Terrans

Paradise Lost

John

John had shut off his comm circuit three minutes post missile impact. Easier to let the sudden influx of people demanding answers decline with the decreasing power and rampaging bugs. He fumbled around his vest for a specific device and upon finding it mounted the contraption on the bottle he removed from its pouch. The zero gee ration paste dispenser hose designed for his helmet armor also did a wonderful job with alcoholic containers. Something he thanked the military industrial complex for as he took a healthy gulp. Fortified, he stowed the bottle and flipped the comm circuit back on.

A slurred “Good shot, Lockman.” would come from her comm. Another long pause “I’m gonna… go back to the ship, give me a ride?”

@Pragia12

A beacon coming to life in the HUD. Right by the entry point of the missile. John pulled up the distance and did the quick mental math; factoring the stations decaying orbit and thrust now that the power was gone.

The approach took twenty minutes to set up and John felt a slight tinge of worry as he brought the shuttle’s rear ramp forty meters from Virginia’s position.

He toggled a new channel to Virginia; keying Velia into it to.

“I’m opening the rear cargo ramp. You’re going to have to jump for it. Velia, get ready to catch her.”

A quick flip of two switches and the rear bay depressurized in a slow hiss while the ramp slowly yanked open to space.
@Pragia12@Dyelli Beybi

Empire of the Clouds

Aden

It was with little fanfare that Aden left the party. The aroma of cigars and the wafting scent of rich liquor a temptation. That and Zoe’s now freed dance card almost had the private stay.

If not for the tumult of emotions he still felt. His chest still felt tight. Emotions and thoughts he couldn’t name bouncing around his head as he walked in an effort to clear his head.

How he ended up in the cargo bay he could not say. The stacked crates of gold looking so innocuous. So benign. Not the cause of a semi-hijacked airship, an airborne firefight or the factions that seemed to be springing up onboard.

Aden took a puff of his cigar. Not one of the rich ones, one of his half squashed trench rolls, the bitter mix filling his nostrils as he shifted the lid of the top most crate back.

‘So much effort’

The private mused as he ran a hand over a bar. The heft noticeable even through the slight touch. Wealth his father had always dreamed of possessing; and now Aden stood up such wealth with no more thought to it then a crate of curiosities.

‘ Was I always like this? Or did the war just put things more in perspective.

The war. Realization dance in Aden. That when the airship landed and the gold was sorted out however it came; he would go back. Back to the meat grinder of the Communalist advance.

The swinging of the bay’s door had Aden turn instinctively. Aden reaching for his pistol on reflex even as he tried to calm the jumpy motion.

Paradise Lost

John

The instruments fed back decent stats for a hasty start up. John wasn’t too concerned; flicking a channel to the bay master while slowly dialing up the turbine to launch velocity.

“Bay 12, Shamrock 1; Standing by for scramble launch.”

She pulled the helmet on, clicking it into place, scrambling to buckle herself into a seat, "Done!" she declared a split second after she had buckled herself in, "Lets hope someone on the shuttle is sensible enough to open the docking bay doors. I've never not do a space walk to try to open it from our side," she declared, continuing to voice her fears, "Tell me if you need me to do anything."

@Dyelli Beybi

Velia’s voice came over the crew channel set to John’s left earpiece. John flicked a side display on his right; pulling up the shuttle bay’s feed. Velia had strapped in at the crew chief’s chair towards the shuttle’s front. The safest position in the shuttle outside the armored cockpit.

“You should be fine. Just don’t mess with your seat’s controls back there. It’s our engineering and comms.” Not that he didn’t trust her with the communication given her professed occupation. But rather he didn’t want her playing with unfamiliar interfaces that could strand or disable the shuttle in approximately twenty three different ways.

“Shamrock 1, Bay 12. Confirm scramble decompression in ten, nine, eight…”

Lights lit up the bay beyond his cockpit. The yellow and black striped doors illuminated in the strobing orange flashes. Soon the stars would reveal-

“Lockman, going to need a steady hand outside the station.”.

@Pragia12

John took a moment at the sudden female voice replacing the professional, steady countdown. A glance at his HUD showed the ID as “Sokolova, V”; the voice familiar but not in an instant manner. Then he remembered, the auburn haired ranger that had been part of the group. She had disappeared into entering with the combat engineer, Lopez.

He was about ask why they needed a steady hand when the bay door’s cycled and the expanse of space filled the cockpit windows. Instincts, well honed, came into effect.

Release clamps. Punch drive. Follow exit vector. A brief gut churning bit of acceleration as the force of the station and the launching shuttle conflicted for two seconds. Then, the station’s gravity fell away and the shuttle was clear.

John banked slightly to clear a spoke. Prepping a flight path back to the colony ship.

……..bottom………..station…….trained ……..comm’s location.”

Pragia12

The Ranger-engineer’s next comm was broken. Static and interference eating the transmission John’s brow furrowed as he attempted to troubleshoot his comms. Not wanting to ask Velia, for fear of the aforementioned engineering problem.

Though the beacon now popping up in his HUD, both cockpit and helmet, was clear of her intentions. At least what he thought her intentions were.

‘Is she trying to get an extraction? A space walk?’

John tuned to the crew channel.

“Velia, why is the Ranger telling me to head to the bottom of the station?”

“Seven-Four-Seven-Seven-……… for …….. shot, Only …………. call.”

Pragia12

Another broken transmission. Though John at least remembered targeting beacon numbers. Strange they were usually five digits. Hey keyed in his targeting pod, letting the last number reset at its natural zero-

“Scratch my last Velia. Why am I shooting at the station now?”

A red crosshair moved incrementally on his screen towards the station’s “bottom”. He banked slightly to the attack computer’s optimized angle as the next generation system selected the best weapon for the target. His ship wasn’t too resplendent with weapons but it was between his nose mounted anti-armor heavy plasma blaster and one of his two MPSM-28 Loggerhead anti-craft missiles. The missiles were designed for fighting off orbital cutters and defense craft. They would crack the stations-

“John, take the shot!”

Pragia12

John couldn’t say why her voice now came in loud and clear. Or how his finger instinctively jammed down the right bay launch system. The ship shuddering slightly as the weapon bay opened and kicked the Loggerhead missile into space before its engine ignited. Streaking towards the station in a blink of the eye. The explosion over the targeting beacon seeming small and anticlimactic given the distance and lack of sound in space.

He was immediately flooded with requests from eighteen local agencies on the station.

“Uhhh… Shamrock 1. CAS complete.” Because what else could he say for an instinctive, half computerized assault of a space station.

Empire of the Clouds

Aden

Zoe

"Does that hurt?" Zoe asked, lightening her grip as she studied Aden's expression, "I'll try to be gentle, but it is remarkable how well you're healed considering how recently you were hit," she assured him.

"You dance well," she commented as they moved across the floor, "This may be especially arrogant of me, but I hadn't expected you to have had much of a chance to practice this art," she gave a slight, self-deprecating smile, "Idle scions of noble houses have very little else to do, most others do not."

"But as for your prior question," she said, her expression turning back to her more usual one of slight amusement, "I'm neither trying to change your opinion nor gauge it. I have already guessed at it, and I'm usually relatively good at these things - though always excited to be wrong! I'm merely sharing my insights into the dynamics in our merry band so that you are prepared if Mitteland proves to be a crisis point."

@Dyelli Beybi

“Yes……remarkable.” Aden answered; a gaze flashing to a certain Elgan with curiosity before he remembered that his dance partner was still talking.

“Merchant family; always have to be ready to rub shoulders with your ilk.” Aden’s smile mirrored her self deprecating expression. “The better to line our pockets with frivolous purchases.”

The next steps of the dance were awkward; but they managed it. He adjusted his offhand and gave a snort as Zoe ‘revealed’ her intentions.

“Not to worry. I might not be Inburian but I’ll do my duty. At least for them.” He nodded to his arm; where his 46th Alpine patch would have hung. Though the patch was in the greatcoat which he had left in his appropriated locker.

Upon realizing the gesture was pointless without the marking; he gave a sheepish smile.

“My regiment…” He clarified. “…the 46th Alpine. Good lads. Got torn up on the border.”

Paradise Lost

John

John turned slightly, just enough to grab a fistful of Velia’s jacket and help haul her inside the shuttle. Once he saw her boots clear, his free hand slapped the control panel; the hatch securing in a rush of disturbed air and the hissing of hermetic seals.

The whine of servos from the rear of the bay showed the rear ramp mirroring the smaller hatch. Clanging shut and replacing the station lighting with the shuttle’s interior lighting. John paused to hit another button on the doors panel; engaging the combat locks. The only way the hatches and ramps would open now was either a pilot override or blowing them for an emergency exit.

“Ship’s sealed. Grab a helmet and survival rig from a locker.” John patted a pair of compact heavy duty cases bolted beside the path to the cockpit. “Just in case. I’ll get the ship spun up.”

John quickly clambered up the short ladder well and pulled himself into the pilot’s seat that sat above and behind the co-pilots station. Hand’s dancing as he brought the shuttle to life. The thrum of engines shaking the frame and John felt a slight grin dance to his face. Buoyed by the buzz he still felt and the air grip he always got when he got to fly.

Empire of the Clouds

Aden

"Why you've made quite the impressive recovery Mister Robertson," Zoe remarked as she fell back in step with Aden. She was a graceful dancer, apparently practiced at this, if little of any practical value. Not surprising for a daughter on Inburian aristocracy. She still had that slight smile on her face as if amused by her own private joke, "So," she asked, eyes sparkling as she looked up at her dance partner, "What do you suppose our gallant Captain intends to do once we get to the Mitteland? Will he honour my promises of pay for those who were reluctant to retrieve the gold, or do you think he'll keep it all for the greater good on Inbur?"

She cocked her head to one side slightly as they turned in time to the music, "What is an honourable Captain to do in times such as these - when honour pulls in different directions? And what do you imagine our Mister Carter will do?"

@Dyelli Beybi

Aden gave a snort; starting into the meandering circle of these steps. He might have forsaken his original merchant bound path for the military life. But he could still recognize politics at work.

“Tell me Miss Spyrou. Is this dance an attempt to change my opinion or to gauge it?” He made sure to keep himself eyes locked with hers; no need to give away anything by glancing around the room. Her gaze was dark and piercing and he gave a defeated sigh as he answered anyways.

“Truthfully, the promise of pay is probably too tempting. I would keep an eye on the man. Especially if he starts to get foolish notions.”

A ache ran down his spine as Zoe adjusted her grip and Aden gave a reflex hiss as it landed on the tender scar.

Paradise Lost

John

“…should be good to go now Captain.” The maintenance tech made a few notations on a pad before turning to him for his review.

“Should?” John raised an eyebrow while taking the pad. Standard servicing and maintenance items.

“Bird is new, as in no diagrams in the systems new. Had to make some assumptions.” The tech shrugged at that last part. Looking slightly abashed. “Nothing too secret in that bird right?”

“Nothing you could have broken.” John affirmed as he signed, the pad giving a positive chirp.

In that moment three things happened at once. His tacpad vibrated with a message, Velia called his name and he became aware of a brief scuffle at the hangar bay entrance.

John glanced briefly at the message on his pad before his focus turned to the security guards starting to make progress to him and Velia.

Inspiration struck him at that moment. He turned to the tech, rapidly pulling on his breather and securing the helmet.

“Just got a scramble order. Thanks for the help but I by it to go now; mind clearing the bay?” The tech gave a worried nod as he turned to carry out his part. The crew might not have been the top notch team from his squadron but they were organized enough to recognize a scramble order. Or more then likely, how to clear a bay from a rapidly launching ship.

Needles to say the bay became a flurry of scurrying techs as they dogged hatches, lugged tools and otherwise impeded the security officers.

“Velia time to go!!!” The pilot had clambered into the crew hatch down the fuselage just after of the cockpit ladder well. He hoped none of the bustling bay noticed his “co-pilot’s” lack of flight suit, flight gear and the rest of the flight assorted paraphernalia that she obviously lacked.

Empire of the Clouds

Private Aden Robertson

"Why Mister Robertson, I thought you'd never ask!" Zoe declared with a slight smirk, extending a hand politely, to allow him to lead her to the dance floor. She glanced across at Carter, then Volodar and Arkadios, giving a quick eye to what was going on in the room before giving her full attention to Aden.

She still had that slight smirk on her face, as if there were some great joke that nobody else in the room knew about..

@Dyelli Beybi

Aden could admit he had been thrown for a loop. The first reasoning was that Zoe had accepted his offer. The second was that she had been waiting for his askance.

Then he was out on the “dance floor”; fumbling into his position with distant muscle memory. Hands settling in her grip and side respectively. He felt off; the emotional torrent still bubbled under the surface, the song in the background was off-tempo for a waltz and Zoe moved easier and surer in her steps. Aden stumbling slightly as he almost stepped in her left foot.

“Sorry.” He met her gaze. Flashing a grin that was part nervous and part anticipatory. He ignored the slight ache of the stitches and moved for the next set.

He wasn’t sure when he noticed but his attention eventually found Mitunbaal’s. She was watching from the corner. Eyes locked on Aden and Zoe’s movement; but he got the impression Zoe wasn’t cause for her attention.

Aden might have said something; or perhaps returned the gaze of Zoe hadn’t returned from the latest step of the waltz and nearly off balanced him.

Empire of the Clouds

Private Aden Robertson

Aden had been against a wall; making his escape slowly from the room. A mix if anger, shame and guilt still burning in his gut when Zoe appeared as if she was made of shadows.

Or maybe the blood thundering in his ears hid her footsteps.

"So," she declared, with a slight smile forming in the corner of her mouth, "The old boy made it sound like you leaped in front of a bullet intended for the whole crew. If so..." she raised her glass, taking a genteel sip, "Though I must say, I'm distinctly impressed by the quality of the stitches. Excellent work, you're healing up nicely."

She glanced idly around the party, "Nobody is dancing, which is distinctly boring."

@Dyelli Beybi

Compliments was the last thing he expected from her; or an agreement with Carter's ambitious toast for that matter. No sarcasm or ill intent seemed to linger on her gaze or features. Honesty seemed to be her default. It was refreshing and surprisingly it took some of the sting away.

"Do you want to?" Memories of the steps accompanied the days spent learning the common dances; a necessity for an upcoming trader looking to intermingle with the upper crust. If only out of a commonality. Still for whatever reason Aden offered the appropriate arm and bowed his head in askance. "My waltz is serviceable, my lady."

Though doing so in army boots, with a pistol belt and a stitched arm wound would be a new experience for Aden. He wisely left that part out.

Paradise Lost

Velia and John

Shuttles and colony ships definitely differed in their flight systems. There was a major advantage though to the more complicated system of bigger starships; they were often so complex they were automated to a degree. So one could say; initiate some sequences then take a walk to retrieve a next generation assault shuttle stocked with provisions and military equipment.

As John was doing right now with the comm officer Velia in tow. His helmet was back in place though the faceplate was popped and his breather mask dangled from its mounts on the helmet like a wayward branch.

"So I'm guessing you're not the captain of that ship." John broke the silence as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder; back down the concourse. "Any idea on who's leading this little exodus then beyond a rule by committee?"

"The Captain never made it from the surface," Velia replied with a sideways glance at John, "Which probably makes... umm... the pilot, what was its name? Anyway, I haven't read the regulations, but I imagine they are in charge. However, having said that, I'm the girl with the plan who's been at the coal-face of the Station's evacuation plan, so I suggest we don't tell anyone that until we're in space. Then they can appoint the pilot, or vote, or draw straws or whatever, they feel like doing to decide who's going to run the show."

“Wonderful.” John glanced at his erstwhile companion and her civilian attire. “So is there a reason you decided to wear your Civs?”

Not that he cared or was complaining; but it would have been an awkward walk to the bay in total silence.

"You wear a uniform to be recognised," Velia replied, her eyes roaming the corridor as they walked. The interior of the station seemed hotter than before; clearly the station's engineers hadn't located the problem yet. It was at moments like these when dhasath started to stand out; Velia seemed blissfully unaware of the temperature. She paused as a couple of people passed them, waiting for them to be out of earshot before explaining better, "If people know I'm 'that girl from the Colony ship', they start to get agitated about being kept here. People have been demanding I take the ship out for days. I have refused since I'm not a pilot and I figured waiting and praying for one to make it from the surface for a few days was better than me rolling the die with me and hoping not to crash and kill everyone."

“Still rolling a die with me.” John said; feeling the sweat began to appear on his face; untouched by his flight gear’s life support system.

The need to put his faceplate down and embrace the cooling sensation balanced out by the drain of the flight gear outside the shuttle’s power system.

Velia’s condensation free skin, despite her jacket and jeans, plus her tanned complexion and darkened eyes and hair cast a sudden revelation.

“Dhasath?” The word wasn’t an accusation so much as a curious query.

"Don't say that!" Velia exclaimed, then laughed, "Well you have the proper pilot in Navigation so the odds are significantly better. As good as we're likely to get."

She cocked her head to one side, as if wondering where the question was going, "I am."

“Just curious whether you were that or an android who didn’t feel temperature.” John gestured at her garments then his uniform. “I’m feeling the heat even in this.”

Something nagged at the back of his mind.

“Why is this station even heating up anyways? Place can’t be that run down?”

Velia gave a small shrug, "Something is broken. Somebody hasn't fixed it."

She paused, frowned, then held a finger to her lips, stepping back to peer down a corridor they had already passed. When the conversation stopped there was the distinct sound of heavy footfall. A glimpse around the corner showed the Security chief leading a dozen or so security guards behind Divaldo, the strange little amphibian, powering himself forward with pompous purpose on his mobility scooter... followed by the weird snake with the cat.

Velia watched them pass, heading back in the direction of the ship, "Mmm... that doesn't look good."

John leaned out slightly more to watch the strange procession over Velia’s head. Consternation and confusion dancing across his features.

“Should we do something about that?” He didn’t know if she had anything hidden beneath the jacket but his single sidearm wouldn’t help if something came to blows.

Not that he wanted to when his shuttle was within reach and both he and Velia could be safe in vacuum with armor plating between them and any hostilities.

"No... let's get the shuttle and dock through the ship's hangar bay," she looked over to John to make sure he agreed, "Let's hope nobody on the ship is stupid enough to open the door."

“Yeah let’s.” He didn’t specify whether he agreed with her wishes or the need to get to the shuttle; but the pilot met her eyes and gave a nod of assent.

The pair eventually heading off towards the shuttle bay; quieter and slightly more cautious than before.