Archive for November, 2015

A Memory – Uninvited

Posted in In-char on November 21, 2015 by DosTuMai

Rage. Blood. Death.

“I am the taker of life, I have come to reclaim what is mine,” I say. Deathly calm like the eye of the storm. The roiling rage screaming to be unleashed.

A salvo of heavy missiles tears through the docking bay doors, my Gila-class Cruiser screaming in after. The ship slams in to the wall, throwing the crew forward. I care not for anything but my mission.

Vessel secured, my strike team of 12 souls streaming down the exit ramp. “I am vengeance, I am death!”

A blood-curdling scream tears from my throat as I launch myself at the nearest defender, his woeful defense battered aside by the two-handed sword in my hand, combat drones and weapons fire screaming over my head.

The blade bites deep, separating his head from his shoulders. I move on, diving forward and to my right, rolling behind a crate. Back on my feet, the silvered blade passing through a man directly ahead of me. Pull back, step left, sword swinging, severing another’s arm. Reverse, blade up in to his gut. A manic laugh bubbling, trying to escape. I choke it back, spin on my heels, another down, a meter and a half of shivering, bloodied metal erupting from the back of his neck. Momentum carrying me forward, the body dragging my aim down. But that’s fine. His astonished gasp echoing in the sudden silence. The lifeblood from his pierced heart leaking from the wound.

I pull the sword free and look around. There is no one left alive but my own people.

We move on, splitting in to three groups. I halt just before a corner, using the tip of my sword to look around. “There’s twenty or so people, a few barricades. Demos?” I glance at the hulking Brutor at the end of the line. He grunts in acknowledgement, rifling through his pack.
I swiftly move further away from the corner, eying the large charge in his hands. He hefts, then launches the device. A yell, “Bomb!” Then a loud, violent explosion tears down the hallway. With the all clear, I step around the corner, following the path laid before me.

At last, I reach where the tracker implant guides me. And stop. With a deep breath, I hit the switch, detonating the breaching charge. Adult screaming, a baby crying. The sounds assault me, angering me. I step through the doorway and point my sword at the woman cringing there, “give me my son, and I’ll go easy on you.”

Her fear as palpable as the stench of urine. The wet patch spreading beneath her. Gently, she lays the infant on the table, turns and tries to flee through the door. A short burst of automatic fire signaling her end. I pick up the child and smile, “dearest Roland. I missed you, my sweet prince.” His wailing stopping, he coos, gurgles and smiles.

My life is almost back to normal.

A Memory – backwater blues

Posted in In-char on November 7, 2015 by DosTuMai

“A long way from home we have traveled, but we’ve arrived now. We’ll be safe, and soon I’ll contact your father. Hush now, everything will be fine. You’ll see, my love.”

I smile, tuck Elizabeth in the bunk she’s been using on the long voyage and kiss her forehead. She nods, unshed tears burning in her eyes. The sight breaking my heart anew, I pull her in to a soothing embrace. Pouring all the love I have for my precious children. She falls slowly in to the land of dreams. And sweet may they be.

The aging, breaking vessel thuds to a halt, warning lights blinking as the malfunctioning equipment onboard return false readings. I kick the console. “Worthless piece of shit,” I mutter under my breath. The station controller calls over the comm line, “Yer all locked there, doll. Wanna hand with yer stuff?”

I shake my head, forgetting this is a backwater station. Nothing going for it except its proximity to Guristas space. Easy reach for finding a few old contacts. “You okay in there doll?” He asks.

I’m brought from my revery, “yes, sorry. I’m fine, just my children and no baggage.” None of the physical kind, I add silently to myself. Gently, so as not to wake him, I lift Roland, take Elizabeth’s hand, and enter the station proper.

A light is flickering in my peripheral vision. It’s annoying me. So is the obsequious fool standing there acting superior. Not knowing who he’s talking to.

I take a quick glance around, noting the exits, entrances. The filth strewn in the corner. To my left, forward of me. The cracked, charred, oxidizing chunk of metal on the desk. Tritanium alloy of some sort – obviously a piece of some ship’s hull – partially obscured by a mountainous region of paperwork. “What makes you think yer good enough to fly patrol ships in this region?” He says, the sound of dissatisfaction, boredom. Of wanting me to not be here so he can continue watching the holo reflected in the window. Video reduced to minimum, but I can still make out the buff Sebiestor men strapped to poles. The image of such abuse reminding me what’s wrong with Humanity.

With hands on hips, I look him dead in the eye. The thousand meter stare of everyone that’s ever been in life and death situations.

“If you look at my record, I am an accomplished combat pilot. I’ve flown for the Caldari Navy, privateer work. All of those references will tell you the same.” I shift slightly, the Caldari Navy pin on my lapel glinting in the muted, flickery lighting. “Why not just give me a chance?”

He grunts, hand staying below the table. Obviously clutching himself. “Yah right. ‘Kay, I’ll give yer a chance t’work yer way up. You gots a shift in 2 hours. Don’t spend too long gettin’ yerself pretty, it ain’t gun happen.”

With a smile, I nod, stand to attention and march out. It was that, or fly over the desk and sink my teeth deep in his throat.

I spent most my time getting clean clothing and a carer for the children, then with a hug and kiss, left to get acquainted with the docking bay and security. If you can call it that. A single guard, security monitors that ceased to function many years ago, quick release docking clamps. All too easy.

I make my way to the ready room after a short search and wait. The crew I am to be flying with enter late. Ambling along as if they own the place. The Captain of the ship – a tall, skeletal man – comes over, “you the new crew?” He asks, foul fetid breath surrounding me in a cloud. I nod and salute.

“Yes, you’re the Captain?” He looks me up and down, leering in the manner of filthy old men everywhere. And laughs. He turns his back and walks off, the eight other crew members following behind. I grit my teeth and follow, reminding myself this is an undercover operation to commandeer a more suitable vessel to move on with.

I follow the men to the hangar and there, the vessel we walk towards is the answer to all my prayers. All my dreams. Nothing fancy; light, fast, maneuverable, better condition than the shuttle I came in – a Condor-class Frigate. The perfect vessel to commandeer.

A smile creeps across my face, startling the handsome young man looking my way. I compose myself, and observe the Captain, lovingly caress the hull of his battered ship, then key in a pin code on the pad next to the hatch. The view – slightly obscured by the other members of the crew – imperfect for deciphering his deft hand movements. This is obviously a number that’s remained unchanged for a long time. A fact that gets filed under useful information.

The crew splits, “you, woman, go with ’em.” The Captain says, pointing to the receding backs of four men. I nod, salute. Smile. Then turn on my heel. His barely concealed shudder registering. Something to add to my increasing understanding of these backwater fools.

This time, the pad is much clearer, and I note the 9-digit number. But this isn’t the vessel I want. I want to wipe that self-satisfied, leering smirk off that bastard’s face.

The patrol was slow in the cramped, poorly fitted vessel. I had ample time to sit and lament the lack of the safe cocoon of a pod, start working on a plan. But I digress. The time came to disembark and leave the ship. And get some well-deserved rest.