Posted: 2003-06-14 02:50pm
more from HT
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Chapter 30 – Assassin
City of Eden, Roof of Tower 602
11J watched as the shattered, smoke trailing remnants of the aircar slammed down into the slightly rolling hills dotted here and there with clusters of deep blue evergreen and deciduous trees. A fountain of earth and sod was thrown up like a cresting wave, then the aircar pin wheeled back into the air in a lazy looking arc. It amazingly landed right side up, skidding along the uneven ground amidst the sound of tortured metal for another 100 feet before finally shuddering to a stop within a clump of pine tree analogs. Their desiccated needles caught softly to light, smoldering as the piping hot sections of the aircar came to rest on them. It was only thanks to his mimicking ability that he saw and heard it at all, for the ground was far, far below his vantage point. The crash site was in the lightly wooded meadowlands that wreathed Eden where the massive towers ended.
Time to make sure of things, then to escape, 11J thought. He leaned forward and dove off of the roof. Tower 602’s floors whipped past him as he fell headlong down its side. The operative could see startled people’s faces as he fell by. They had been startled when they heard and saw the explosion, and with typical predictability, many had approached their windows to rubber neck. He extended his arms, transforming them into giant leathery wings with tufts of ebon feathers along their leading edge. Once he was fully a Grenobulin Condactal, he tucked his wings back in and plummeted earthward like an arrow shaped stone.
City of Eden, Ulysses’ Aircar, that same time
Ulysses awoke to a pounding pain from the left side of his head. He faintly heard the popping and sizzling of electronics coming from what was left of his ruined ride. The air was a mixture of melted synthetics, acrid smoke and almost pungent pine. His vision was messed up, and not only because he was still woozy from the crash. All he could make out was blurred, indistinct shapes. The synthetic Imperial eyepiece that had replaced the scabberous growth of a Borg ocular implant was now transmitting snowy and only intermittently sending a signal to his brain. Its view, normally seamless when compared with his lone remaining biological eye, was now noticeably mechanical. Ulysses reached up to finger the wound. It seemed the entire mechanism was smashed, and as he probed further, he discovered why. A Frost Shadow Pine branch, as big around as his torso, had speared itself through the spider web of cracks in the aircars windscreen. A fraction of an inch to the right and it would have smashed his head flat as it took out his seat’s headrest. As it was, the harsh branches and needles had caused a plethora of small scratches and cuts to his face as they passed, adding to the blunt force trauma the main branch had caused.
Ulysses hand probed downward, meeting up with the smashed and swelling remains of his left jaw, involuntarily letting out a low groan of pain as his hands grazed the sensitive wound. He considered himself lucky though, for he couldn’t feel anything above it other than a dull ache. The synthetic eyepiece’s sensory co-processor must have been damaged, which explained both his poor vision and general lack of feeling. “Letinint Thismen.” Ulysses distorted speech echoed off of the bulkheads. Nothing answered. “LETININT THISMEN!” He half shouted, wincing as the slight movement grated his pulped jaw together. Ulysses finally heard a soft groan reply, then nothing his ears could discern. At least his pilot was still alive, as was he. His vision clearing, if still cause for slight disorientation, Ulysses began to take stock of his situation. Feet moved, as did legs. Left arm moved. Right arm… Ulysses screamed! His vision began to tunnel as unconsciousness began to beckon again. Ulysses resisted, and gradually the gray edges around his distorted sight began to retreat.
Definitely broken, he thought, his left hand gingerly probing along the top of his uniform’s arm. As carefully as he could, he reached across and pulled out the first aid kit from its storage space under his control board. Extracting the adaptive splint spray, he applied it directly onto his forearm. The nano-polymer streamed out and enveloped his arm, the nanite’s simple programming taking over and causing the foam like substance to wrap around his wounded appendage. Once the two sides had met on the other side, taking mere seconds, they began to harden until they couldn’t be moved apart from their set position by average movement. While still painful, at least he could move around now. Unhooking the harness that had likely saved his life, Ulysses rose on unsteady legs The implant camera was responding fitfully, and without the mechanism to close his eyelid, or even an eyelid left to close for that matter, Ulysses solved the problem with an old fashioned eye patch. In addition to the wound sutures and other high tech medical tools in the pouch, there was old fashioned gauze and bandages. Ulysses took the gauze and wrapped the bundle around his head, covering his damaged eye, blocking its view. Immediately, his lone good eye became much easier to use to see.
Ulysses scrambled out through the virtually nonexistent windscreen, the chill of the rapidly cooling air causing him to shiver slightly. It would be winter here in a few months, and Lilith winters were fairly intense for one used to the carefully regulated temperature of a starship. He picked his way across the tree branch and finally got his first look at young Lt. Theisman. There was a bloody gash across his forehead, just below his close cropped blond hair, and a snapped pine branch about as big around as Ulysses wrist lay in his lap. He was not conscious, and with possible neck injury Ulysses was hesitant to move him. Then he realized he had no choice. There was a steady hissing sound, and Ulysses realized what it must be. The aircar’s hydrogen cell must have ruptured, and was now leaking. There were small fires all around, sizzling and popping in the tinderbox dry needles and grasses, sending growing curls of smoke into the star flecked navy sky.
Ulysses good hand flashed out and quickly undid Gerald Theisman’s restraints. As the Lt slumped forward, the hand caught his uniform front and pulled him outward onto the nose of the aircar. Hefting him into a fireman’s carry position, Ulysses picked his way, as quickly as he could, away from the ticking time bomb that had been his transportation. His feet moved with care, yet strode as quickly as was prudent through the flickering orange flame lit twilight. He was just exiting the tree line and out into the grassy meadow region that bordered it when a large shadow fell across him and a giant kicked him in his backside and sent him cart wheeling down the shallow grade.
Lilith Orbit, Assault Shuttle Marine 238 Baker, on Customs Patrol, that same time
Chief Gunnery Sergeant Brian McKennon surveyed the Marines, all 103 of them, assembled in the back of the assault shuttle that had been tapped to provide customs inspection teams for this shift. Clad in combat power armor with full weapons loads, they were a fearsome sight, and one that caused McKennon’s heart to warm. If there were any enemies of the Empire in the system’s recent arrivals, they would get a pointed showing of just how much the Imperial Marines thought of them.
They were all currently aboard an assault shuttle, currently in transit to the next titanic merchie that had been forced to Prescott’s Star. Although there was nothing that could be done to safeguard the surrounding colonies that wouldn’t leave Prescott’s Star itself vulnerable, that very same concentration of Fleet units had made Prescott’s Star the only viable harbor in the sector for merchies who served those colonies. The ones that couldn’t cut directly for safer space, those who needed to make repairs or refuel, they inevitably wound up at Prescott’s Star. And as such, they had to be looked over lest they be harboring Galactic Unity spies or worse.
While none had yet been encountered by any of the customs patrols, that didn’t mean that they couldn’t, and with new ships arriving hourly, Prescott’s Star’s parking orbits were beginning to get a might crowded. McKennon didn’t envy STC one bit, for they must be having a hell of a time ensuring the safe separation distance between merchies and the mandatory separation between merchies and Starfleet assets.
“Attention, Attention!” the com speaker snapped with the shuttle pilot’s voice. “We have a Fallen Angel, repeat, Fallen Angel. Orders from the Forge are to render assistance, both in air support and securing the crash site and any survivors. Get ready, we’ll be over the drop site in 20 seconds.”
Fallen Angel was code phrase for an attack against a senior officer, and as far as McKennon knew there was only one of those dirtsid… Oh HELL! Many of his fellow Marines realized the same thing in almost the same instant, and an almost feral growl coursed through them, and McKennon joined them. Nearly all of Prescott’s Star’s Marines approved of Ulysses handling of things, especially how he set things straight right away. This was only understandable, given that it would be the Marines who would pay the price for any screw ups by Starfleet. They saw Ulysses Vanguard as one of their own, both for his professionalism and the respect he held for all Marines under his command. And if they got a hold of the person responsible, he was going to be sorry he was ever born.
--- --- ---
The shuttle’s aft swept airfoils gave it the appearance of a bird of prey on the hunt. The adaptive skin that made up her hull was currently in a black/gray shatter frame scheme. She had been nuzzling up to the primary docking port of a multi million ton merchie when Fallen Angel was issued. By pure chance, she was persecuting the intercept almost directly above Eden, and as such was likely to arrive on scene before even the dirtside assets. Her pilot retracted the half extended belly docking collar and went to full impulse in virtually the same motion. She ignored the squeal of protest from the merchie’s captain, shifting com channels to declare her intentions to STC. At least dirtside traffic was already fleeing from the crash site as fast as they could, it would free up airspace her use. With a quick snap turn, the distant 2/3rds blue/green/white crescent of Lilith began to grow very large, very fast, as the Imperial assault shuttle made planet fall like a bat out of hell. The assault shuttles sensors had clearly shown the destruction of her sister planet side, and as such, this one’s crew were eager for some retribution. She trailed incandescent hellfire as her conformal shields swept atmosphere aside contemptuously, bulling it out of the way as she speared near straight down through the sky.
Outskirts of Eden, that same time
Operative 11J’s ears could pick up the still faint wail of emergency response vehicles approaching his position. Not that they would catch him, all he had to do was morph into one of the local fauna and slip back into a darkened alley or underground parking garage and change back into one of his assumed identities. His keen, bird of prey eyesight picked out movement at the crash site that was by now quite close. Two individuals, one unconscious and being carried by the other, were making for the open ground to the south of the crash site. 11J extended his taloned feet, preparing to pounce on his prey with their foot long, scythe like edges. He was within mere seconds of doing so when a wall of heat and force crashed into him, sending him into a tumble up and away from his targets. A brilliant blue fireball lit the near darkness, catching the pine tree grove on fire. The leaking hydrogen bottle aboard the aircar had finally encountered the small bushfires surrounding it, and the results were to be expected. But unlike the first explosions, 11J wasn’t expecting it, and it caused him to loose sight of his target as he was thrown violently about. The sonic boom that came at near the same instant as the thunderous explosion went unnoticed.
Assault Shuttle Marine 238 Baker, that same time
The pilot station’s sensors had zoomed in on the shattered remains of Ulysses’ aircar. There were two distinct life signs, and both were strong and steady. As a MFD visual display showed, one was carrying the evidently unconscious other away from the wreck. Then another biosign, ignored at first but now becoming a concern, was falling fast and coming down virtually on top of the two survivors. Then, mere seconds before the impact, a miniature blue mushroom cloud blossomed from the aircar’s location causing the IR sensor return to flare white. The explosion swept all three biosigns away from its center, throwing The Skipper and his pilot nearly 30 feet away. Both landed near each other and lay on the ground, unmoving but with steady biosigns. The pilot lifted a hand off of her throttle to push a button on her control panel. A muted whir-thunk went through the assault shuttle, more felt through her flightseat than heard, as its drop bays opened to the chill air of Lilith.
--- --- ---
“Go! Go! Go!” Lt. Avery’s voice boomed through McKennon’s comlink. Not that the Marines needed any encouragement, the first two pairs had already walked out the now open aft end of the Assault Shuttle before he had even opened his mouth with the others following as rapidly as they could. McKennon stepped out of the perfectly good assault shuttle and into Lilith’s atmosphere with the groups CO, Lt. Avery, beside him. Seconds later, his suit twirled him so that he was feet down, then went into a wicked 8 G deceleration. His downward motion had slowed to virtually nothing when his feet finally met the ground. When the first one touched down, McKennon was already in motion. The grav gun held in one of his power armor’s mechanical hands came up across his chest where his other mechanical hand gripped its middle. He had come down very close to his destination, as had the rest of the Marines. Both his internal sensors and the coordinates being supplied by the assault shuttle told him that The Skipper and his pilot were a few hundred meters behind him. Pirouetting till he was facing the right direction, McKennon then strode forward, leaping and activating his AG harness almost as soon as he left the ground. Following his direction, the AG harness popped him up about a foot off of the ground, then held him there as he floated towards his destination. He floated for about 20 meters before he let himself fall back down and repeated the process. The light beads that marked his fellows on his HUD were similarly closing on The Skipper, those fortunate to land nearer to the mark already taking up defensive positions while groups two medics approached closer to look the pair of Imperial officers over.
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Chapter 30 – Assassin
City of Eden, Roof of Tower 602
11J watched as the shattered, smoke trailing remnants of the aircar slammed down into the slightly rolling hills dotted here and there with clusters of deep blue evergreen and deciduous trees. A fountain of earth and sod was thrown up like a cresting wave, then the aircar pin wheeled back into the air in a lazy looking arc. It amazingly landed right side up, skidding along the uneven ground amidst the sound of tortured metal for another 100 feet before finally shuddering to a stop within a clump of pine tree analogs. Their desiccated needles caught softly to light, smoldering as the piping hot sections of the aircar came to rest on them. It was only thanks to his mimicking ability that he saw and heard it at all, for the ground was far, far below his vantage point. The crash site was in the lightly wooded meadowlands that wreathed Eden where the massive towers ended.
Time to make sure of things, then to escape, 11J thought. He leaned forward and dove off of the roof. Tower 602’s floors whipped past him as he fell headlong down its side. The operative could see startled people’s faces as he fell by. They had been startled when they heard and saw the explosion, and with typical predictability, many had approached their windows to rubber neck. He extended his arms, transforming them into giant leathery wings with tufts of ebon feathers along their leading edge. Once he was fully a Grenobulin Condactal, he tucked his wings back in and plummeted earthward like an arrow shaped stone.
City of Eden, Ulysses’ Aircar, that same time
Ulysses awoke to a pounding pain from the left side of his head. He faintly heard the popping and sizzling of electronics coming from what was left of his ruined ride. The air was a mixture of melted synthetics, acrid smoke and almost pungent pine. His vision was messed up, and not only because he was still woozy from the crash. All he could make out was blurred, indistinct shapes. The synthetic Imperial eyepiece that had replaced the scabberous growth of a Borg ocular implant was now transmitting snowy and only intermittently sending a signal to his brain. Its view, normally seamless when compared with his lone remaining biological eye, was now noticeably mechanical. Ulysses reached up to finger the wound. It seemed the entire mechanism was smashed, and as he probed further, he discovered why. A Frost Shadow Pine branch, as big around as his torso, had speared itself through the spider web of cracks in the aircars windscreen. A fraction of an inch to the right and it would have smashed his head flat as it took out his seat’s headrest. As it was, the harsh branches and needles had caused a plethora of small scratches and cuts to his face as they passed, adding to the blunt force trauma the main branch had caused.
Ulysses hand probed downward, meeting up with the smashed and swelling remains of his left jaw, involuntarily letting out a low groan of pain as his hands grazed the sensitive wound. He considered himself lucky though, for he couldn’t feel anything above it other than a dull ache. The synthetic eyepiece’s sensory co-processor must have been damaged, which explained both his poor vision and general lack of feeling. “Letinint Thismen.” Ulysses distorted speech echoed off of the bulkheads. Nothing answered. “LETININT THISMEN!” He half shouted, wincing as the slight movement grated his pulped jaw together. Ulysses finally heard a soft groan reply, then nothing his ears could discern. At least his pilot was still alive, as was he. His vision clearing, if still cause for slight disorientation, Ulysses began to take stock of his situation. Feet moved, as did legs. Left arm moved. Right arm… Ulysses screamed! His vision began to tunnel as unconsciousness began to beckon again. Ulysses resisted, and gradually the gray edges around his distorted sight began to retreat.
Definitely broken, he thought, his left hand gingerly probing along the top of his uniform’s arm. As carefully as he could, he reached across and pulled out the first aid kit from its storage space under his control board. Extracting the adaptive splint spray, he applied it directly onto his forearm. The nano-polymer streamed out and enveloped his arm, the nanite’s simple programming taking over and causing the foam like substance to wrap around his wounded appendage. Once the two sides had met on the other side, taking mere seconds, they began to harden until they couldn’t be moved apart from their set position by average movement. While still painful, at least he could move around now. Unhooking the harness that had likely saved his life, Ulysses rose on unsteady legs The implant camera was responding fitfully, and without the mechanism to close his eyelid, or even an eyelid left to close for that matter, Ulysses solved the problem with an old fashioned eye patch. In addition to the wound sutures and other high tech medical tools in the pouch, there was old fashioned gauze and bandages. Ulysses took the gauze and wrapped the bundle around his head, covering his damaged eye, blocking its view. Immediately, his lone good eye became much easier to use to see.
Ulysses scrambled out through the virtually nonexistent windscreen, the chill of the rapidly cooling air causing him to shiver slightly. It would be winter here in a few months, and Lilith winters were fairly intense for one used to the carefully regulated temperature of a starship. He picked his way across the tree branch and finally got his first look at young Lt. Theisman. There was a bloody gash across his forehead, just below his close cropped blond hair, and a snapped pine branch about as big around as Ulysses wrist lay in his lap. He was not conscious, and with possible neck injury Ulysses was hesitant to move him. Then he realized he had no choice. There was a steady hissing sound, and Ulysses realized what it must be. The aircar’s hydrogen cell must have ruptured, and was now leaking. There were small fires all around, sizzling and popping in the tinderbox dry needles and grasses, sending growing curls of smoke into the star flecked navy sky.
Ulysses good hand flashed out and quickly undid Gerald Theisman’s restraints. As the Lt slumped forward, the hand caught his uniform front and pulled him outward onto the nose of the aircar. Hefting him into a fireman’s carry position, Ulysses picked his way, as quickly as he could, away from the ticking time bomb that had been his transportation. His feet moved with care, yet strode as quickly as was prudent through the flickering orange flame lit twilight. He was just exiting the tree line and out into the grassy meadow region that bordered it when a large shadow fell across him and a giant kicked him in his backside and sent him cart wheeling down the shallow grade.
Lilith Orbit, Assault Shuttle Marine 238 Baker, on Customs Patrol, that same time
Chief Gunnery Sergeant Brian McKennon surveyed the Marines, all 103 of them, assembled in the back of the assault shuttle that had been tapped to provide customs inspection teams for this shift. Clad in combat power armor with full weapons loads, they were a fearsome sight, and one that caused McKennon’s heart to warm. If there were any enemies of the Empire in the system’s recent arrivals, they would get a pointed showing of just how much the Imperial Marines thought of them.
They were all currently aboard an assault shuttle, currently in transit to the next titanic merchie that had been forced to Prescott’s Star. Although there was nothing that could be done to safeguard the surrounding colonies that wouldn’t leave Prescott’s Star itself vulnerable, that very same concentration of Fleet units had made Prescott’s Star the only viable harbor in the sector for merchies who served those colonies. The ones that couldn’t cut directly for safer space, those who needed to make repairs or refuel, they inevitably wound up at Prescott’s Star. And as such, they had to be looked over lest they be harboring Galactic Unity spies or worse.
While none had yet been encountered by any of the customs patrols, that didn’t mean that they couldn’t, and with new ships arriving hourly, Prescott’s Star’s parking orbits were beginning to get a might crowded. McKennon didn’t envy STC one bit, for they must be having a hell of a time ensuring the safe separation distance between merchies and the mandatory separation between merchies and Starfleet assets.
“Attention, Attention!” the com speaker snapped with the shuttle pilot’s voice. “We have a Fallen Angel, repeat, Fallen Angel. Orders from the Forge are to render assistance, both in air support and securing the crash site and any survivors. Get ready, we’ll be over the drop site in 20 seconds.”
Fallen Angel was code phrase for an attack against a senior officer, and as far as McKennon knew there was only one of those dirtsid… Oh HELL! Many of his fellow Marines realized the same thing in almost the same instant, and an almost feral growl coursed through them, and McKennon joined them. Nearly all of Prescott’s Star’s Marines approved of Ulysses handling of things, especially how he set things straight right away. This was only understandable, given that it would be the Marines who would pay the price for any screw ups by Starfleet. They saw Ulysses Vanguard as one of their own, both for his professionalism and the respect he held for all Marines under his command. And if they got a hold of the person responsible, he was going to be sorry he was ever born.
--- --- ---
The shuttle’s aft swept airfoils gave it the appearance of a bird of prey on the hunt. The adaptive skin that made up her hull was currently in a black/gray shatter frame scheme. She had been nuzzling up to the primary docking port of a multi million ton merchie when Fallen Angel was issued. By pure chance, she was persecuting the intercept almost directly above Eden, and as such was likely to arrive on scene before even the dirtside assets. Her pilot retracted the half extended belly docking collar and went to full impulse in virtually the same motion. She ignored the squeal of protest from the merchie’s captain, shifting com channels to declare her intentions to STC. At least dirtside traffic was already fleeing from the crash site as fast as they could, it would free up airspace her use. With a quick snap turn, the distant 2/3rds blue/green/white crescent of Lilith began to grow very large, very fast, as the Imperial assault shuttle made planet fall like a bat out of hell. The assault shuttles sensors had clearly shown the destruction of her sister planet side, and as such, this one’s crew were eager for some retribution. She trailed incandescent hellfire as her conformal shields swept atmosphere aside contemptuously, bulling it out of the way as she speared near straight down through the sky.
Outskirts of Eden, that same time
Operative 11J’s ears could pick up the still faint wail of emergency response vehicles approaching his position. Not that they would catch him, all he had to do was morph into one of the local fauna and slip back into a darkened alley or underground parking garage and change back into one of his assumed identities. His keen, bird of prey eyesight picked out movement at the crash site that was by now quite close. Two individuals, one unconscious and being carried by the other, were making for the open ground to the south of the crash site. 11J extended his taloned feet, preparing to pounce on his prey with their foot long, scythe like edges. He was within mere seconds of doing so when a wall of heat and force crashed into him, sending him into a tumble up and away from his targets. A brilliant blue fireball lit the near darkness, catching the pine tree grove on fire. The leaking hydrogen bottle aboard the aircar had finally encountered the small bushfires surrounding it, and the results were to be expected. But unlike the first explosions, 11J wasn’t expecting it, and it caused him to loose sight of his target as he was thrown violently about. The sonic boom that came at near the same instant as the thunderous explosion went unnoticed.
Assault Shuttle Marine 238 Baker, that same time
The pilot station’s sensors had zoomed in on the shattered remains of Ulysses’ aircar. There were two distinct life signs, and both were strong and steady. As a MFD visual display showed, one was carrying the evidently unconscious other away from the wreck. Then another biosign, ignored at first but now becoming a concern, was falling fast and coming down virtually on top of the two survivors. Then, mere seconds before the impact, a miniature blue mushroom cloud blossomed from the aircar’s location causing the IR sensor return to flare white. The explosion swept all three biosigns away from its center, throwing The Skipper and his pilot nearly 30 feet away. Both landed near each other and lay on the ground, unmoving but with steady biosigns. The pilot lifted a hand off of her throttle to push a button on her control panel. A muted whir-thunk went through the assault shuttle, more felt through her flightseat than heard, as its drop bays opened to the chill air of Lilith.
--- --- ---
“Go! Go! Go!” Lt. Avery’s voice boomed through McKennon’s comlink. Not that the Marines needed any encouragement, the first two pairs had already walked out the now open aft end of the Assault Shuttle before he had even opened his mouth with the others following as rapidly as they could. McKennon stepped out of the perfectly good assault shuttle and into Lilith’s atmosphere with the groups CO, Lt. Avery, beside him. Seconds later, his suit twirled him so that he was feet down, then went into a wicked 8 G deceleration. His downward motion had slowed to virtually nothing when his feet finally met the ground. When the first one touched down, McKennon was already in motion. The grav gun held in one of his power armor’s mechanical hands came up across his chest where his other mechanical hand gripped its middle. He had come down very close to his destination, as had the rest of the Marines. Both his internal sensors and the coordinates being supplied by the assault shuttle told him that The Skipper and his pilot were a few hundred meters behind him. Pirouetting till he was facing the right direction, McKennon then strode forward, leaping and activating his AG harness almost as soon as he left the ground. Following his direction, the AG harness popped him up about a foot off of the ground, then held him there as he floated towards his destination. He floated for about 20 meters before he let himself fall back down and repeated the process. The light beads that marked his fellows on his HUD were similarly closing on The Skipper, those fortunate to land nearer to the mark already taking up defensive positions while groups two medics approached closer to look the pair of Imperial officers over.
Now if you want to debate the politics/beliefs of TEverse characters, go start that in the politics subforum! 
