@Silver Carrot Sure.
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Most Recent Posts
”Drop down, how do you ‘drop’ something in microgravity?” He thought as he tried to keep making unpredictable changes to direction and speed to avoid the pirate’s uncertain fire. Narix commanders would issue these orders by stating the desired speed, heading and inclination relative to the ship’s current attitude, but if this was the new commander’s way, he’d have to adapt. Was this standard for Humans? And if it was, how did the Human military survive for so long? He hoped his new captain did not think in two dimensions. Perhaps Human soldiers let artificial intelligence think for them? Carthus had to hope he understood what was asked of him. He’ll find out later. That, or they get killed if the maneuver fails or he does something the commander didn’t want. Barring the last five years, this seemed like business as usual.
Their assailants were careful, understandably, as they needed their ship intact by their own admission. The only destructively violent action would likely be taken against the crew itself. How he wished he had his rifle with him, but on the other hand it served as motivation to not let the space scum board at all.
At the captain’s word, events were set in motion. The Monroe’s weapons sprung to life, focusing mostly on the damaged vessel, designated ‘Alpha’ by the machine that has taken up residence in the cargo hold. A stream of tracers tore into the Alpha, sending a shower of equipment and hull fragments loose like a wide-spread buckshot. Better to avoid those. A few more bursts such as that one would no doubt seal the ship’s fate. In spite of the situation, an amused grin appeared on Carthus’ face.
Just as Raymond gave the word, Carthus turned the ship ninety degrees down and fired the main thrusters, slowly ‘pulling up’ again in a tightening arc that would land the Monroe on a path towards the Alpha. Then he would just have to make sure he didn’t accidentally send the Monroe on a collision course with the pirate vessel, make corrections in case some of the hostile ships tried to block them again like the last two times and evade incoming fire, if at all possible. Hopefully the gunners would have a good enough shot at their intended targets. The more damage they could inflict upon the pirates now, the less effort it would take for someone sent to finish the job, but getting away was a priority. Maybe after getting that distress call sorted, the Monroe would be sent to intercept this band, this time on their terms. A little payback, the crew would certainly be motivated. Every few seconds, his gaze wandered to a row of indicator lights running along the top edge of his instrument panel, especially those that would alert him to engine damage, fires in crew compartments or drops in air pressure. He dreaded the moment they would light up.
Their assailants were careful, understandably, as they needed their ship intact by their own admission. The only destructively violent action would likely be taken against the crew itself. How he wished he had his rifle with him, but on the other hand it served as motivation to not let the space scum board at all.
At the captain’s word, events were set in motion. The Monroe’s weapons sprung to life, focusing mostly on the damaged vessel, designated ‘Alpha’ by the machine that has taken up residence in the cargo hold. A stream of tracers tore into the Alpha, sending a shower of equipment and hull fragments loose like a wide-spread buckshot. Better to avoid those. A few more bursts such as that one would no doubt seal the ship’s fate. In spite of the situation, an amused grin appeared on Carthus’ face.
Just as Raymond gave the word, Carthus turned the ship ninety degrees down and fired the main thrusters, slowly ‘pulling up’ again in a tightening arc that would land the Monroe on a path towards the Alpha. Then he would just have to make sure he didn’t accidentally send the Monroe on a collision course with the pirate vessel, make corrections in case some of the hostile ships tried to block them again like the last two times and evade incoming fire, if at all possible. Hopefully the gunners would have a good enough shot at their intended targets. The more damage they could inflict upon the pirates now, the less effort it would take for someone sent to finish the job, but getting away was a priority. Maybe after getting that distress call sorted, the Monroe would be sent to intercept this band, this time on their terms. A little payback, the crew would certainly be motivated. Every few seconds, his gaze wandered to a row of indicator lights running along the top edge of his instrument panel, especially those that would alert him to engine damage, fires in crew compartments or drops in air pressure. He dreaded the moment they would light up.
Carthus stared at the dashboard in front of him, counting the minutes that stood between him and getting some sleep. There were still several hours left. Absence of such long trips at the helm was something he missed from his fighter jock days. Someone else would take the long haul, he just had to be in the launch tube ten minutes before arrival. To pass the time, he wondered about the source and reason of the disturbing distress call. ”‘Stranded. Planet is…’. Perhaps someone landed a survey team without knowing what wildlife lived there? ‘So many dead...’ Hungry wildlife, by the sound of it. ‘Oh, God…!’” He sneered ”If there is a god, you are being eaten by his creations. Why would he bother with helping you lot?” Given the screaming in the background, he doubted they would find anything besides scattered remains. They still had a day's trip ahead of them just to get there. He looked out the window, still not quite sure about who put it in the CIC. A full day. And most of it spent in this chair, with the same picture in front of him.
A warning light on his console flared up, alerting him about an anomaly with the jump drive. But before he could see what exactly was wrong, it became apparent by itself as the Monroe shuddered slightly before being violently jerked aside as it was pulled out of FTL. Having neglected the seatbelts, Carthus was thrown out of his seat like a rag doll. It took him a few seconds to pick himself up. Cursing the dull pain in his forehead, he ignored the threat being broadcast and strapped himself in, going over the ship’s basic systems. No damage. Not yet, anyway. He took a moment to look at some of the ships he assumed were the attackers. An assortment of junk with engines strapped to it. The ship shook again as a round hit them. Engines and guns, apparently. His fingers ran across the controls as the Captain entered.
“It’s Carthus with a ‘u’, sir.” he whispered under his breath at the mispronunciation of his name as he fired the dorsal, port-aft and starboard-bow RCS thrusters, sending the Monroe downwards relative to its position in a left spin. ”Just like a fighter, except bigger. Keep moving, don’t move in straight lines for more than a few seconds, the enemy that kills you is the enemy you cannot see.” Those were the basics, hammered into his memory by 55 years of active service. One of the ships was listing, its weapons firing at nothing. That would be the easiest to get past. Maybe if that ship got between the Monroe and the rest of the fleet, they’d stop firing to avoid further damage to one of their own. ”Worth a try.” he decided, arresting the spin and burning toward the vessel.
As the Monroe made its way toward its intended destination, Carthus kept making small, random changes in heading and attitude to throw off the enemy gunners and make it harder for their targeting software to compensate. This would also make any attempts of a boarding action harder, though far from impossible. On the downside, it also made the AI’s job of firing back equally harder. But it was a machine, it would find a way. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be there.
His original plan was shot to hell when another one of the enemy ships came into his view, filling half of the window. Despite their appearance, those wrecks were quite agile. Carthus turned the ship ninety degrees to the right and fired the forward thrusters for a few seconds, reversing around the mobile junkyard that cut them off, but that landed the Monroe just a few hundred meters from where they begun. Carthus tried a different direction, but a similar scenario played out. Perhaps crippling one of the ships would create a window large enough to slip through.
“So what’s the plan Captain? Can’t jump away and they aren’t too excited about us leaving this box of theirs either. I don’t think they’ll let us bounce around like this for much longer, sooner or later they’ll clip our wings and we’ll be at their mercy or stuck drifting away into space.”
A warning light on his console flared up, alerting him about an anomaly with the jump drive. But before he could see what exactly was wrong, it became apparent by itself as the Monroe shuddered slightly before being violently jerked aside as it was pulled out of FTL. Having neglected the seatbelts, Carthus was thrown out of his seat like a rag doll. It took him a few seconds to pick himself up. Cursing the dull pain in his forehead, he ignored the threat being broadcast and strapped himself in, going over the ship’s basic systems. No damage. Not yet, anyway. He took a moment to look at some of the ships he assumed were the attackers. An assortment of junk with engines strapped to it. The ship shook again as a round hit them. Engines and guns, apparently. His fingers ran across the controls as the Captain entered.
“It’s Carthus with a ‘u’, sir.” he whispered under his breath at the mispronunciation of his name as he fired the dorsal, port-aft and starboard-bow RCS thrusters, sending the Monroe downwards relative to its position in a left spin. ”Just like a fighter, except bigger. Keep moving, don’t move in straight lines for more than a few seconds, the enemy that kills you is the enemy you cannot see.” Those were the basics, hammered into his memory by 55 years of active service. One of the ships was listing, its weapons firing at nothing. That would be the easiest to get past. Maybe if that ship got between the Monroe and the rest of the fleet, they’d stop firing to avoid further damage to one of their own. ”Worth a try.” he decided, arresting the spin and burning toward the vessel.
As the Monroe made its way toward its intended destination, Carthus kept making small, random changes in heading and attitude to throw off the enemy gunners and make it harder for their targeting software to compensate. This would also make any attempts of a boarding action harder, though far from impossible. On the downside, it also made the AI’s job of firing back equally harder. But it was a machine, it would find a way. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be there.
His original plan was shot to hell when another one of the enemy ships came into his view, filling half of the window. Despite their appearance, those wrecks were quite agile. Carthus turned the ship ninety degrees to the right and fired the forward thrusters for a few seconds, reversing around the mobile junkyard that cut them off, but that landed the Monroe just a few hundred meters from where they begun. Carthus tried a different direction, but a similar scenario played out. Perhaps crippling one of the ships would create a window large enough to slip through.
“So what’s the plan Captain? Can’t jump away and they aren’t too excited about us leaving this box of theirs either. I don’t think they’ll let us bounce around like this for much longer, sooner or later they’ll clip our wings and we’ll be at their mercy or stuck drifting away into space.”
Still here.
“Time’s almost up! Move back to the ship as planned.” she called out to her colleagues and the marines still holding the line. Half of the officers turned around and rushed to the Scythian, forming a line inside. Once they were ready, the other half still holding the line outside, though with great difficulty, started retreating, still facing the crowd, taking long steps backwards all the way to the second line of officers, pushing people away whenever they tried to rush past. As they did, Miranda sent a short update to the director. “Falling back to the ship. Here’s hoping this plan works as intended.” To her relief, she could see riot teams assembling on the other side of the crowd. Now it was up to them to deal with this problem.
The cargo door closed with a hollow thud, sealing away the crowd’s shouting outside. That sudden silence was music to her ears. Miranda took a few seconds to enjoy the relative peace of the moment and started walking around her men, noting any injuries and counting who and how many were present. While she was doing so, she was also looking for someone who looked like they were in charge of the mess that was the cargo bay. When all nine officers were accounted for, she tried to contact the Director again. “Director, this is Nero. We’re all aboard.” she said with relief clearly evident in her voice, “Can you tell me what’s it like outside, if you have the time? And what was that about Dr. Lascelles and the AI?”
@Catharyn
The cargo door closed with a hollow thud, sealing away the crowd’s shouting outside. That sudden silence was music to her ears. Miranda took a few seconds to enjoy the relative peace of the moment and started walking around her men, noting any injuries and counting who and how many were present. While she was doing so, she was also looking for someone who looked like they were in charge of the mess that was the cargo bay. When all nine officers were accounted for, she tried to contact the Director again. “Director, this is Nero. We’re all aboard.” she said with relief clearly evident in her voice, “Can you tell me what’s it like outside, if you have the time? And what was that about Dr. Lascelles and the AI?”
@Catharyn
Carthus is also intended as new blood to the team.
I'm always here.
I assumed everyone was waiting for either something to happen with the ship or the arrival of whatever woke up at the science outpost. That, or everyone left, which fortunately is not the case.
So, anyone still alive here?
“The head boffin and the AI are ‘gone’? What is that supposed to mean?” she wondered and rushed to help the other officers and marines hold back the mob. Was there another attack somewhere else? Was there an accident at the dig site or wherever she was? And what could have happened to an AI? Did someone sabotage the security system, causing damage to it in the process, be it intentional or not? Or did he mean that he just didn’t know where they were at the time? If so, were they simply out of touch, or did something happen to them? Given what happened at the Scythian less than ten minutes ago, she could have been targeted by a terrorist group, if there was one and this wasn’t just a one-off thing. But what common, albeit disgruntled refugee would take up a rifle and attack the military? And where did he get the rifle in the first place? The Doctor could have been killed or captured. But for what reason? Perhaps whoever did it thought the scientists were getting priority treatment over the refugees and got angry? That could be, but what about the AI? Miranda was reluctant to ask the director, it looked like he didn’t have a lot of time and she didn’t want to waste it.
Her train of thoughts was interrupted when a hand, grasping an aluminium tube, emerged from the crowd and hit her in the side. “Let us in!”, a voice she assumed belonged to the hand yelled. Although the blow was directed at one of the rigid parts of the suit, it was still painful. Miranda turned her head to see how far away from the ship she stood and if the loading party and crew were inside. “Hurry!” she barked over her shoulder and turned back to the mob, trying to hold the line and talk some sense into the closest people. She opened the line with the director again.
“Well, if it helps, we are holding the line-” another blow, this time a fist to her stomach. “Arg, you little arsebastard. We are holding the line and it looks like most of the people we want on the Scythian are already inside. Once that’s done, we’ll...” she paused and spoke more quietly. No need to inform the horde of their desperate tactics. “We’ll fall back to the ship. BEWARE, the Scythian is going to take off in about five minutes, I don’t know what’s their reason for it but it might calm the crowd. That, or it will get them royally pissed off.”
Now came the tough decision. She and the security forces were responsible for these people. Should they retreat onto the ship, or stay on the ground. It would certainly help the retreat, but what would be the consequences? She didn’t think the likelihood of them making it out in one piece was high. They’d likely be trampled or beaten. She couldn’t ask this of her officers, and staying behind alone would be suicide. She already dodged execution once. Enough times for one life. She leaned closer to the person to her right so they could hear her more clearly. “Once everyone is inside, we make a break for the loading ramp, then we hold our ground. Or ship, in this case. Send it to the next guy over.” She then turned around and repeated the same thing to the person on her left.
Her train of thoughts was interrupted when a hand, grasping an aluminium tube, emerged from the crowd and hit her in the side. “Let us in!”, a voice she assumed belonged to the hand yelled. Although the blow was directed at one of the rigid parts of the suit, it was still painful. Miranda turned her head to see how far away from the ship she stood and if the loading party and crew were inside. “Hurry!” she barked over her shoulder and turned back to the mob, trying to hold the line and talk some sense into the closest people. She opened the line with the director again.
“Well, if it helps, we are holding the line-” another blow, this time a fist to her stomach. “Arg, you little arsebastard. We are holding the line and it looks like most of the people we want on the Scythian are already inside. Once that’s done, we’ll...” she paused and spoke more quietly. No need to inform the horde of their desperate tactics. “We’ll fall back to the ship. BEWARE, the Scythian is going to take off in about five minutes, I don’t know what’s their reason for it but it might calm the crowd. That, or it will get them royally pissed off.”
Now came the tough decision. She and the security forces were responsible for these people. Should they retreat onto the ship, or stay on the ground. It would certainly help the retreat, but what would be the consequences? She didn’t think the likelihood of them making it out in one piece was high. They’d likely be trampled or beaten. She couldn’t ask this of her officers, and staying behind alone would be suicide. She already dodged execution once. Enough times for one life. She leaned closer to the person to her right so they could hear her more clearly. “Once everyone is inside, we make a break for the loading ramp, then we hold our ground. Or ship, in this case. Send it to the next guy over.” She then turned around and repeated the same thing to the person on her left.
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