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Admiral Breetai
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Post by Admiral Breetai » Tue Jul 09, 2013 8:15 pm

I have a mental image of Angel eyes from the good the bad and the ugly shooting at Sylph while some poor POW's play in the background

god..damn that was awesome!

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Post by Praeothmin » Wed Jul 10, 2013 1:40 am

Breetai, that was an awesome description, I now have a clear image of the Man in Black... :)

Admiral Breetai
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Post by Admiral Breetai » Wed Jul 10, 2013 2:30 am

Praeothmin wrote:Breetai, that was an awesome description, I now have a clear image of the Man in Black... :)
Lee Van Cleef killer of cosmic horrors

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Post by sonofccn » Wed Jul 10, 2013 4:51 pm

“…have to conclude with previous evaluations, to wit: outwardly subject projects the expected mannerisms of a charming, intelligent if somewhat emotionally reserved woman in her early to mid twenties, albeit one which remembers vividly the Coolidge Administration. Beneath this exterior façade however lingers classic anxiety and resentment over her “condition” and the , however partial, resulting alienation from humanity. A state she openly admits to combating by religiously struggling to stay “modern” and “connected” to the world at large as well as by increasingly investing in her bonds and attachments with her remaining family and acquaintances, both platonic and romantic, in order to stay “grounded”.” Excerpt of Sylph’s 1963 psychological analysis report.

Talon-II, Hanger-

I. angel of darkness {odd song but I thought it fit the Man in Black}

“A gentleman would allow me to shoot first.” Sylph toyingly berated The Man in Black, both face each other weapons angled to the deck plate between.

“I am many things Ma’am but not a gentleman.” Parvis answered, generously pleased he kept any trace of the burning pain in his chest out of his voice.” I’m afraid I’m an insolent cur all the way through.”

She laughed at that, face breaking out into a radiant smile, a swift but sweet melody which clung all too briefly in the sterile air before replaced by the more malodorous din of War. The shrill scream of ionizing atmosphere as she hefted the carbine up, the patter of footfalls on the durasteel deck as both of them catapulted into motion, the whine of his own pulse weapon as it lanced away seeking her tender tissue. The raw mess of the left side of his face tingling as the evaded bolt sallied past him, its twin mate eclipsing over his bowing head as he tumbled to the hard, metal ground in a roll. Squeezing off shot after shot with his own hand gun at the weaving, flicker of a specter. Not with hopes of hitting his foe, who likewise showered his gliding form with scintillating globes of heated plasma, who moved with the sleek, predatory mannerisms of a Nexu she-devil but to create a cordon down a side of the hanger. A wall which swept inward towards Sylph, forcing her to a place and at a time of his choosing.

A golden sliver of a moment, tantalizingly glittering to snatch for one of sufficiently iron nerves and coiled sinew, which he hurled himself spinning from the deck for. The entire universe swirling indistinctly about him as his shadow-saber swung forth into the ordained intersection of soft, delicate skin and the merciless edge of his techno-blade…

One which he never felt connect, no resistance as the ebony sword carved through bone and gristle, no sharp pop of burning fluids or the stinking smell of searing meat. Nothing but empty ether he cursedly realized, thumbing up the power setting to his pulse pistol as he spun it and his face out past where his sword has passed emptily through, in time before he caught a glancing strike from the scalding edge of a well used blaster across his brow. Unlike the flat of the heel which he caught squarely to his chest, the former merely sending aching furrows cracklingly through his skull while the latter drove a red hot spike through a lung. Choking his breath as he fell back through a swimming world, his weapons and hat flying from him, at least until he splayed out against the deck platting and the jarring awoke to new heights the ministrations of the burning spike. Propelling him when his every aching molecule screamed for rest to slough off up the floor and spin around as a trio of blaster bolts scorched his previous resting place.

Crouching then, a hand pressed against the floor and the other gingerly against his side, gagging on something wet and warm clotting up in his throat as he glared menacingly up at the towering vista of Sylph. Looking pleased with herself as she adjusted her aim from the previous fusillade, twisting her other arm to show where the sleeve dangled off of it neatly severed with a singed line from the rest of her coat.

“Close…a hair faster and I’d be the one on the ground.” She reflected lowering her arm.”And I’m willing to leave it at that, if only out of professional etiquette. Yield?”

“Amiable, but misguided my dear.” Parvis spat, snatching his hat up once more, as the thermal pulse gun, thrown at Sylph’s feet, fatally whined from its building overload.”You either win or die.”

Coiling away from the impending blast he felt the slight grimace of a smile warp his clenched, blood dribbled jaws at a particularly unlady like curse before the weapon consumed itself in a seething ball of plasma. The Man in Black feeling the heat of its birth roll over him in lapping, stinging waves, the shrill tickling of rushing air as it was pushed over him, and the pelting of loosened deck plating biting at him through the cushion of his great coat. The fervent pangs of a tiny star thunderously flaring to life and perishing in fragments of a breath, one which would regrettably light up on the subsection’s interior sensors even if they’d somehow managed to ignore the previous discharges. Suddenly anxious technicians, fearing a Rebel sabotage or worse, would scream for answers from the Stormtroopers who would converge upon the hanger like womp rats after carrion. Tens of dozens of mentally reconditioned, chem-jacked, grunts ruining his clandestine capture and perhaps the myriad webs and tapestries of misdirection he’d weaved to cloak the whole enterprise in subterfuge.

An acceptable loss, to him if not the one he called master, to evading a vastly more important issue. Losing.

The very word frequently implying death and for lesser stakes still chaffed, a vestige lingering from the brash but naïve man Jack Parvis had been all those years ago. One whose possibility he’d invariably been subjected to time and time again as plans failed, allies betrayed him and situations flowed and altered like rivers. Some he salvaged, wrestled from ignorable ashes, others he couldn’t but always it stung just as sharp and he felt the equally pointed cut of exhilaration as he rallied against it. However dampened it was this time by throbbing of his skull or the jagged spurs gnawing at his chest, his limbs feeling plodding as he spurred them into action. Feeling like the consistency of molded clay while weighing as if the gravity had been grossly too high.

“Too long.” He grimaced, hacking on the wet slithering in his throat, shifting his himself onto bent knee and raised foot.” Too slow old man, move it!”

Slipping his fingers inside the polished leather of his boot to extract the blaster sheathed there, habitually checking its power level was in the green in the same motion, he indeed forced himself to move. The Man in Black, ignoring the feeble aches that plagued Parvis’s body, pushing himself into flurried motion not only to his feet but to lunge where he’d thrown his shadow-saber. Activating its once more, its stygian blade shimmering forth in front of him, he advanced past the blast site, a millimeters deep bowl shaped crater filled with molten residue and surrounded by a scorched ring, snapping off a head bursting shot at Sylph’s body sprawled unceremoniously on the floor from the blast’s effect.

The round missing wildly of course, the venerable woman seemingly awakening to action in the fraction of a moment of the shot’s passage, as did the one which followed as he tracked her running form. The Man in Black planting two more into the hanger ceiling as she took flight, spun once in the air and landed, cat like, crouched on the shuttle’s loading ramp. Her voluptuous body writhing beneath the tattered folds of her borrowed long coat, repairing burn marks and lacerations as efficiently, if not as fast, as before, but also reshaping itself. Her body lengthening itself, growing more athletic if still well proportioned, as her ebony curls blossomed into a dying sun’s red and descended in tresses down the small of her back.

“ I hope you enjoyed yourself because the fun’s over grandpa.” She venomously purred stretching into an upright stance.” And forget the deal I offered, we’re going to finish this.”

“You’ll have me brook no argument on that score.” The Man in Black stalled, trying to judge the angles he needed to fire when she came jumping towards him.” Through I appear to be the one holding the weapons.”

“Weapons?” Sylph mockingly repeated, taking in his shallowness of breath, the treble in his voice and the shaking of his stance.” I don’t need one. So, your move Gramps.“

II. Bad Reputation-Black hearts

Perhaps judging her own means of attack, wary of further tricks or simply hoping he’d try and make a bolt for it. Whatever her whims it was a gift he didn’t squander, the words barely out from her mouth then he’d sent a luminous packet of broiling plasma sailing back. Its failure he didn’t even follow, its purpose served. Instead, immediately after, he began to pour fire above him at the flicker of passing shadow. A glimmer of motion captured by his retinas and which would be painfully unspooled and fed to his stubbornly slow brain.

Later, far later, he’d be able to appreciate the writhing contortions and bending which saw her sail unmarred through the barrage. The lithe swiftness she corrected from this and every action to position herself in free fall to land on her feet, the flowing and natural manner she went from it to the attack. He could even bask and revel in the untempered fury of the assault, the purity of its unstructured and adaptational essence.

For the poignant moment however it was all a murky, half glimpsed blur which, by more instinct than realization, he evaded by cocking his head to the side at the last moment. Hearing the sharp whistle of the mailed fist sailing past his right ear as well as Sylph’s muffled grunt of surprise as the Man in Black cracked the hilt of his shadow-saber against where he hoped her head was. Simultaneously kicking into her midsection to shove himself backwards as he leveled the blaster and fired.

Catching another fragmentary and compressed image of Sylph wheeling to the side to avoid the hot, miniature sun, then continuing around to snatch his gun arm. A grip like a Wookiees splintering it and sending rivulets of pain shooting up through it even before she twisted and half sheared the limb from its socket forcing the handgun to fall from his limp fingers into her waiting palm.

Which, sweeping his feet out from beneath him with a swipe from one of hers, she happily would have used to shoot him flat on his back had it not been for his occidental and paralleling bid to take her head with his sword. A failing venture, despite all his effort for speed, through less so than most. Caught off guard the changeling threw her own arm up to block it rather than escape clean. The stygian edge, which had carved through chitin armor strong enough to repulse blaster fire, parting through the all too human flesh and blood like it was air through the milliseconds purchased by the act saw her pull the rest of her body away.

Again the most unlady like words spilled from her lips as she jerked back drawing a gushing stub to her endowed chest, the wound already stemming and beginning to heal as she venomously glared and aimed at the prostrate and defenseless Parvis. Only to scowl and raise her head towards the hanger entrance and the cavalcade of Stormtroopers which poured through it.

“Your move now.“ The Man in Black, smiling a blood stained smile, laughed as Sylph turned and retreated towards the shuttle. Weaving between the sudden outpouring of blaster bolts as she ascended the ramp and vanished beneath the sinking of the hull’s outer door.

The ship coming to life a few moments later, clearly having studied the access schematics and manuals with thorough eye, and with its silver tongue receding lifted off the ground. She lacked the authorization code for the hanger door of course, and in any event would have been in lockdown, through the issue proved transitory as Sylph proved equally well read on the craft’s laser cannons. Explosively gouging a shuttle sized hole through in a flurry of shots she barreled through it and the raising atmospheric shields and vanished from sight.

Which in many ways, the Man in Black figured, was better than having her taken into the Talon’s custody. His mind already ablaze at the harrowing tale he was weaving concerning Rebel sabotage and theft. A depressingly all too common occurrence, one which the crew would accept easily and with little hardship. Perhaps even finding some comfort with such familiar foes in this new, strange galaxy.

Better they don’t realize the truth Parvis thought as he put away his energy sword and, before the Stormtroopers swarmed over him demanding answers, pocketing the wet, severed hand Sylph had lost. A grisly trophy he was sure would be of interest to his master as well as the Judgment’s cloning facilities.

The trick, after all, to not losing was knowing how to choose your victories. And what was a single skirmish to a War?


And Breetia while I didn't have Angel Eyes in mind when I created the Man in Black, he's kinda my, extremely warped, expy of James Reynold if you'll believe it, your idea is just too freaking awesome not to use. So I'm stealing it. So this is what Jack Parvis looks like. Just you know, with blasters.

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Post by sonofccn » Tue Jul 30, 2013 6:49 pm

Major thanks to 2046's Volumetrics page which I liberally consulted. Oh yeah and I'm still updating through its just a Talkie.

“When we first got wind we’d thought it’d be a rehash of the affair back in the {18)80’s, merely a wider spread of contagion. General sickness and, merciful, delirium followed by disintegration into a fine, gray powder. But the people, if you can still call them people, didn’t so much die this time just…change. The people, the animals, even the plants and trees became cancerous, bloated…vicious. And God help me I think they were still all too aware of it.” Excerpt of Agent John’s debriefing on the “blasted hearth” contagion.

“…had our first encounter just outside the town’s outskirts, an overturned milk truck. One of the Changed crouching on its side holding aloft the driver, neck slashed open, lapping at the blood. Entity was roughly bipedal in a gross human guise but engorged, flabby. Its parched skin brittle and peeling off of its frame, its muscles and skeleton almost rotted. Its swollen mass offered no resistance to my 45. Peacemaker.” Excerpt of Agent Smith’s report on same incident.


Extractum Gladius, bridge-

The Universe, Jor’ock reasoned, was not an all together friendly place. Not only were the Cytherian Ascendancy and the Consortium both diverting increasing resources to help obliterate the Vraen from the face of it but even beneath these colossal war fleets there existed the ravenous threat of the Satyr, the enigmatic Yuggothi, the indomitable Iron-Golems and the fetid horror which was the Brood-Wyrms. The latter having more than once lured an unsuspecting Vraen raider in with a false distress beacon, one of the thousands of permutable demises the Galaxy seemed intent on inflicting upon Jor’ock’s kind.

Knowing all this, all the grisly fates which breathlessly waited to inflict themselves upon the Vraen who ventured into the depths, it stuck in his caw as the most hideously asinine to actually court and facilitate there happening. Almost as strongly as speaking out against it would have been, where his most fortunate fate would be merely be death and his worst to be thrown to the Pit…

Instead, nursing a Cytherian brew, he maintained what he desperately hoped was a respectful distance from an iron-gray behemoth they’d nearly transitioned on top of. For its part, other than intensifying the shield arc facing the Extractum Gladius, the triangular ship hadn’t appeared to notice the near collision. Perhaps indifferent or perhaps coldly calculating the new arrival’s potential threats and weakness, studying them like microbes in drops of water.

Not that the feeling wasn’t mutual, other than the captain the bridge a bustle of activity as drones compiled the unending reams of sensor telemetry and fed it the appropriate stations for review. One of the renovations courtesy of the First-Consul being the integration of a Military-Spec grade scanners into Jor’ock’s beat up freighter.

“Will you look at the power curve of the emanations? Back tracking and running rough assumptions on their energy dissipation efficiency I’d doubt if even a dozen heavy cruisers could match its output.” Tresh, all but inseparable from the bridge such the transition, noted with glee as he scribbled fanatically mathematical formulas with pen and pad.

“Perhaps, but by volumetrics the vessel has over sixty-nine million cubic meters of internal volume. If they could dedicate merely one percent of that to power generation, coolant, distribution, fuel reserves ect it would still be nearly four times the total volume of one of our heavy cruisers.” Slyth more pessimistically cut in.” Not that on an absolute sense it is not an impressive endeavor, the macro construction hurdles alone would prove enlightening, but we need not be carried away either.”

The chief engineer at his own terminal, and had been since before their transition in preparation for their preplanned and immediately needless sweep of the solar system, combing through every facet and minutia of the unknown ship as if to pry its secrets by sheer determination.

“Its power is already known, which is why the First-Consul shall have it.” Thundered the current grim faced and iron shod warrior with the frustration borne of inaction.” What we desire is not these trivialities but troop concentration and densities, command distribution and internal layouts. Things you have steadfastly failed to provide.”

“Their shielding is disrupting, scattering, our sensory beams. Coupled with their thicken hull has made internal probing…problematic.” Tresh justified, no doubt bit of his professional pride at the stake.

“An issue which should have been corrected for, by the Pit!” The armored bully taunted.

His host personality almost certainly culled from a Cytherian, and lacking Slyth’s reptilian grace and wit, the bombastic warrior had been chosen for his martial prowess rather than technical skills or interests. The front and back of his armor bore muted craters and jagged fissure scars from enemy fire while the glyph heavy heralds over his motorized shoulders proclaimed dozens of important victories or battles he’d participated in. Of which, if successful, this one would be the greatest addition yet. If any of them lived, of course.

“Any increase in our signal strength, either by concentrating further our sensory beams or by decreasing the intervening distance would destroy any credibility we have that we’re casually curious.” Jor’ock answered, pausing to knock back a mouthful for courage, the soldier.” As it is if an unknown ship was leering at mine like this I’d have transitioned by now.”

“And it is your responsibility to assure them otherwise Merchant Captain, why we are here in your scrape of a tug instead of a squadron of the First-Consul’s finest.” The warrior spat with obvious disdain, even more than he’d shared for the engineers, turning his ire upon the captain.” And yet you the great trader haven’t been able to open up the barest dialogue. Leaving us at the mercy of their whims.”

The Extractum Gladius having begun cycling transmissions frequencies, interspersed with basic light signals, since they’d transitioned and Jor’ock realized they weren’t going to be immediately vaporized.

“Through no fault of my own I assure you. I’ve tried seven major Trader languages and subset dialects, the Consortium common tongue, old style Cytherian and even the smattering of Satyr I’ve managed to pick up.” The captain quickly protested.” Short of surgically installing Yuggothian scent glands I’m not sure what more I can try. I don’t think they’re from around here.”

“It’s possible there isn’t anyone there to respond.” Slyth raised quizzically.” I’ve just finished my preliminary on their hull composition. Among other novelties the base components Atomic base signature doesn’t match the Galactic standard.”

“Is it possible I am being too subtle, Engineer?” The armored soldier growled in disapproval, servos whining as he turned his bulk to face him.” My only concern for the hull is if a fission charge will cut through if needed. Everything else is of secondary importance.”

“With all due respect, sir, it’s you who don’t understand. Everything, everything formed from this Galaxy’s nucleonic core, has a base radiogenic imprint or mark.” Slyth’s younger assistant called out, defending his master, even as he giddily confirmed the latter’s findings.” If they don’t match they are by definition extra-Galactic. So either they have a stardrive thousands if not millions of times faster than anything we can imagine or they have been traveling for a very long time.”

Which only made the knot in Jor’ock’s stomach grow tighter, the captain draining his mug at the thought, and regret ever harder the chain of events which had lead him to this moment. Only the detachment of marines, and thought of that which lurked inside the Pit, keeping him from flipping them around and transitioning to the safety of dead-space.

“You think it might be an automated ship?” He asked after a beat, pouring more his foaming beverage into his drinking stine, finding his voice.” A ghost ship more or less?”

“There is precedent. Iron-Golem ships operate and self-propagate despite their builders being dead millennia ago. “ Slyth offered.”If the ship was intended as a deep space exploratory unit, an organic crew could have been seen as a liability.”

“A phantom ship? Rubbish and wild speculation.” The warrior bristled a little too forcefully.

One of the glyphs on his left shoulder herald indicating he’d taken part in the defense of Aegl, an industrial factory moon-world which had owed tithe to the First-Consul. Originally a Consortium colony it had possessed design process, schematics and techniques not widely available elsewhere in the Vraen fiefdoms. Allowing the First-Consul to maintain and expand the naval squadrons from which his power descended, so he’d dispatched considerable assets in its defense when an Iron-Golem Core-ship and fleet had descended upon it. Legend spoke of more than half of the First-Consul’s great Starfleet participating at one time or another across the Aegl system and tens of thousands of marines hunkered with scores of more warrior-drones yet could not the moon-world’s fate be changed.

Legions vaster still of solemn, silver-gray behemoths, utterly without feeling or remorse, had descended scouring all from their path. Each one of which a brute able to absorb all but the most hellish of fire in return smash aside the stoutest marine as if he was a mere drone. Yet the besieged had rallied, uniting behind a lowly but ambitious Fourth-Consul of Aegl who orchestrated the last hope of victory. First by strengthen the battle lines, summary execution in the most gruesome way for any who retreated, then by deliberately weakening and allowing to be overrun select segments. Goading, over a period of months, the Iron-Golems towards Aegl’s industrial heartland, bait they couldn’t resist.

Surging towards it like a starving man after a sliver of bread their uncountable masses had engulfed the vast complexes, beginning the arduous task of stripping the machines down and repurposing them into low grade replicas of the Assemblers aboard the Core-ship. And as they did, as the last futile holdouts perished in last stands, the first of the Fourth-Consul’s asteroids, propelled from the systems belt by modified cruisers, plunged from the heavens incinerating everything for tens of square miles. Another inflicted itself upon the Core-ship which, wounded and suddenly beset by multiple heavy cruisers and gunboats, has chosen flight while a third avenging rock made planet fall deep within the Golem controlled territory of the world itself annihilating still further of their numbers.

For it, for salvaging perhaps a useable third of proud Aegl, the Fourth-Consul was awarded status and title on Aviarion itself as overseer of the coveted Skaros holdings and its markets. A position he immediately flocked to, leaving his battered armies to the strenuous months it took to fully cleanse the last Golem from the moon-world. The marines who left there victorious at the campaign’s conclusion being a mere shadow of their former strength.

“ They must be a crew of flesh and blood, surely. It only stands to reason.” The warrior continued, furthering his emphatic objection.” What being would be content to explore vicariously? Through the eyes of a machine?”

“For a civilization which has advanced far enough into a technological event horizon the distinction may be trivially irreverent.” Slyth, voicing one of his pet theories, chose to add doing nothing for the soldier’s temperament.

“Which assumes said civilization wasn’t torn asunder by the resulting societal shearing.” Tresh dubiously scolded, this hardly their first discussion since the voyage begun.” I for one wouldn’t willingly have my brain sliced out and wet-linked to a central depository.”

“And I would love to listen both of yours finer points and refutations however we have a giant, unresponsive starship sitting across from us and I only have enough hard liquor to deal with one.” Jor’ock announced cutting into the building triad.” I suggest we focus our priorities on the saucer-killing death ship. Good? Alright maybe we’re overlooking something, lets start at the front. What has it done since we’ve arrived?”

“Intensified shield power preceded by a general up tick in general power emissions.” Tresh counted off with a check of a taloned finger.” Then there was the auxiliary crafts we detected.”

“Potential auxiliary crafts.” Slyth corrected, enlivening the spirit and moral of the bridge as only he could.” Neither of which appeared to be unduly interested in us, nor could our sensors accurate penetrate their shielding. They might have been probes or even message buoys dispatched for some higher intelligence.”

Which was all they needed, the iron-gray slag out there telling all about them to its friends. Retrieval or detailed study had been strictly impossible, one had departed through the portal network in the asteroid thicket and the other had simply…winked out of existence according to Slyth for parts unknown.

“Fables and phantom ships, is this a ship of neophytes?” Cursed the soldier angrily interrupting the discussion yet again as he pointed a silver gauntlet at the hanging ship outside.” By the Pit that ship has a crew who will bleed just as you or me will, blood which we will shed in tribute and honor of the First-Consul. All that we require of all of you is for that opening, that chance.”

Which would have held more gravitas and decorum hadn’t the bridge consoles began to squawk overriding him with its bleating klaxon. At their posts the drones chirped anxiously to themselves as they worked fervently to redirect and focus the ship’s arrays, feeding the telemetry to Slyth and his assistant whom hungrily poured over the findings. Jor’ock, meanwhile, helped himself to another mug full he felt the jarring tremble of the suited warrior walk up behind him, the finer motors in his suit whining as he leaned over him and placed one metallic hand over his shoulder.

“This will be the last I speak of it, by the Pit what has transpired here?” He demanded.

“ Simple, automatic alarm.” The captain answered with a shudder as his drink tore at his gullet.” Long range scanners detected what it thought was a tiny star being born, which would have been bad if it was true. Seeing as I generally try to stay a few tens of million of kilometers away from them”

“I tire of riddles, speak plainly wretch or I’ll remove your head.” His military companion gently pressured.

“It was a faulty reading, unless they have a tendency to spring up in the orbit of planetary bodies now.” Jor’ock said slowly, ignoring the growing pain in his shoulder, as he began to pour another round.” And give back an obscenely high metallic-ferrous reading.”

“How massive?” The soldier croaked, voice all but a whisper now.

“Impossible for exact figures at this range, but fifteen or sixteen times the current ship’s dimensions.” Slyth clarified with nonchalance of evaluating a burnt circuit.” I should be able to rectify the parameters in good time as the vessel is accelerating rapidly on an intercept vector.”

“You wanted a response, by the Pit that’s a response.” Jor’ock couldn’t help ribbing as he overfilled his tankard.” On the plus side, with any luck by the time it gets here I’ll be plastered enough to agree with whatever addled scheme you have soldier. So cheers!”

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Post by Praeothmin » Tue Jul 30, 2013 11:10 pm

Nice long talkie...

Did an SSD just arrive?

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Post by sonofccn » Wed Jul 31, 2013 2:36 am

Praeothmin wrote:Did an SSD just arrive?
The Judgment yeah, Krevin is tired of playing around. And I hope I captured just how big and myserious Star Destroyers would be to the "local boys".

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Post by Praeothmin » Wed Jul 31, 2013 9:44 pm

You did, I really liked how you described the ship from their point of view...
The only thing "amiss" was how barely impressed they were with its size...
Still a very good talkie...

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Post by sonofccn » Sat Aug 31, 2013 4:21 am

Well if I still have any readers I hope this little tidbit, a talkie, goes some way in making up for my long absence, and maybe helping to end the slump which seems to have fallen over everyone. As for me its the same old story, being lazy and constantly being sidetracked to start a bunch of addled writing projects. Finishing them on the other hand...Anyway here's my update with a special thanks to Robert E Howard and his work.

“Enough? I could lay claim to a thousand-thousand fatted freighters, a Midas fortune in each, and it would not quench my desire a whit. Could I stack the world’s opals, sapphires and emeralds into the tallest mountain I still yet would not hesitate a heartbeat for the cheapest glass bauble. No, to raise the black flag and lead pillagers ashore, to bend men to my sword and hear the lamentations of their women…that is what my blood burns for.” Pirate Queen Belit’s response to the NRC’s {National Republic of China} “modest proposal” that she accept pardon and retire to enjoy her plundered wealth.

Judgment, Bridge-

I. Before the Dawn-evanescence

She moaned. A low, pleading groan from deep within her depths Judgment voiced her displeasure. And Commodore Krevin, knotted jaw, could only listen and nervously fondle the railing circling the crew pit. Trying to reassure her that this latest sacrifice was needed of her.

Below, hunched over a station, listening to half a dozen voices piped from equally diversified locations the gargoyle like Zarkon grimaced up from his flickering readouts and distending graphs. His tortured, desecrated face slick with a sheen of sweat and mottle of shade, eyes alight with the ire and contempt he’d already loudly voiced at Krevin’s order.

“The blasted reactor is encroaching eight percent, you best accept that because I shant be pushing her harder. The Force knows what is keeping her together now.” He reported, the words leaving a clear distaste in his mouth.

His work crews, all of them and any else they could draft, having wrung more than a day’s effort into one compact hour, the engineer’s mangled body still aching from the arduous toll he’d undertaken. Despite which the reactor was done up more convoluted than a Neimoidian contract. Entire sections of regulations circumvented, systems juri-rigged up like some smuggler’s garbage scow, if not perversely violated. What remained worked, in a fashion, but even so Zarkon had demanded, and received, an evacuation for the space surrounding the reactor bulb. Only droids remained, monitoring the straining generator with dispassionate muteness, in case their insulating shielding prove a hair more shoddy than they’d assumed.

“Don’t worry, the Judgment will hold. The girl is a tough, old Saarlac.” Tyler, not without his own pessimistic doubts, spoke up.

“Few ships have been tested.” Krevin agreed brightening slightly.” I bet even the Executor hasn’t been through as many scrapes.”

“All victorious.” He added for the benefit of the more slender form standing between himself and the SubCommander.

Bauer, formerly of the Talon-II, leaned against the ship’s railing as well chewing playfully at her lower lip as she surveyed the surrounding scene, more than a little taken back by it all and yet clearly enticed by it. Maybe even more than she was by the Commodore whom she’d exited the shuttle alongside, a well stuffed duffel bag slung over his shoulder and an arm slung over her, with the confidence of a princess and the cagey bearing worthy of a drill instructor. Her only explanation a flimsy so freshly printed it still reeked which blandly cited a “personnel transfer”.

“ Exciting isn’t it? New alien races, perhaps hostile and wholly mysterious, a daring race into the unknown, all of life and death in the balance. Perhaps this is how Anakin felt as he embarked upon thousand mooned Iego?” The awed woman wondered.

“Or Admiral Yularen as he broke through the interdiction fleet around Umbara?” Krevin, genuinely surprised and interested, offered in counterpoint.

“A possibly pivotal moment in the Clone Wars. If the Confederacy had kept the Shadow World and its advanced technology…”Bauer mused toyingly.”One of many exploits he’d tipped in the balance of the Old Republic/New Empire.”

“Yularen was a loyal servant to the Empire, his death was a loss.” Tyler, far less inclined towards decades old battles, allowed.

Down in the pit through he challenged Zarkon on the delay of engaging hyperdrive, the ornery engineer giving back a fair blistering few persons would have dared. Even fewer would survive the experience. But then, if the slightest thing went astray, the hypermatter generator would turn them all and the entire ship into a broiling nebula of dispersed gases. And likely fething incinerate everyone on the slowly receding planet’s surface facing the departing Star Destroyer. Such was its power.

Such was needed to catapult the billion tons of Judgment to supraluminal speeds, without which even at a full burn it would take greater voyage of a month for the Super Star Destroyer to limp across the intervening tens of billions of kilometers.

“ The needed capacity’s nearly reached you ice blooded bugger.” Zarkon called up, no doubt enjoying himself, as he began winding the reactor down.” The secondaries can absorb the shortfall.”

Which was a bit like saying that, your aerial –craft out of power, some wound up elastic bands would make up the difference. Hypermatter hadn’t been one of the most researched, and afterwards the most guarded, development during the Clone Wars for naught.

“ With out unduly afflicting other systems?” The SubCommander asked, eyebrow raised.” If we arrive without deflectors…”

“Blast you, here you demand the impossible then lecture me on how to do you it!” Zarkon snarled.” It’s only a measly little ship and you’ll have an entire fellow Star Destroyer to protect you if need be.”

“A little ship we can see.” Krevin corrected, his voice, unlikely previously, the full weight of the Imperial Star Fleet’s authority.” Need I remind you that the vessel encroached upon one of ours without the slightest warning? No energy discharge, no magnetic disturbance until they materialized. For all we know they could have an entire fleet out there.”

Which was why Krevin had decided he needed a billion tons of “Feth you” to properly instigate into these Xenos just who they were messing with. And if something did go amiss he wanted as much armor, shields and guns as he could manage.

“Fine, Commodore, fine. You’ll have shields on transition. Turbolasers…well it’ll be what it will be. Give’em some time and they should catch up.” Zarkon relented, returning sulkingly to his work, as the jump to lightspeed was counted down.

“This is it?” Bauer asked, looking to Krevin, as a nervous looking technician flashed thrice fingers.

“Where the fun begins.” The Commodore, raising one hand to take hers, affirmed smiling.

Outside space’s dark of night was torn by the dazzlingly dawn of hyperspace, the scintillating field enveloping the mighty warship.


@ Preao: If you have the time, and I fully understand if you don't, and stomach for another of my lurid fictions I have another one I'd like your opinion on. Its a bit of a talkie but in the vein of "pulp" stories, with mad scientists and aliens and, of course, zombies, a little over fourteen pages.

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Post by Praeothmin » Mon Sep 02, 2013 12:31 pm

Nice, short one...
sonofccn wrote:As for me its the same old story, being lazy and constantly being sidetracked to start a bunch of addled writing projects.
Yeah, same for me, I wasn't into it at all for a while, but I began writing again, so we'll see what this will bring...
@ Preao: If you have the time, and I fully understand if you don't, and stomach for another of my lurid fictions I have another one I'd like your opinion on. Its a bit of a talkie but in the vein of "pulp" stories, with mad scientists and aliens and, of course, zombies, a little over fourteen pages.
Bring it... :)
'Though I don't know when I'll be able to read it... :)

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Post by sonofccn » Tue Sep 17, 2013 8:18 pm

Another short one. Hope you enjoy.

“Its out of the question, the organisms are simply too virulent. If you dropped them over the Venusian jungles in six months to a year they’d have consumed the liberal biomass and converted it into seething warriors hell bent on stripping the flesh from our bones.” Excerpt of Dr. Neville’s report on employing the Satyr on the “Rebel Quandary”.

Extracum Gladis, Bridge-

“Impossible! I refuse to believe it!” Jor’ock gasped slamming his tankard down in front of him hard enough to add yet another crack to the consoles casing.

Standing motionless and vaguely dumbfounded the Drone clutching the wine bottle merely chirped its same clipped and stale response again. Insisting, in the meekish way of Drones, the bottle and its weak-water siblings was all that remained of the Captain’s numerous stashes and stockpiles.

“By the Pit, to be so reduced.” He grumbled snatching the bottle and hooking it underneath his beak to wrench it open.” Fine, just hurry and bring back another one. This bilge-water goes quickly.”

Acquiescing in its way the leathery, green skinned being scuttled out to fetch a second helping as the Captain liberally poured the grape colored fluid into the maw of his stein. Filling it he sat the slender, and third emptied, bottle against the flashing lights of the ship’s console and swirled his mug around taking a disapproving note on its incensed perfume before quaffing it and adding its taste to its list of offensives.

“ The Pit take the brewers of the Consortium.” He cursed, retching on a boutique that was both overpowering and yet lily-livered.” And all their blood relatives while IT’s at it.”

Lowering his chalice drained of the lifeless and thin gruel he reached for the bottle again and thought forcefully on worse vintages he’d endured. A liter of bourbon he’d aged for half an hour in the ship’s evaporator conduits and some Satyr grog he’d been forced to consume the only immediate contestants to pop into his mind. Neither particularly aided his pallet.

“I don’t believe IT takes requests.” Slyth dryly piqued from his station breaking the protected vigil he’d maintained since space had ruptured in an incandescent flurry of light and vomited the colossal bruiser of a starship into their lap.

Triggering proximity and mass detectors, the latter mistakenly believing they’d veered towards a dwarf planet, along with sheer pandemonium among the bridge crew as each and all expected to be either vaporized or splattered across the armored prow of the kilometers long warship. And it was a warship, like its smaller brother maintaining a discreet distance from it, a bristling, gothic slab of heavily rolled armored festooned and riddled with weaponry emplacements. All of which was encased within the webbings of a shield which, as Tresh breathlessly reported, a heavy cruiser could likely expend itself on without scratching.

Which was oh so comforting to know staring down the pointed tip of such a vessel.

“I know, a pity. I know souls who would be most deserving.” Jor’ock lamented holding the bottle upside down to drain the last of it into his tankard.” Your luck has been better I hope?”

It had better for all their skins the Captain added to himself, having little trust in his own abilities. The big ship, unlike its sullen partner, was clearly animate and active through no less mysterious for it. Its transmitters broadcasting across the spectrum all manner of languages, squeals, and grating trilling sounds in a definite act of communication while lights running its hull winked in and out in the predictability of code. Absolutely none of which the Captain could understand or had encountered before.

Which was to be expected, as Tresh and Slyth had independently and invariably pointed out, if both vessels originally hailed from outside the Galaxy. Jor’ock couldn’t speak on that score, only that it did little to appease the impatience of the Marine detachment onboard whom wanted nothing more than to get something soft and wet between their servo empowered gauntlets.

“I’ve had some success. Detailed dissection of long range telemetry I may have determined when exactly the aperture was generated through regrettably any detailed scans were lost by the distortion it exited from.” Slyth noted dejectedly.” The proximity of which overwhelmed everything in its backwash. What I have compiled of the distortion’s composition is…perplexing. Neither solid, gas or liquid. Electro-magnetic or Psionic. It simply “was”.”

“Any chance of…replicating it?” The Captain asked with a shudder then downed the remainder of his filled stein.

Every rational fiber of his being opposed to piloting an experimental drive, that’s was how you stumbled upon a Satyr strewn wreck or were stripped atom by atom by some long slumbering devil-god, through perhaps such a novelty might satiate the Consul. Or at least make him forget to fling them all down into the Pit.

“Unlikely, at least with our current capabilities. The ship’s power curve just before the aperture tickled well into the lower magnitude of a star.” Tresh gushed with the besotted reverence of a fane worshipper.” If it requires that to work…and even bypassing it we have no idea on how it’s applied. Let alone the concerns of navigation in such a turbulent environment.”

“An intriguing problem none the less. One I devoted not inconsiderate time to.” Slyth allowed sounding almost as eager albeit with a touch more dignity.” Exploration of this Galaxy, this Universe, could perhaps be unlocked from studying its drive system. We must petition the Consul to allow us once we’ve secured the vessel.”

“If we take it.” Jor’ock waived pessimistically clanging his mug down again and wiping his maw with a back swipe of his hand.” As it is we can’t even talk to them!”

“But we are making progress. We have established the will of dialogue, there only remains to securing the means.” The elder engineer consoled sagely.

“Like the tin soldiers are going to take that into consideration.” Jor’ock grimaced casting a furtive glance over his shoulder from where the tightly starched Vraen Marine had vanished from.

Ostensibly to confer with his brethren through the Captain suspected that the battle harden tough had merely been shaken up as everyone else when the big ship came. Save Jor’ock himself, having been well saturated with liquid courage by that point. He’d only laughed as the gigantic ship had filled the bridge window…and filled it…and filled it.

Through he was done laughing now. Death by merciless vacuum or incinerating explosion was one thing. Easily superior to what awaited his miserable self down in the Pit but being forced to endure the tedious trepidation without the numbing solace of spirits was malevolently callous.

“Elder-Sergeant Rhyas will have to. This is an opportunity, an advanced culture perhaps millennia more advanced than us. Clearly seeking out intelligent life…we’d all be fools to squander this moment.” Tresh stressed, the young man no doubt needing to be pried to be removed from his terminal and coveted secrets it might hold.

“More practically it would take months to dredge up the Consuls war fleets.” Slyth pragmatically calculated.” I dare say they likely won’t remain in this system waiting. We may never find them again after this moment.”

“Precisely my feelings on the matter.” Growled a voice vastly colder and more reptilian.

From behind them, entering the bridge, marched Rhyas, hardly a good omen at the best of times, flanked behind by a pair of his iron thugs, which wasn’t encouraging, and trailed by a knotted score of armed Drones, likely meaning the Elder-Sergeant wasn’t interested in a pleasant chat.

“Well I’m always happy to be in agreement with the military.” Jor’ock, bemusedly wondering how those clanking troopers had crept up on him, said with a, forced, gay lightness as he swiveled his chair around to face Rhyas.” Now, what in the name of the bloody Pit are we all agreeing on?”

“Why the need for decisive, immediate action less these vermin escape.” The Elder-Sergeant, his helmet unfolding open on his devilishly determined face, intoned smacking with a loud clang of contacting metal one armored fist into the other’s palm.

Both of which, the Captain couldn’t help notice, had been augmented with a recessed saw blade over one wrist and a thermal torch on the other, the trades of an assault leader. The diamond edge circular blade and the plasma’s flash arc equally adept at severing through raw flesh as they were reinforced bulkheads.

“Of course, because naturally its them who would be thinking of fleeing.” Jor’ock agreed with sarcasm lost on the three Marines.

“Have they not waited withdrawn and sheepish like milk livered mollusks before a humble tradeship?” One of the other two, his shoulder herald identified him as a Blooded-Corporal, brashly concluded.” If they had stomach for fighting they’d have done it by know. So the advantage of resolve will hang with us, along with any of their tattered skins we take.”

“Or they consider us absolutely no threat.” Slyth suggested with the crisp dryness of a desert.” Regardless how do you intend to board? Not even immolating the ship’s reactor would pierce its protective screens let alone our humble weaponry.”

“We are the blood drenched ax of the Consul! If they don’t fear us, we shall teach them.” Snarled the Corporal raising a clenched fist, servos whining loudly in protest, before catching himself and addressing the Engineer with a modicum of composer” And the means shall be equally simple and direct. By first transitioning into Deadspace before crossing the field’s perimeter.”

“Then launching a fusillade of boarding missiles, exactly how Rhyas lead us to victory over an Iron Golem Cruiser over Aegl.” The third Marine, surprisingly young sounding for the many honors and titles emblazoned on his pauldrons, excitedly added.

Likely never having ridden such a craft, to abuse the term, in battle glorious or otherwise. Such a missile a cramped tube with scarcely the room for a Marine, plus perhaps a cohort of sufficiently motivated Drones, which would be vomited from its mother ship at a startling pace without aid or comfort of inertia dampeners and would “harpoon” itself into the enemy vessel whose salvage was worth more than its destruction. A focused fission charge, recessed in the cone of the rocket, being used to cut entry through the hull as neatly as a heat-beam would. When it worked correctly, fatal misfires were such an occurrence that veterans earned the honorific Elder after only ten missions.

“We haven’t even begun to broach how their defensive screens operate. We’d have no idea how it would effect the transition.” An exasperate Tresh hurriedly pointed out.” We could easily be disintegrated.”

Jor’ock’s response, in turn, was more subdued and melancholic through no less pointed as he addressed the towering metal giant whom held his life in his hand.

“Even if we can safely transition, they’ll fire on us long before we’re solid enough to launch missiles.” The Captain explained wearily.” My ship can’t stand against that scale of devastation, we’d be destroyed instantly. Its suicide.”

“To not act is death. The only death to be feared.” Rhyas, helmet snapping shut again, thundered as the Drones fanned out and engulfed the bridge.” Not that I expect a misbegotten smuggler or two school addled scientists to understand.”

“No, no we wouldn’t would we?” Jor’ock sighed reclining in his chair.

Glancing from the Elder-Sergeant to the scattered flock of Drones skittering about the bridge, his mind roughly bracketing the distance between him and the nearest mechanically plodding about. A squat Ripper gun clutched in its leathery hands but not tight enough it couldn’t be wrenched away. Especially if its owner was distracted a moment before hand, say by a particularly heavy tankard to its skull? Then he could turn and fire it on Rhyas and…be gunned down a dozen separate ways he ruefully construed realizing he wasn’t nearly drunk enough.

“By the Pit. Too drunk to be clever, too sober to be brave.” He thought dejectedly obscuring his face with a hand.

Listening in wait at the scything of the Drones as they took up converging positions along the bridge and the scraping of metal heels as Rhyas’s lackeys moved to drag Slyth and Tresh away where they couldn’t interfere. Perhaps locking them in the slave cells or perhaps into a rocket to be used if they successfully took the alien ship.

As for himself the Captain dared not speculate. Death either at the Elder-Sergeant’s hands or by incineration was merciful compared to the anguish of the Pit and such he knew Rhyas wouldn’t allow it if he could. Beyond that he couldn’t fathom and only struggled for an adequate word from his rich lexicon to describe the sorry mess he was in. Happily appropriating the suggestion his consol, left open to the cycling of inane gibberish being broadcasted from the alien ship, before sitting up, grabbing both arms of his chair, and repeated the word over.

“ The dignity of my station prevents me from responding in kind.” Rhyas muttered in surprise at the pungent epithet.” However I think of you similarly.”

“Not you. Well you are but “they” said it first.” Jor’ock enthusiastically exclaimed swinging his chair around and opening a broadcast and spouting a long tirad of coarse, fetid words.

Most of them raunchy vulgarities, the sort you picked up at the seediest of ports and harbors, which was akin to a second tongue to any experienced Spacer. And to his surprise the previous babble of myriad and useless tongues ceased, replaced with a solitary, mechanical voice speaking stiffly the primogenitor tongue of those foul curses.

“By the Pit. They know the Hybrid’s tongue! Of all the bloody Races, they speak that.” Jor’ock gasped in amazement.” We might be able to salvage this mission after all.”

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Post by Praeothmin » Wed Sep 18, 2013 1:37 am


What's the hybrid?

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Post by sonofccn » Wed Sep 18, 2013 2:37 am

Praeothmin wrote:Nice!

What's the hybrid?
Remember H'urq the Homo Aquatis Krevin had tortured about thirteen pages ago? Yeah I know that far back but its that's prisoner's language Jor'ock recogonized and helps me get around the fact the Vraen, and most alien races, don't speak English/Basic.

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Post by Praeothmin » Thu Sep 19, 2013 8:41 pm

Much clearer... :)

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Post by sonofccn » Fri Oct 04, 2013 8:13 pm

I'm back! Another talkie I'm afraid with Krevin and Tyler discussing the sudden intrusion of Jor'ock and his ship.

“Some of you may have preconceived notions of what I expect from you, thoughts of devotion to duty or the honor of the Empire. Just words, used by fatted politicians, I’m afraid. Out here I expect you to fight and protect your Brother beside you. You do that till your last breath or I’ll kill you myself. Do I make myself clear?” Stormtrooper Sergeant “Gunny”.

Judgment, Bridge-

I.Duel of the fates

“They call that a language?” Tyler noted with disgust as the onyx painted protocol droid moistly pronounced a long string of coarse, phlegm soaked consonants broken at sporadic intervals.” Sounds like a Gamorrean clearing his throat.”

The SubCommander and Krevin standing together inside the crew pit surrounded by the busily working technicians, the backdrop the gentle hum of computer banks and the soft murmurs of human breath, collating the myriad data of the starship. Zarkon was nearby scowling, a digital read out from the now deactivated hypermatter core scrolling past his commandeered station and a head set receiving verbally an on sight inspection. The fair Bauer was still above alternating her time from leaning over the railing looking down at the bustling command center, or perhaps just at the Commodore, and at the diminutive Xeno tug out through bridge windows.

“That IS the Gamorrean language.” Krevin ribbed smiling as his second in command looked askew at him.” Not that you need a complex language to hack heads off and stuff them on pointy sticks.”

“I thought it was the belch?” Tyler whimsically pondered as the consol speakers filled with the equally wet, gurgling reply.

Listening to its verbose and gusto filled length the attending black skinned droid then shuffled around to address the two officers.

“The honorable Captain Jor’ock wishes to humbly offer greetings to your most prestigious and wondrous self Commodore.” The machine voiced with pleasant if mechanical grace.” And hopes that you can be enticed to partake in the wares of his Emporium. The finest in the Galaxy or so he assures me.”

“ I bet. Stall him with static.” Krevin ordered to the seated technician before turning to face Tyler.” So what do you think? Trap?”

“Obviously, the only question is what kind.” The SubCommander considered, rising a hand to scratch at his chin.” The read out on that ship…even without our deflectors it would be a slaughter. Could be piracy, they come onboard to trade and infect our computers with a volatile algorithm leaving us dead in space then a flotilla shows up but…the Pirate Lord would have to have some serious jorblocks to take on a taskforce of our magnitude.”

“It’s not always a matter of profits, remember when we were getting to close to the Chiss Ascendency? Hiring those fanatics, degenerate offshoots of Pius Dea believers, to trawl that hyperdrive leaking freighter at us?”

“Deluded wretches, believing we served as lackeys for the Republic, under a Xeno chancellor at that.” Tyler answered coldly, having been in charge in the thorough investigation into the fanatics’ friends and family.

Those which any trace had survived the ship’s detonation for analysis of course, the incinerating tongues of Atomic hell fire leaving little for the stony SubCommander to pour over. Had it gotten any closer to the Judgment’s opening cargo bay before an attentive technician had noticed its power build up and snagged it in a tractor beam, shoving it back and partially deflecting the explosion, he’d have had even less to work with. The over eighty Petajoules inside the cramped enclosure of a hanger would have melted it like a thermal detonator.

Leaving the Judgment ill prepared for the eighteen raiders and freebooters who’d trailed the leaking freighter’s emissions. Substandard and underpowered by the Galactic average each rogue vessel had still been heavily fanged with turbolasers, missiles and squat fighters and, smelling blood, had attacked like fethed off Roggwarts.

“It was a brilliantly conceived operation through, kept us bogged down along those Wild Space/Unknown Region planets for months trying to unravel it all.” The SubCommander continued with naked appreciation for the “craft”.” Intermediaries upon intermediaries, entire false fronts to misdirect us and everyone in the sector…it was just so artistically done.”

“As expected of such an…exacting Race.” Krevin ponderously agreed gazing out across the black matted cruiser.” On the other thought we could be looking at the sniveling equivalent of the Trade Federation.”

The spongy spined Neimoidians, before their bloated cartel was crushed beneath the weight of the fledgling Empire, acquiring a well earned reputation for their unscrupulous and duplicitous “business ethics”. Frequently offering themselves as meek, acquiescent servants to gain footholds in virgin worlds and markets, all the while positioning allies and displacing enemies. Only to, after sometimes decades of patience, tighten mercilessly the vise once the competing freelancers and independents had been subsumed and the world’s economy was intractably melded to the Federations products and services. It was then that true profit would be made either in a steady stream of credits into their coffers or, as it was more frequent, in cemented power and humble compliance from the captive world.

In the centuries of its existence countless thousands planets, both large and small, had been ensnared in this “debt-slavery” which was why it had served as a model for the various quasi-national corporations the Empire maintained over the Outer Rim and the, alien, worlds within.

“Then we definitely can’t let them on board, we can’t have the cutlery going missing now can we?” Tyler asked with a deaden tone he betrayed only at the last with one of his frigid smiles.

Through infinitely warmer than his usual fare it still soured more than one expression and made said owner lower his head to his station with untempered haste.

“The Neimoidians may have been jelly brained cowards but they had the best charts in the Galaxy.” Bauer voice range out interrupting the two’s banter as she circled around and descended into the crew pit.” And they also kept more detailed catalogue of their “clients” then even the Security Bureau could dream of. As only befits a merchant based consortium. Which certainly would be a boon for our situation if they could be persuaded to part with it.”

What trepidation she still showed for the dominating presence of the bridge subdued beneath the keen demeanor of a tracking huntress and, if Tyler was any judge, a desire of approval from the Commodore. To her credit she remained unflinching in her gait even as the SubCommander’s gaze harden in scrutiny over her and her suggestion.

“The little buggers did have their ways didn’t they?” Krevin agreed, his brow knitting slightly as he tried to lull all the angles and risks in her proposal, looking to Tyler.” I suppose, with proper precautions, we needn’t have to overly worry about the silver ware getting lost.”

“Armed guards, manacles and perhaps pain sticks?” The SubCommander suggested with a placid but strong interest.” Through we’d need their Navi-Com, or equivalent, intact. That might get a bit tricky.”

“Aye, it might Laddie. It just might.” Zarkon grumbled looking up from his post.” Com-Scan shows seventy-eight lifesigns be on that tug and I’d wager they might put up a wee fight.”

“ But the ship is close enough to let a cohort of Spacetroopers drift over, their small even a detailed sensor sweep likely would miss them until its too late, they could take up position around the bridge and cut through with thermal charges.” Bauer suggested helpfully.” Vented the ship shouldn’t present any problem.”

“Militarily adroit, but perhaps more drastic than is required.” The Commodore mulled.” This captain…this Jor’ock…wishes to bait us. For now I say we let him, for the best trap is to let the beast think it’s stalking you.”

As well Krevin’s rattled instincts wanted to know good and well what this Xenos game was, while confident they could handle it if even he had a fleet cloaked out there was no need to overtax the Judgment if could escape it.

“Open a signal to the vessel.” He ordered turning to face the dead eyes of the protocol droid.” Allow this Jor’ock to understand he speaks with Commodore Jack Krevin, lord of the Super-Destroyer Judgment and this glorious detachment of the Imperial Navy. Tell him we apologize for the delay in recalibrating our com-arrays but that we thank him for his generous and open welcome.”

“As you wish sire, it shall be done.” The machine humbled answered before reverting to the oily, black speech culled from the tortured shrieks of the wretched hybrid captured all those weeks ago aboard the Wraith.

And whom, at Krevin’s order, was being retrieved from his latest bout of shock treatment and hypno-induction to serve as a more fluent and in-depth translator. The protocol droid itself admitting that despite its best efforts its possessed only a rudimentary grasp of the bombastically vulgar and incoherent tongue, citing it seemed to follow no true rhyme or metric but rather erratically cobbled from other, older, preceding languages.

The aliens subservience, the Commodore had been assured, secured through the persuasion of the aforementioned conditioning techniques as well as a plethora of drugs to dull its malevolent rage. Preventing a repeat of the occurrence where it had nearly beheaded him in the cargo bay. Hopefully.

“Then it’s their game now.” Tyler said as the droid converted the equally hoarse reply of harsh grunts and dripping consonants into a lucid form.” Lets see how they play.”

“Aye, Laddie, but let us hope it’s a sodden game we know.” The deformed Zarkon piqued, from his expression clearly preferring to atomize the cruiser and be done with it.

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