Rawk — Roleplayer Guild

[ SecCom | 3rd Floor - Office of Chief Gavon TreVayne ]

“Chief you have an urgent call from Warden Harrisen.”

The shuffling and clanging sounds made from miscellaneous items being moved about in the large carbon fiber foot locker ceased for a moment.

“Yep, patch him through.” Gavon responded from across the small private office, down on one knee while continuing to search for the old bowie knife that inadvertently went astray the day he arrived on the Ark, as did many of his personal effects during the transitional period, but most of which he cared little for. However the knife, or “Searles Bowie” as it was known from the Nineteenth Century on, had been passed down through a few generations of his family, and given to him by his father as a coming of age gift. A huge proponent of close-quarter combat, the bowie had also been the first real weapon he’d had the privilege of training with in his younger years to have mastered and refined several offensive and defensive techniques currently applied to basic and advanced training for military and security personnel aboard the Vitae.

“Chief TreVayne” The Warden’s image materialized on the comm screens hanging from adjustable brackets along the ceiling. Marcus Harrisen was a tall, well-built, and fit middle aged Englishman from the Martian Unity, his graying hair and thick mustache a stark contrast to an otherwise dark, ruddy complexion, and facial expressions that could be considered warm and welcoming or cold and bitter as an arctic storm. Harrisen had been involved in law enforcement for most of his life, on his way to an early retirement due to an on-duty injury that limited mobility in his left leg, which was later fitted with an exo-skeletal brace to assist in walking without the use of a cane. Shortly thereafter, he was offered the position as full-time prison Warden on the Ark due to his long-time loyal service, a position he gladly accepted over the inevitable conditions of Earth and Mars. He was also one of the few -perhaps fortunate?- on the Vitae who had nothing to lose from the destruction of his home planets, as he never had children and his wife had passed of medical complications long before. 

“My apologies for the interruption Sir, as I’m aware you’re prepping for the away mission, but we have a situation rapidly unfolding down here involving the cyborg.”

As if by pure chance, Gavon grasped the hardwood hilt of the bowie which had been buried near the bottom of the foot locker, still secured in it’s worn tanned leather sheath. He found himself squeezing tighter at the mention of the cyborg, while simultaneously pulling the knife out of the box in anticipation of what may be coming next. 

“Please don’t tell me that she escaped…” He said with an underlying irritation, but retaining a calm disposition otherwise.

“I wish it were only that simple. Xaith Calhoun -and one other, who appears to be a synthetic- practically stormed in shortly after you left, waving a folder full of legal papers, claiming to be the representing counsel, and demanding to speak with the inmate.”

“What? I only left not five minutes ago.” Gavon retorted, a puzzled expression laid across his face as he stood to his feet still clutching the sheathed weapon, and stared at the monitors above him. “And Calhoun? Isn’t he the Chief of…Engineering” The last word came as a whisper, while suddenly dawning on him why the head of that department would be directly involved, considering it was under Calhoun’s jurisdiction that the cyborg was found, and perhaps personal or work-related reasons that had nothing to do with the fact that she was still considered a stowaway. 

“Did these ‘papers’ check out?” Gavon continued, as he walked over to his desk, plopped down in the leather-bound armchair, and rifled through a few drawers looking for something.

“For the most part they seem in order, and clearly it allowed him passage through security checkpoints via SecCen main lobby. No doubt with the help of the accompanying android and her vast array of legaleze.”

“Well” Gavon spoke with a hint of resentment. “Calhoun’s rank allows for clearance to certain first-floor areas within the Security Complex, including the sub-level brig, but beyond that is restricted without the proper authorization and official escorts.” Gavon leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the twinge of a headache looming. “So,  where are they now?”

“Interrogation Room one, Sir.” Harrisen allowed a slight sigh to escape. “Although Calhoun demanded all video and audio feeds be disabled during their meeting.” 

“The hell with that” Gavon muttered to himself.

“Sir?”

“Bottom line Marcus, don’t allow the bureaucratic bullshit to stonewall this Division's responsibilities. Let the Engineering Chief have his fun playing ‘lawyer’ and hiding behind his machines, but the cyborg is to remain within the confines of the brig and under our supervision until a full psyche eval has been administered and green-lighted. Any action outside of that would be a breach of ship-wide security -which Admiral Locke is aware of- and no doubt he will veto any further demands by Calhoun.”

“Very good Sir, I will keep Deputy Haas abreast of any updates in your absence, and copy you as well. Safe journey Chief.” The Warden raised his right hand to just above his bushy right eyebrow in a salute.

“Harrisen out.”

-----------------------------

“You know babe, if you keep this up, I won’t have good reason to leave my office, let alone board a ship to a potentially undiscovered and inhospitable planet.”

Gavon sat at his desk with his head leaned against the backrest of the chair and eyes closed; Natalie’s hands firmly massaging the tension from his hardened shoulders and neck while smiling down at him with reverence and pride. It was then he opened his eyes and noticed her beautiful visage staring back at him, and even though her presence brightened the room, he couldn’t help but feel a certain nagging darkness in the bad of his mind. Not of the trip, venturing into the unknown, or the chance of random encounters with hostile lifeforms, but, rather, the possibility that he may never see his wife again. They both knew loss well -just about everyone did really- and they’ve accepted the hard truth that there are no certainties in life except death, but when the reality becomes more apparent, it is sometimes easier said than done. 

“I see you found your father’s old knife.” Natalie finally said after a few moments, detecting the in her husband’s eyes.

“Yep” He said, clearing his throat as he stood up from the chair, picked up the knife from the desk, and made his way over to the light gray camo rucksack. “Damn thing’s been in hibernation forever.” He said with a smirk, sliding the knife into one of the side sleeves and securing it place. “Of course, I doubt I’ll get to use it for anything more than slicing open MREs, considering Locke has me paying special attention to Captain Anderson during the trip. The guy’s a crack pilot, but his fuckin’ booze problem is, of course, a cause for concern. I just wonder if-”

Three rapid and successive chimes sounded on his wrist console, indicating a thirty minute mark until the Nyx launched, and they both looked at one another with the same somber expression held for several heartbeats.

“You know you can always come with me to the hangar until lift off.” He finally said, breaking the silence that seemed to last forever.

“Nah, I’d rather just remember this moment.” She said, raising both hands to adjust the zippered turtleneck collar on his black and gray multicam tactical undershirt, and systematically moving from one button, strap, and clip along the outer utility vest. “Besides, you know I’m needed up here to look after Haas.” She grinned, staring down while still fiddling with one of the buckles on his shoulder holster, as a single tear ran along her cheek, quickly wiped away by Gavon’s thumb.

“Hey, look at me.”  He said, framing her face with his hands as Natalie’s bright green eyes returned his gaze. 

“I’m coming back.”

“I know.”

-----------------------------

The ship was a lot larger in person, and no matter how many detailed schematics he’s perused about a ship’s mass, those datalogs never seem to do the real thing justice. Gavon wasn’t much of a space jockey, leaving that sort of thing to the pilots, but was always more at home with two feet firmly on the ground. That said, in the Ark itself, one does forget that “terra firma” is still traveling through space at variable speeds, but it’s still a sharp contrast to flying on a smaller space craft. Regardless, he is still very much looking forward to the trip, and of course, a successful landing.

Gavon approached the large loading ramp that lead up into the Nyx, followed by a firm salute from a couple of nearby security guards, in respect of their commanding officer.

“At ease.” He said with a half-smile, never quit getting used to the formalities that several of his Agents expressed, many of which have been through rigorous military boot camps where formal courtesies are required and hard-coded into their daily lives. 

“Has Captain Eccleson arrived?” He asked one of the officers, noticing the several dozen men and women in military fatigues on the other side of the ship loading weapons, equipment, and supplies onto lifts going up into the belly of the vessel. Eccleson, from what Gavon understood, was the lead officer over the military units traveling with the away team and whose experience would prove valuable for ground reconnaissance and perimeter defenses.

“I believe so Chief, as have several others who’ve already been cleared and checked in. Also Captain Anderson has asked to see you on the bridge as soon as possible.”

“Copy that.” He nodded before making his way up the ramp.
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