StarDestroyer.Net BBS

I swallowed the last of a lukewarm toaster strudel with a shot of brandy.

I slipped towards my ratty queen-sized bed with a sigh. Jesus, it was late. How long had I been out? It was nearly morning. Fuck, I’d have to call in sick tomorrow. Too much booze and semi-hot sluts make Cain a dull boy.

I ran my hand through my disheveled hair. The Department would have to deal with their crisis without me.

Suddenly, I heard a beeping. It was my pager. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck, who would be calling? Only one guy. I looked into my pager. “CODE BURGUNDY- REPORT TO OFFICE IMMEDIATELY”. I have to read that again. But it was there. A Code Burgundy.

“Oh, shit, not now.”

My drunken haze forgotten, I grabbed my sunglasses from my chest of drawers and swung on my mark 4 multi-task clothing- a trenchcoat. I grabbed my holster and clipped it on, sliding my plasma pistol into the leather grip- that would be 500 shots of whoop-ass on whatever tried to touch me today.

I clipped on my personal shield generator- a belt for the entire world to see, and finally grabbed the broach.

I began, “Teleport to Location Alpha 1.”

As my world became green, I suddenly remembered my favourite fedora. I grabbed it just as the world swam into an ethereal abyss.

***

I re-appeared at the command centre. “Boss, ya got anything for drunkenness? I’m shitfaced and I can’t handle any case without a little bit o’ motor control.”

“Check the med-centre.”

I stumbled over to the med-centre, where a robot looking like Artoo-Detoo from Star Wars- or was it Star Trek? Oh, who gives a shit- gave me something that looked- and tasted- like Buckley’s cough syrup. I began to doubt how extensive our budget actually was.

Jesus, it sucks knowing that you put your ass on the line saving people every day and they never know it. Knowing stuff you shouldn’t. But hey, even I have a sense of humanity- odd, considering I’m not really human anymore- so I guess I should get some satisfaction knowing I’m saving the Earth. But I don’t. After all the wars I’ve been in, maybe it’s just cynicism. But this job really does suck, knowing you can never tell anyone about what you do- I’m not even allowed to get married.

But hey, that’s why I get paid the big bucks.

Second part forthcoming!

So his name is Cain? *hrmmms* He's funny! nice bit.

Lindar wrote:So his name is Cain? *hrmmms* He's funny! nice bit.

It'll get longer, as you learn more about Cain and his cynicism.

Interesting. Let's see more.

“So what do we have, chief?” I asked as I walked out of the infirmary, my drunken shamble replaced by a brisk trot as the meds set in.

I went to my seat at the command table. Jerry and the commander were there- where was Dave? And Qu?

“Some Zeel students crashed their boat into Afghanistan during a survey of plant samples for a project.”

Zeels. Every month, practically, a Zeel will crash while doing some study or another.

“Shit, do they allow everyone to drive?”

“The equivalent of 8 years old.” Piped in Jerry- what a nerd.

“It was rhetorical. Shut up.”

“A-hem,” said the commander- pompous ass. “Some terrorists commandeered their ship and captured 8 Zeel larvae, we think. The Ansible was broken on the crash, and we think the captors took out the laser transmission unit after they found the ship. They’re hiding in the mountains.”

“Jesus, why don’t we use this information to capture Osama?”

“Because you touch yourself at night.” I knew the answer, but of course Jerry had to be a prick about it.

“Okay, so I assume I have to go in, rescue those dumbfucks, kill the terrorists and save the day like a good little patriot?”

“Yes.”

I rapped my hand on the plasteel table. A flatscreen computer and a touch-screen interface appeared- I must have hit the activation button.

A 3-D hologram of the ship- a Zeel science pod- and the layout of the mountains appeared above the table. The chief began rambling on about my insertion, protocol, what to expect- I could bring all this up on my HUD later.

“Uh, stop a second. Where’re the others?”

“What, Cain?”

“You know, Dave. Qu.”

“Need-to-know basis, Cain. We’ve been telling you since day one.”

Fucking need-to-know basis. Dave’s the only guy I could have a good time with on this team. And Qu- well, not exactly a guy, but a nice being at least.

“Will my basic equipment be enough?”

“Take your personal cloaking pack, at least. Otherwise, take what you want. Try testing out the new subjective gravity boots.”

Suppressing a snicker, I rose from the table.

“Then I’m off to the armoury.”

I grabbed my key-card from my wallet and swiped it along the door as I stood for a genetic scan. After a moment, the doors opened unto my candy store.

Anti-Proton rifles, rail-pistols, heavy pulse-guns, support lasers, mag-grenades- and that was in room 1. All stacked up on the walls, computers rattling off their capabilities.

I grabbed the twins- a pair of disruptor pistols I take for every mission. I decided to try the new art-grav footwear.

It was time to rock and roll.

Cain, Cain bond

Sorry, thats just the feelin I get from the armoury snippet.

But this is great *wants more*

I swung on my cloak, grabbed a few miscellaneous gadgets, and left the armoury. I headed through the sterile gray corridors lit by humming fluorescent lights towards section 29- the Teleporter room.

I assumed I’d be teleported to one of our orbital satellites and then brought down in an insertion pod- only way to bust into a mountain reliably.

As I walked, I checked my objectives- Find the Pod, kill the terrorists, save Zeel if possible, and prevent technology from entering Human hands.

I briefly looked at the great portraits done of operatives like me from the past 500 years. Was it just me, or were they choosing famous people this last century for work more than any other? Jimmy Hoffa, Elvis- but then again, both of them dedicated most missions towards diplomacy, where they already had skills.

Then again, there were operatives who went freak-out after seeing some of the Lovecraftian shit we do- Terrence Ambly- better known as Spring-heeled jack, for one.

I finally reached the grimy teleportation room. Jack was waiting for me.

“You’ll be teleported to Station K-7, then dropped straight into the mountain. Pray to Jesus, Abraham and Buddha that the eggheads got their maths right, or else you’ll suffocate in a couple hours.”

“Heheh.” I grinned feebly. Those pods always made me claustrophobic.

My world faded, then I was on K-7.

“We’ll be achieving direct orbit over your insertion point in 3 hours, 26 minutes, plus change, sir.” Said their teleportation chief.

“What do I do for now?”

“We put a TV and some DVDs in our new brand of pods. You can either jack off to porn or watch some TV if that doesn’t interest you.”

I grinned. “You get cable or satellite up here?”

“Very funny, ass. WE have over 900 channels, at least 100 are in English.”

Our banter complete, I made my way to one of the egg-shaped pods. About 4 or 5meters high- much less cramped than the old ones. It looked like it had leather seating and a mini-bar. Cool!

I watched some Firefly re-runs for a while, until the door began to close and the beeping began. Time for work.

I strapped myself in, and closed my eyes. I had a gravol and got ready for the pain.

Shit, I hated this part.