For one of the first times since the destruction of the Archangel Beth, people actually followed, or perhaps anticipated, Captain Blood's command. Commpad, toolkits, and anything else of potential use or value is snatched up like they were racing in a live fire drill. Then again, the quickly counting timer indicating that this really wasn't a drill.
Following the helpful map provided by the helpful thermonuclear device, Captain Blood scurries along corridors and fabricated tunnels bypassing research labs reeking of odd alien smells and harboring strange sounds, a pair of maintenance bots appear to be playing craps with a set of roughly marked human heads. The fading metallic cry of "Snake Eyes!" sends a quick shiver down everyone's spines.
After what seems like an eternity, but in reality is only about ten minutes and forty-two seconds, Blood pulls up quickly at a massive blast door that is jammed open. The sound of laser fire echoes from just beyond the big door which opens into a large underground flight hanger and cargo loading zone. A pair of dead aslani marines lie of the floor, their corpses punctured by a variety of high powered energy weapons.
From further within the hanger a shout erupts. Moments later an explosion followed by more shouts and laser fire.
Blood's handcomp indicates a supplementary access panel that might be able to link with the ship's computer is located just beyond the blast doors.
Blood slipped over to the supplementary access panel and ripped it open.
ACHOOIE
Achooie popped his head out of the blast doors breach to take a glance at the situation outside and ducked back in cover again.
Achooie pops around the corner for a peek into the central hanger. From this point he looks across the vast open area and gets his first look at the ship that has caused all of the trouble in the region. Its Imperial origins are obvious in the sleek design and massive fusion reaction thrusters located in the stern. Looking beyond the potential prize, Achooie also sees a trio of spider like security bots still engaged with a half dozen Aslani marines. The gormelite counts another eight bodies strewn about the chamber, their armored frames blackened and bettered by a variety of laser and projectile fire.
Before he pulls back from his quick gander, Achooie sees a bright shield flair around one of the bots as a pair of marines blast the defender with several rounds of plasma fire. The bot's shield holds. It scuttles around some ancient maintenance gantry and unleashes a barrage of heavy gatling beam fire. The burst catches one of the marines and perforates the aslani's armor turning the creature into swiss cheese in less than a few seconds.
While Achooie cautiously scouts the hanger, Blood dashes past the big warrior and scurries toward the access panel. Ripping it open he stares hard at the variety of wires, i/o ports, and interface connectors. Opening the panel appears to have triggered something as a small yellow light flashes.
Blood looks at the complex stuff behind the access panel for the moment, then turns to Myron and waives him over.
"Lets see here. . ."
Myron cracks his knuckles, kneels down and stares deep into the panel, knowing a nuke is ticking down a short distance away . . .
(spends a fate point)
He reaches in and hits a DIP switch. .
*click*
The flashing yellow lights turn green and Myron quickly plugs Blood's handcomp into the correct port.
Do you wish to allow... The display on the hand comp display's. Knowing the clock continues to tick, both Myron and Blood jab at the big 'Yes' box on the screen.
Are you sure you wish to allow... More desperate jabbing.
This decision cannot be reversed. Please enter your password to confirm.
Myron glares at Blood who tries to remember his password which he actually hasn't had to enter for over a massively alcohol infused year. Fortunately it does come to him on the third try thereby avoiding a system lock.
One more series of meaningless questions and the acceptance of the now long forgotten and useless Imperial legal disclaimer and liability waiver and the lights begin to flash green as SCIPPIE's stored data is rapidly transferred into the ship's main computer systems.
Several long minutes later a chime dings on the handcomp.
Transfer complete. Security check initiated....please wait.....
"Hey who's that over there?!" A voice shouts from cover closer to the ship before a laser blast from a security drone forces it to duck once again.
"I just got word from upstairs, the Major's down. We've got company." Another voice shouts from across the way. "You're authorized to fire on anything not in aslani gear."
The hum of laser rifles pierces the air as each of you look for cover.
....please wait....
Waiving at everyone to hide, Blood glanced around and his eyes fell on a cluster of construction equipment.
Running over to it, he grabbed a collapsed coil of conduit hose, stepped inside and pulled it up and over him. He then leaned against the wall to look like an HVAC conduit.
ACHOOIE
Achooie looked around, then jumped up on a wall sconce, then climbed up into the ceiling spaces to hide himself behind the lighting panels.
Quick to react to possible discovery, Blood is the first to leap for cover. From his shadow shrouded hiding spot beneath a pile of simple hose, he examines the corpses and curses. There was simply no way they could strip the sealed body armor from the dead aslani operatives and don it without being discovered. Just too much time and effort involved.
He begins to look around for another alternative when the ceiling begins to grown and grind. One of the lighting fixtures bulges oddly as the fluorescent bulbs flicker and buzz wildly. Blood's eyes go wide when a thickly furred leg busts through the thin metal of the panel. A muffled curse echoes from above as the leg quickly disappears but not before...
"Hey...what in all the Void was that. Some kind of giant rat?!" One of the soldiers hollers.
"Bright One's Balls, what are you yowling about now?" A voice of someone used to command. "We ain't here to deal with their rodent problem. Now someone take out those blasted drones."
"I'm telling ya, there's something in the ceiling."
"For the love of...then just shoot it!"
Laser rifle fire suddenly begins to burst into the various conduits and fixtures of the hanger ceiling near Blood's hiding spot and where Achooie's lower leg was last spotted. More muffled cursing erupts from the conduit as several beams of ruby red laser fire penetrate the thin paneling but for the moment manage to miss the hidden gormelite.
Meanwhile, Myron, who hunkered down near the access panel hears a quiet chime on Blood's hand comp followed by a feminine electronic voice emerging from the panel itself.
"Authorization approved. Please place your hand on the panel and look into the blinking light to complete your command authorization."
Myron looks over to see a simple hand scanner and a standard blinking green light of a electronic camera waiting to gather the required information.
Myron shrugs wondering it it wants the Skipper's hand, or any hand, and places palm on the surface, and looks into the green light with is good eye. . .
With great reluctance, Blood eased his flask into his hand, then with a flick of his wrist flung it up a corridor to crash and rattle.
Then he dropped the duct hosing and lunged out of his hiding place to slap his hand on the emergency fire suppression handle on the bulkhead.
As the ceiling nozzels blast clouds of Halon-Delta obscure the corridor, he rushed over to slap his hand on the scanner and put his eye to the camera.
Clatter and cursing continues to rumble from the innards of the ceiling where Achooie's leg was most recently spotted. While the oversized gormelite wrestles with the undersized confines of the ceiling ducts and lighting fixtures, Captain Blood makes the penultimate sacrifice and flings his flask of Bilge Swill - Gold Label further into the wide open expanse of the hanger. Shattering with a clash and stomach lurching sizzle the flask releases a potent blend of alcohol fumes vaguely familiar to the industrial solvents used to clean torpedo tubes.
Gunfire quickly engulfs the area allowing Blood to start to scramble free of his temporary hiding spot. As he does so a thin chill suddenly runs down the Captain's spine. His head spins and his entire body twitches as if the ground beneath his feet bucked like it just took a hit from a Type VII Photon Torpedo. Eyes blinking in confusion it takes a moment for Blood to see Myron's bent over gazing into the panel's camera. The slap of his fleshy palm against the scanner cracking like a Saturday Night Special in Blood's ears.
Scrambling forward, the captain unleashes the fire suppression system quickly obscuring everything in a cloud of chemical suppressant that sends everyone coughing and hacking and shivering in the suddenly chilly environment.
*Ding*
"Authorization complete. Greeting Captain." The cheerful voice of the ship's computer says over the link. "I am required to inform you that my systems have detected the presence of multiple thermonuclear warheads in the vicinity. I might suggest an immediate evacuation of the area. What are your orders."
Before Myron can reply, Blood shoves him aside causing the information on the panel to scroll wildly until is stops once Blood's hand finally crashes against the plasti-glass.
"New crew member authorized and acknowledged. Welcome aboard Sanitation Officer Blood." The computer states as shouts and more gunfire erupt from across the way.
Myron coughs and gags on the halon, "Ship! open the forward dorsal hatch, begin Engine cold-start startup sequence, boot up RCS systems, prep for liftoff! We will be aboard in a moment!"
"Aye, aye, Captain." The ships computer replies happily. "It's good to finally be getting back to work."
Moments later everyone sees a hatch open not on the ship. Lights flickering to life inside as a soft hum begins to emerge from the ships engines.
"B&&@@$@s!" A shout from one of the Aslani's. "Boss, someone's activated the SKIPPIES!"
"WHAT?!"
Silence reigns for a few moments as the remaining members of the assault team contemplate that latest bit of relevant information. This silence is quickly followed by a string of graphic but somewhat unimaginative cursing.
"That's it. Everyone fall back and get to the skiff." Growls whoever is in charge of the crew following the untimely demise of their captain. "One ship isn't going to take down the Empire and knowing the lot running things up on that station, they'll just end up flying into some asteroid or something. I ain't dying on this blasted rock. Now MOVE!"
Several blasts of gunfire erupt as the Aslani marines cover their retreat, but moments later all is silent except the distant chatter of a countdown and the growing hum of the starship's engines. That and the pounding of a thick fist upon the metal of the hanger ceiling.
A familiar, but muffled voice hollers from the general area where Achooie entered the duct work.
"Someone get me the hells outta here!" It seems the big gormelite managed to get himself pinned in an awkward position within the tight confines and is struggling to get himself free.
Looking around, Blood saw Achooie dangling from the ductwork.
"How the hell did you get tangled up like that?" Said Blood as he ran over to Achooie's position. He tried to help by yanking on a limb to get him free.
ACHOOIE
Achooie, becoming irritated, resorts to pure strength. He roars and rips at the entangling ductwork.
"Myron, a hand here?" Blood rasped out.
No one is quite sure who coined the axiom 'Never grab a Gormelite by the ankle,' but it was the intrepid xenobiologist Philmore Grits III who discovered the logic behind the proverb. In a rather unfortunate attempt to help the Princess Gruffianna adjust her boot, the good professor discovered that particular area of anatomy happens to be one of the most sensitive and erogenous areas for the furry creatures. Fortunately Professor Grits was allowed to record his discovery and heartfelt but utterly useless apology before suffering the ultimate punishment for despoiling a princess. The unlucky professor's head, having been returned to earth following the treaty of 2453, now resides in the Museum of a Thousand Planets on Terra.
Not being a student of history, alien anatomy, or ancient folksy saying, Blood grabs the closest and easiest bit of Achooie's person and gives a mighty tug to try and free his comrade from the confines of the ancient duct work. This elicits a bone chilling and earsplitting roar from the gormelite who instinctively lashes out with his non grappled foot catching Blood right in the nose. The snap of bone is audible across the hanger.
Blood's grip on Achooie's ankle flees immediately as his hands cover his bleeding and broken nose. The struggle does manage to allow the gormelite to slide free of the entangling gear but he lands hard and adds even greater injury to insult by twisting the very same ankle so defiled by his captain only moments earlier.
By the time Myron reaches the ship, he can see the staggering Blood several steps ahead of a badly limping Achooie. Although both arre currently weaving their way toward the open hatch, the comms tech can't help but wonder about the murderous look in the gormelite's eyes or the fear riding within the captain's.
Meanwhile the Aslani, race off toward their own craft somewhere outside the facility.
"I am sensing a significant buildup of energy from multiple locations." The ship's computer reports to Myron as he waits at the hatch. "I would recommend taking off within the next three point zero-six-five minutes."
Myron runs up the ramp into the cargo hold, looks left, right, and up, drops the toolkit and bag. sees the spiral staircase in the back, decides that is the best bet, and takes it up." Ship? Hi! my name is Myron! its a pleasure to be working with you" he hits to top of the stair, looks at the junction, looks left, right, and up, his guts tell him left is the best way, but then goes right, because he's come to the realization that his guts don't know s*&&! "First, do you have an informal name you prefer? I can make one up if you like? We can't very well call you ship can we? Seems a little cold, if you ask me...But..A little bit about me, hu?" Myron grunts and opens a long-sealed hatch , "I was born on Chin'Tokka, a little farming moon in the Spinward Marches. Joined the Imperial Merchant guild when I was 18-standard, had an eye replaced with a cybernetic, and a lung replaced with an O2 cell, the eye quit working years ago, and I hope to Darwin the O2 cell still does,...heh..." He runs past a T intersection, and stops, reverses, and takes it, finding himself in the ships wardroom, backs out looks left, right and up, goes left, up the ramp, "Um.. I'm a Virgo, I like Vargur beer, But don't tell anyone, Everybody loves to hate on the stuff, but I grew up with it, ya know? tastes like...home?" he opens another hatch. "Hell, I grew up with Vargurs. Chin'tokka was on the on the edge of Vargur space, see, so I ran with 'em.... oh and I tend to babble when I'm terrified... uh, I got a brother named Max. He dated this Vargur chick in High school named Gurrak Narrurrh. Till her brother beat the s!&~ out of 'im. I love the color teal, and can't stand the smell of watermelon...Any drive issues, or holes-in-the-boat I should be aware of?" He runs past a T intersection, and stops, reverses, and takes it, finding himself in the ships wardroom, backs out goes left, up the ramp, and finds...the bridge! He slips into the left hand seat, Adjusts it back a little, puts the armrests down, puts the headset on... " hey, can you reconfigure the HUD, yokes and tactile controls for Imperial Standard Trader Cockpit-7.125? He looks at the board,
praying for AGL, All-Green-Lights. "Oh, and how about a little soft, stringy ambient music in the background?" He finds and sets the inertial dampeners to AUTO, and works the yoke in, out, left and right, and selects CGFeedback to 20%. "Do you see any opening in this dome thing we are in?" he selects Subspace-Interlink-COMS-override, and hits the outside floodlights..Um can you bring up the A-GRAVS and lighten us to 1000KG, please? Myron fiddles around with and buckles the seatbelt." and please shut the forward hatch as soon as my two shipmates are aboard. seal up the boat."
"I was christened Maribell's Legacy in the year 761 T.I.E." The computer says cheerfully. "Although most captain's usually just call my Mari."
"Although my brewing systems currently lack the required ingredients, I do retain within my system database several different Vargur brewing recipes and methods. This is due to the fact that from the years 927 to 935 my weapons officer and second engineer were both Vargur and enjoyed brewing as a hobby. I am not however familiar with anyone from Clan Narrurrh. One moment..." A pause as you hear several fans whir to life and the air quickly freshens from the metallic, stale, cold of long stagnation to something a bit more pleasantly breathable.
"I find all colors fairly pleasing. Hmmm...except for puce. First Midshipman Spatz required his cabin be decorated in a puce theme. It was...not pleasing to me."
The main touch panel control system flashes several times and when it finally settles, the standard, old school trader cockpit command module is displayed.
"I am happy to report that all systems are nominal and I am in one hundred percent fully functioning order. I have contacted the regular ground control frequencies but have received no response on the status of the docking doors."
"I estimate two point four three minutes to catastrophic nuclear reaction, do you authorize me to override safety protocol 75-67145-9A paragraph 47.a to x of the Imperial Naval Code and fire upon the locked down exterior docking doors? I am required to inform you, this may result in the loss of civilian lives and damage to property which you may become liable for per section 75-67145-9A paragraphs 49.a to bbx or the Imperial Navel Code."
As the computer waits for your decision, Mari initiates the playback of a soothing string ensemble piece written by Bachbot-759 and performed by synth-orchestra of Albe-4.
Meanwhile Blood and Achooie stumble through the open hatch.
"Sanitation Officer Blood...and...companion have arrived on board Myron."
Her sensors picking up the growing power surge within the nearby nuclear device, the ship's own survival programming initiates. Alarms sound and shields are raised as the ancient ship unleashes a barrage of heavy laser fire at the hanger door.
"Initiating emergency lift off. All hands secure for extreme maneuvers. Engines engaged in 4...3..." The computer's voice echoes throughout the ship along with the rumble and roar of the engines coming to life.
A final missile barrage blasts the remnants of the thickly armored hanger airlock and much of the surrounding rock foundation into oblivion.
"2...1..."
The temporary weightlessness of liftoff is almost instantly replaced by the chest crushing weight of several gees of thrust as the engines fire at full power. Bursting through the cloud of dust and debris from the destruction of the hanger door, Maribell's Legacy takes flight for the first time in over 500 standard years. Sunlight gleams upon the ancient Imperial hull as the ship roars over the desolate landscape and begins to turn upward toward the stars.
Moments later a brilliant flash of blinding white flares from the underground complex. Scanners and communications flicker, shimmer, and fill with static as the electromagnetic wave crashes across the fleeing starship. Fortunately, the Maribell's systems are hardened against just such surges so no internal systems are knocked offline. A few minutes later the screens begin to clear.
The computer puts a visual view on the main screen revealing the growing mushroom cloud engulfing the entire complex and the surrounding region out for several kilometers. Fire and lightning crackle within the massive cloud created by the unleashed power of shattered atoms.
The screen switches to a forward view as the dreary orange red atmosphere of a broken planet gives way to the ink black, star speckled void of open space. Opportunity and fortune beckon among the vast riches of the galaxy.
"You're in my seat." Blood says to Myron an eyebrow arching as the grizzled veteran of Macho Grande stares hard at the man currently sitting in the captain's chair.