in the ass, all he wanted was to sit back and sleep through the ride onto the Venture. The man secretly thanked himself for having that glass of Rum this morning, or else he would have been beyond irritated. He looks to his right and sees the Chink catching most of the reporters’ attention, much to the man’s pleasure. He however wasn’t able to escape them all as he felt a soft hand grabbed his wrist.

“Excuse me sir? Can you tell me your role on the IEF Ven-

The reporter is forcefully pushed away. Hard. And would have fallen had she not bumped into other people. She meekly looks back at the man, glaring and seething at her.

“Get the Fuck offa me! Ye dumb fuckin’ Git!” He sneers loudly at her through his teeth and the reporter just crumbles back into the crowd. He storms out of the horde of reporters who were now making an attempt to stay away from him. He reaches the security checkpoint right in front of the entrance and waits in line as he grins amusingly as some American gives the guards a hard time, only to be threatened with a beating… bunch of pussies.



“Name sir” the guard blandly says when they reach the man

“Rhett Vorster, Lance Corporal, Recce Platoon”

“Alright, we’ll have to-

“Never mind that, I’m registered in already, my paperwork was filed two days ago.”




The guard stares at Rhett for a moment before typing something into his PDA. He stares at it briefly and glances at Rhett, he shrugs his shoulders.

“Place your hand on the scanner and you’re free to go”

Rhett does it easily enough and after giving the guards a hateful sneer moves into the shuttle. The guards meanwhile whisper to each other, wondering what the fuck an “Afrikaner” was, since that’s what it displayed on the man’s public record under Nationality. Rhett moves quickly and gives everyone he passes a hard, unloving glare. He didn’t want to talk to people or be asked what division he was from, or if he was gonna miss anyone or where he was from. Though judging from his wild-looking face and the wicked machete that was attached to the holster…. no one probably wanted to know what rancid hole Rhett crawled out of.

He plops down in a seat, alone in the corner and away from all the others, Scientists and mechanics; civilians. Also known as people he didn't want to communicate with. He puts his two backpacks on the floor next to him and he slowly unzips one to look at the contents inside: a shit ton of booze and shot-glasses with his ceremonial uniform used to cushion the glass so it didn't make any clinking sounds while traveling. He zips the bag up quickly and lays his head back against the cushion. He closes his eyes, knowing that the second he got on the Venture they would put his ass to work. It made him nostalgic for the old days… well the more fun parts of the old days. He takes his right hand and wraps it around the machete handle, a habit he had wisely picked up since he was around nine years old. Without feeling that blade at his fingers he never felt secure. He lets out a slow grumble as he dreams of a glass of ice cubes melting over a fine Scotch.

[Malaki]

"Ma'am, ma'am! Madam! Miss!" A reporter manages to stumble past the security guards and quickly shoves a microphone labelled with her station in front of Casey's face. It was fox news. Casey frowns and prepares for the impending politically charged questioning. "Are you glad to be within a ship that was designed by Western Coalition tax payers?" Casey stops for a moment, letting others, including a curiously unshaven and unapologetic Afrikan, move past her. "Was it? I thought it was designed by qualified engineers who came from every part of the world. Silly me." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, brushing past the Fox News broadcaster who then stumbles back past the security guards. Quietly Casey can overhear in the background some derogatory comment about the European Union. With a shrug she continues on, past the crowds and up to security.

"Name?" Casey sighs. "Maloon, Casey." "You're travelling with a lot of important people today." "Saying I'm not?" "Not compared to that Russian fellow, or the captain, no." Casey gives the security officer a glare, who then offers her a pad upon which to place her hand. She quickly executes a simple security measure, watching as the pad noted that she was who she really was. Because, you know, someone might totally want to be a low ranked NCO vindicator pilot who has access to virtually nothing but a vindicator. She moves down the hall, reaching the shuttle and entering to see the pilot blushing furiously. "The hell has gotten into you soldier? Booze?" Casey asks the pilot, who quickly shakes her head and points to the hall at an older man with two animals.

Oh.

Well. Strange pilot then.

Casey walks down the narrow path past several seats, giving the suave Russian a momentary distrusting look as she passes him. She then sits at the end of the seats, across from the Afrikan, crossing her legs and watching him drift to sleep. What a bizarre man. How was this fellow dangerous to anyone in the modern world? He wielded an over-sized knife. Yet, dangerous he looked. She adjusts her light green jump suit a bit, having taken nothing but a sidearm aboard. Everything else was waiting for her on the ship... How strange, that she would actually be in space. For days... Weeks... Months..... Years. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks down at the floor, her nervousness plain on her face. Well, that...

...And the elderly gentleman with the two animals really wasn't half bad looking.

[Naril]

The sun wallowed low on the horizon, a molten, burning ball wavering in the last shimmers of its daytime heat. All around, in the golden-tinted shadows, people from a hundred nations and a thousand cultures gathered round to watch the last shuttle and its crew of passengers. People who would sail into the alien, unknown void and search for nothing less than the salvation of the entire human race. Some of the onlookers cheered, some were somber, but most had an air almost of those attending the funerary procession of a beloved head of state. By parts mournful, hopeful, fearful and anxious, their faces showed the worries and cares that transcended national lines, cultures, and creeds.

To one side, a man with a starched, white collar and a wooden rosary moved his hands in silent benediction toward the final group of passengers, his lips moving through ancient Latin phrases. Behind the shuttle's engines, and watched by a security team, saffron-robed bald monks laid the final touches on a dazzling mandala. Its colors and patterns almost glowed in the dying sunlight, as intricate as it would be temporary; the shuttle's engine wash would blast it to the sand it was made from when they took off. Still others, in a tradition as old as civilization, merely stood as close to the barriers as they could, reaching out to touch the people who would save them, as though some of the heroism, the mysticism, or the hope would rub off on them from the touch.

And, of course, near the final security checkpoint, a crowd of news reporters, some boisterous, some dour, feeding a world hungry for any scrap of information, regardless of how many times it had already been digested. Laya had always understood why people clamored for this kind of thing - it allowed you to forget about your own problems and obsess over something else, even for only a little while. Like films, novels, or anything else, the delivery of news had become a profound sort of escapism. It fed a world still recovering from a brutal war, nations still struggling to heal and even define their own borders, and a people looking for hope, or escape, wherever they could.

WIth her caramel-coloured skin, long, dark hair, and eye patch, Laya was not difficult to pick out in the crowd, and half a dozen news reporters jostled toward her, fighting one another to push their microphones in her face. To her tremendous amusement, the knot of journalists tripped over themselves and fell into a cursing, writhing ball of limbs and expensive suit coats, their clamor almost, but not completely covering the sound of cameramen snapping their feeds off, or pointing the lenses somewhere else. She grinned and waved at a harried-looking cameraman, then turned and slid between a pair of security guards holding the crowd at bay. They were dressed to the nines with shining brass buttons and spotless white gloves, but no less imposing for the finery. Laya nodded as she caught the blue eyes of one guard, both in acknowledgment and approval. Pageantry was important. It helped the whole thing feel real.

She walked past the blue-eyed guard and made her way toward the shuttle, only to be stopped by another security guard, this one in rather less dramatic garb. He had the solid, square jaw of a thousand Russian propaganda posters, and when he spoke, his voice was like a villain from an old James Bond movie. Thick and rolling but with precise consonants, and with the grim inevitability of a long, lean winter. He was tall, not like normal-person tall, but more like a tree, or at least that's how it seemed to Laya. His shoulders were broad and square, and he would have loomed even without making an effort. He was, though, right now.

"Name," he said, No, demanded. His hazel eyes glittered with intensity, and perhaps malice. He held a tablet in one hand, his other distressingly near a sidearm.

"I rather thought we were past this," Laya replied, pointedly looking down at the badge she had clipped to her jacket's lapel. Her own voice carried an accent, English not being her first - or even second - language. The eyebrow over her living eye rose slightly.

"Let us say that we are not," the man said, each word like the first rock clicking down a landslide. His hand tightened on the tablet, and Laya thought she could hear the glass creak.

"Bismillah," she muttered, almost under her breath, then added, "Do we really have to do this?"

"I say we do," the man replied, "And I say who gets on that shuttle. Name." He growled the last word, a threatening basso rumble.

Laya sighed and slicked her hand through her hair, then looked up at the man, "Fine, fine. We're late anyway. Layali bint Anas ibn Khalid al-Rashid."

The security man grunted, and didn't look away.

"Aren't you going to check that against the list there?" she asked, gesturing to the tablet.

"And what are you bringing on the shuttle?" the man almost snarled.

"Some personal effects," Laya said, managing to bite off a smart remark. She took a deep breath, "A lot of research notes. Some pens and pencils. Blank notebooks. My rifle. A guitar. Just…stuff. Look, I put it all in the cargo manifest, which I'm sure is on your table-"

"What's under the eye patch?" He snapped, cutting her off, "I'm going to need to see." He reached toward her face with one slab-like hand.

"All right, that's enough," Laya said, and slapped the hand away, her fingers wrapping around the man's wrist. She knew she wouldn't be able to overpower him, but there was such a thing as going down fighting. She took a deep breath and was about to launch into a very likely ill-advised tirade when another hand, slender and feminine, clamped down on the big man's shoulder.

"Yes, I think that is enough," came a quiet but surprisingly firm voice, "Let her use the palm scanner, and then we will have a…discussion."

The man whirled, clearly ready to deliver a shouting down to whoever had dared interrupt him, but he shrank back the moment his eyes focused on the newcomer. Laya couldn't see who it might be, her view being obscured by the man's bulk, but when he turned back he no longer seemed quite so threatening. He held the tablet out without another word, and Laya pressed her hand to the glass, warm where his fingers had gripped it. The little machine blinked, then blipped, then flashed green.

Laya took her hand away from the scanner and looked up at the man. His eyes were still hard and flinty, but he seemed to be holding his tongue for the moment. She started to turn toward the shuttle, but then paused, looked back at the man.

"I know that my nation and yours have not gotten along," she said, and later, could not articulate why, "But there is something larger than that, now."

"Your people killed my grandfather," the man said, his eyes still hard. He hadn't turned around to face the other woman, but something about his stance suggested that he was going to speak his piece, even if it wasn't the wisest decision.

"And now I am saving your grandchildren," Laya replied. The man scowled, though he made no reply. She sighed and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She took a step onto the short staircase leading to the shuttle's interior, and looked over at the man.

"May you find God's peace," she said, and started up the stairs.

"Which God?" Said the man, with perhaps less fire than Laya had expected.

She turned at the top of the stairs and managed to avoid rolling her eyes, "Whichever one you like."

The interior of the shuttle seemed almost excessively utilitarian, given its passengers, but then again, she saw little enough reason for it not to be. The pageantry, the fluff, that was for the superficial exterior. The real workings had to be efficient, or the whole thing might well collapse under the weight of believing its own puffery. She picked a seat in an empty aisle and lowered herself into it, then began the complex process of buckling on the harness, her fingers moving deftly among the latches.

[Flames]

The morning had been almost euphoric. For such an important day, Sanguine still took her cursory morning habit. Tea and crumpets, the morning paper and a game of whist at the local cafe. The regulars at the cafe wouldn't have guessed Sanguine isn't bound to return to the cafe the next day or any day after for that matter. The regulars would talk about the event to occur later in the day; being the take-off of the final shuttle. A regular would turn to Sanguine and ask, "What do you think of all this? Aren't you working for the company that's doing this whole thing anyways?" Sanguine puts down her cup, deals a card and whisks away the trick she had won. "It's very interesting. You deal now." The morning would brisk by without event.

Here and now, she stands before a large number of people. Her headphones would do her no good from the emotional wavelengths from the reporters and the security holding them back. Even from the distance she stands at, the wavelengths could be felt. So many mixed feelings; some identifiable, others a bit vague. Walking through that hallway would overload her mind within moments. She crosses her arms, watching. Some of the other shuttle passengers walk on. She starts to tap her foot as she ponders a solution to avoid walking through that crowd. She figures that running or jogging wouldn't be a solution, considering the rather large man checking identities at the entrance to the shuttle. She would drown in the voices far before she could climb into the shuttle.

Alistair's day had been a bit more exciting. He had not slept the entire night before. It was not unusual for him to get random bouts of insomnia. He wasn't clinically diagnosed with it, but it does happen when his anticipation hits peak. The security officer assigned to him would definitely not leave him alone. He would have to do some brilliant impression on that of the captain if he were to have the officer removed. Until then, he'd have to sit tight and repress the need to pull any major trouble. This would be his ultimate act. He decides would become more than he really is. He would make it seem as though he is a changed man. The world will see Alistair as a changed man one day. His resolve would be indomitable. His complexion would bring women in droves without his malicious antics to drive them away. He already looks the part of a gentleman. Why would he not play the part? Alistair's tenacious decision is made; his escort officer would come to see the 'noble' spirit in him and he would be granted leave some day.
The escort comes by his home. Alistair's belongings are assessed and they make their way to the shuttle site. They continue onwards, passing a seemingly restless woman. The security check is passed without any qualms. Alistair and his escort take their spots at a seat near the further back end of the shuttle.