Cath

It was matter for general remark.

Woop woop, hello! Welcome to the Guild. Hope you enjoy your stay, i'm here if you need anything.

The Skytower Rebellion

Silver Carrot said
Remember that Taleste's on the 39th floor too :p

There's no way we're forgetting that

The Skytower Rebellion

If not a collaborative piece, then just work together to achieve something.

The Skytower Rebellion

Great posts you guys! It's no problem Siphy, just ratchets up the tension! I've posted back. This puts you two (Siphy and Sparx) into the drivers seat. You both know that there's going to be parkour, gunfire and explosions involved. Jack is going to try and get down to the 39th floor ASAP, so i want you to be creative with this. I will run with whatever you put down, within the realms of logic. A little bit of godmode in unavoidable but you know the kind i mean. I can't wait.

You two could do well to collaborate via PM to decide what happens next? Just a thought.

The Skytower Rebellion

Several things happened in the instant following Jack exiting his hovercar, the first of them being that all six of the gun ship’s armaments fired into the courtyard simultaneously. Jack knew that Liberator Mark Twelves could fire twenty thousand rounds a minute; he also knew that the firing of weapons onboard was handled by the often trigger happy munitions officer aboard it, not a Mind. For this Jack was thankful because a Mind would have undoubtedly zeroed in on him with lethal accuracy and he would be dead in seconds. The second thing that happened probably didn’t happen for everyone because Jack initialized a very expensive temporary nervous system implant embedded at the back of his neck; dramatically increasing cognitive ability and adrenaline production for a short time. It knocked him out like working seventy two hours on the treadmill afterwards but it was required here.

Immediately things changed, Jack’s field of vision narrowed and became more defined. Time slowed down till it seemed like everyone was moving at less than half the normal speed and Jack got a burst of energy which carried him across the threshold of normal endurance and instilled a dose of animal urgency which started paying off straight away. Jack set off at a slow-motion sprint, knees up high and chin lowered. He perceived a horrifying music coming from behind him, but realized it was the pounding drums of six active auto-cannons. The Liberator series was out of date and the ship’s weapons obviously hadn’t been tuned in a while because the spread was all wrong. Bullet tracers rocketed past their intended target at horrendous angles, biting into locals to the left, right and front of him as he powered through. People seemed to dance on the spot, ripped to bloody shreds. He noticed people who had found cover with their mouths forming complete ‘O’ shapes as they screamed to one another. A dismembered arm flew into Jack’s field of vision, he swatted it away from him.

Locals were still firing back, one such specimen stood boldly in the middle of Jack’s route; firing at the invaders with a rusty bangstick. Seeing the well dressed criminal storming right at him, he turned the archaic shotgun on him. Jack hit the deck with a cat’s agility as the burst of buckshot steamed above his head. Rolling acutely along the floor like a ball, Jack uncurled in front of the man; using all his momentum he smashed his shoulder into the man’s chest, wrestling the weapon away from him with one hand as the local fell. Deftly pumping another shell into the chamber, Jack held it at arm’s length and destroyed the woman who ran at him with knife raised over her head. He dropped the shotgun on her corpse. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack’s brain informed him of the heavily armed BESC personnel that were rappelling from a gantry just to the left. Adjusting his course, Jack turned on one foot at a right angle to them, heading for a tiny stairwell near a cluster of market stalls.

It was here that his supercharged mind comprehended the diabolic nature of the situation. Hundreds of the locals were still firing rabidly at the gunship and at BESC in general, the ground was strewn with dead. Little girls were dragging their mutilated fathers back behind cover, trying to patch them up before taking them to safety. A cluster of Tindrel were arming a pan-pipe like weapon which spurted blobs of energy. A lone Scyvi was tending to seriously wounded, its ceremonial garb covered in blood.Their expressions dragged out at half speed. A BESC team emerged from the stairwell, Jack pivoted again, zigzagging hastily to avoid the storm of energy that came hunting for him from their weapons. A hallway, much closer, revealed itself. A quick look behind confirmed a duo of lithe BESC enforcers were now in hot pursuit; Jack made like the Geococcyx that had become his family’s crest and accelerated rapidly into the ill-lit corridor.

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Posted! I've PMed you with my thoughts on how we could proceed Skull

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“You know, i remember when i first met the captain of the Combat Wombat.”Cesar gravelled, adjusting the course a fraction. “Of course, it wasn’t called that back then. Back then it was the Hebride or something, to match the sister ship.” He swung an arm around, motioning to the Hercules in general. Cesar had decided on a whim that he didn’t want to go back below deck to command the ship, so had brought the bridge up to the topside. He and his technicians held a variety of holo-pads which projected a mass of dark blue interface into the morning air. Using their whole bodies, they could control the ship up there just as well as down below.

The vast desert before them was growing choppier. Huge sand dunes towered in front and to either side. They passed the carcass of a similar size Sand ship which might have long ago had useful parts, but it had been picked clean. The sand had been churned up all around it, showing telltale signs of Sand skimmer skirmishers. Pieces of metal embedded in the sand alongside charred bodies. Cesar manipulated the ship with a sensitivity which rivalled the greatest lovers, weaving it towards the blinking red light which indicated the distressed sister ship.

“I was introduced to her at a bar in Edessa - she was a good drinker! - i remember her saying she wanted to buy the ship from our then contractor, make it her own you know? She was a woman with vision.” He laughed like an old steam engine, puffing out the consonants with unnecessary power. “We bought our ships at around the same time. I remember proposing our own prospecting company, but she didn’t want to. Said she worked better alone and that was it. She left.” Cesar’s face was grave and motionless. “Three klicks and counting.” the ensign said, breaking the silence before it could solidify. Huxley, who was eating porridge out of an aluminium canteen cup in a deckchair behind him, stood up before the Captain could turn around. “I’ll get the crew ready.” He rattled down the stairs, eyes half-blinded in the semi-dark. A tannoy announcement preceded him. “All crew, to battle stations. We are now on amber alert; possible combat situation. All security are to tool up and head to your assigned sector.” “You heard the man, let’s go go go!” Huxley called, clapping his hands together as people appeared out of a few cabins.

He made his way to the Heracles’ main armory and found his security team were already there, hefting guns and melee weapons from the racks with practiced ease and strapping body armour to their tattooed, scarred bodies. They were tough, many had already bled while protecting the ship and its crew. In actuality, Huxley was the only permanent soldier aboard, the rest having been recruited from a private security agency. They were free to go at anytime but loyalty was sewn into the fibre of their being - and the pay was good. Huxley made a bee-line for his number two, Thatcher. A huge Dutchman with a dirty blond ponytail and beard, his seven foot tall presence dominated the armory. He often boasted over a few pints in the mess that he could trace his ancestry back to the First fleet that colonized Outremer.

“Thatcher! We gotta move.” Huxley shouted over the metallic din; he maneouvered past his men till he was at the man mountain’s side. “What’s the situation?” Thatcher asked, the scar on the side of his head wiggled when he talked. “Don’t know yet, the Combat Wombat has sent out a distress signal. I need you up top and everyone else is on battle stations.” Thatcher nodded, attaching his huge warhammer to the mag-holster on his back. Huxley turned so he was facing his team. Most were fully tooled up and waited expectantly for his orders. “Get to your stations and await instructions, make sure you are signed in to the ship’s battle net so we can talk. You know the drill, get moving!” Huxley called, before motioning that his lieutenant follow him. He waited patiently for everyone to file out of the armory before grabbing an assault rifle from the racks and leaving the way he came.

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Aw thank you :) I know right! I love Cesar :(
Wow, another great post; very interesting. That wasn't my original plan but I have a feeling we can make something work. I'll get started right away

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Your character is accepted Skull. I look forward to seeing her in action!

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(Continued from the OP)

The blast doors reopened as Cesar and Huxley approached. The bridge was contained right at the very heart of the ship, and had reinforced walls and doors so that boarders or other Sand ships couldn’t destroy it easily. It was also situated at a crossroads, with a corridor straight ahead and one to either side. At the end of the long hall dead ahead were a set of stairs made from the same metal decking as the floor. Shafts of bright sunlight illuminated them from above, they lead up onto the top deck. “Megara tells me you haven’t been sleeping well.” Cesar boomed as they began walking toward it. Most of the doors they passed were closed and some had not been used for years. “Yeah well, she’s right.” Huxley yawned. “Wanna tell me about it cousin?” Huxley had often wondered why and indeed where Cesar had acquired an accent so distinctive. It was all rolled Rs and quick, harsh sounds. He had toyed with the possibility that Cesar just put on the accent to seem more travelled. When quizzed about it he would always throw up some unreliable nonsense about ‘staying a spell on Earth’.

They clanked up the steps to the ship's top deck and for a moment Huxley couldn’t see anything at all for the blinding sunlight. The gunmetal grey top deck was originally flat but had been repaired so many times it had the appearance of a patchwork quilt, with bumpy sections threatening to trip anyone moving in a hurry. Self-cooled cargo crates overflowing from the hold were scattered about and geriatric auto-turrets patrolled the gunwale on powered rails and swivelling axes. For now they were the only people up top. The coils of old rope and unwashed blue deckchairs that the crew used to relax in were empty; the only other signs of life were the circling ragwitch birds that followed every Sandship around. They flew high in the sky, cawing loudly and diving down to show off their red plumage as they snapped up smaller mammals or insects.

Huxley and Cesar walked to the gunwale and leaned over, drinking in the claustrophobic morning air. Big white letters stencilled onto the side of the Sandship showed its name: Heracles. Sloping armour contrasted with jutting buttresses that held auxiliary jet propellers. The ship’s hull pinched into a snout at the bow to give more protection. Looking down at the sand, Huxley knew the Heracles powerful hovercraft propellers kept it suspended a meter in the air on a cushion of compacted air. Tiny shrubs clung desperately to rocks which big lizards bathed on. Competing with the sound of engines and ragwitch cawing was the incessant rustling of millions of crickets. Billions of creatures called the desert home, but most of them were just too difficult to see. The desert stretched out for miles all around, towering dunes obscured clear view and seemed to shift like a giant towel in the wringer; the sun reflecting off the sands and the pockmarks on the Heracles’ hull made Huxley look away.

“I’m dying, cousin.” Cesar said, dusting flecks of sand from his shirt and beard. Huxley looked round. “It was analysed last night, my heart implant is rejecting.” Huxley gulped back any words, looking down at his bare feet. Brown and calloused. Finally he asked “How long?” “Between one and three months. Less if i don’t take it easy.” Huxley looked at Cesar. The tall and indomitable man he had been introduced to last year had definitely diminished. His broad shoulders were sinewy and slouched, his barrel chest had become paunchy and unhealthy. He had greying hair now and his eyes had lost the twinkle they once had. The rugged privateering adventurer had given way to wizened old man. “Can’t we fix it?” Huxley asked, following Cesar as he moved to a pair of deckchairs and sat heavily down.

“Not now, not after leaving this cut-price pacemaker in there all this time.” The Captain boomed with a grin, patting his chest. “How has it taken this long to show up?” Huxley asked, a tinge of red coming to his face. “Who knows cousin, but that is not what i wanted to talk to you about. I know you’ve only been aboard for a year and the crew don’t respect you yet, but i want you to succeed me as Captain of this ship.”Cesar said, taking a pair of dark sunglasses out of a shirt pocket and popping them on. Huxley wished he had some sunglasses. “Now, i know what you’re thinking: Cesar, how will i make the crew like and respect me enough to vote me in as Captain. Well i’ve been thinking and the answer seems clear.” Cesar waited for Huxley to ask, but it didn’t come; the young man was deep in thought. “We’ll embark on the biggest quest of our fair vessels lifetime!” Cesar finished, beaming at the brilliant idea. This woke Huxley from his stupor. “What did you have in mind?” “I don’t know quite yet, but something will come. I can feel it.”

Minutes past in silence, Huxley was seconds from making to go and grab breakfast when Cesar’s holopad chirruped noisily. Pinching the screen, it flew into the air and solidified into an array of information and pictures. “It’s a distress signal, from our friends on the Wombat.” Cesar said, standing up suddenly to take a better look at it. Huxley stood too. A red ping on a 3D map of the nearby desert, showed the location. The Wombat was technically the Heracles’ sister ship, being built to exactly the same specifications, in the same batch and by the same corporation. Huxley remembered heading over there for a party in his first week when both ships were docked at the same town. The crew had been kind and shared wine with them all night. Cesar was looking at him. “We are low on ammunition and medical supplies, and we don’t have any idea what is causing them distress.” After a moment Huxley realized the Captain was asking him. “I say we go in and scout the situation. They need our help and it isn’t too far off our original course.” He said, gesturing to the map which had developed contours and suggested routes. Cesar broke into a wide grin full of tombstone teeth. “Now you’re starting to think like a Captain!”