Date: 8/14/1997 10:16 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
Sarah Isabella Sidartha Simon-Munro. Quite a mouthful of a name for such a little girl, but that was the name she now bore. The ceremony was over; Cissi was now under the legal guardianship of Ginger and her husband…she was their daughter, now and forever. When he had seen Kadi come into the Outback holding Cissi, his heart had broken. He had known that Cissi couldn't stay, but he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to her. He had rushed out of the room, spending a good deal of time outside
in trying to compose himself and gather his thoughts. His instincts told him to run home, Ginger was probably worse off than he was, but he didn't. He couldn't just let her go without seeing her at least one more time.
But when he walked back in, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't look down at the loving black eyes, the tiny fingers and toes, that toothless smile, and say goodbye. He knew he would see her again, but it wouldn't be the same; both he and Ginger had grown to love Cissi as their own, had gotten used to her in the house, creating a racket and doing the precious things that only a baby can. He couldn't say goodbye to that, he just couldn't. So he sat himself at a far away table and tried
to concentrate on other things, like just how many stains were there on the wooden floor and just how fast did paint peel anyhow?
Of course, Kadi and Tisman did exactly what he didn't want them to do. They asked to sit down, and he said yes. He may have been sad but he wasn't going to be downright rude about it. Kadi was crying softly and Tisman looked as if somebody had just told him he had half an hour to live. He was about to ask what was the matter but thoughts of "You want us to **what?**" erased that line of thinking entirely. At first he thought they were joking, but they were completely serious. Kadi and Tis
wanted the best for their daughter and they felt that he and Gin could raise her with more attention and affection than they could. This was not an action they wanted to take, but they didn't want Cissi to suffer or feel unloved. Kadi told him of a custom in her village: when one family has a great number of children and another has none, the second family is allowed to raise some of the children from the first family. That way, instead of two separate families, there is one big family with two sets
of parents. Kadi was speaking through her tears and she was obviously distressed; he couldn't tell if she was lying or not but he believed her. As much as he didn't want too, he fought them. He wanted to be positive that they knew what they were doing, that they were making a rational choice. When they asked him for the third time if he and Gin would adopt her, he said yes; they had convinced him of their intentions and besides, this was something that he wanted more than anything right now.
Then Cissi dropped a bombshell of her own. Looking at Tisman, she uttered a quiet "'apa?" Turning her small head to Kadi's, an even more amazing "'ama?" escaped her lips and after grabbing his finger and tugging on it with all of her baby strength, she giggled an "'att." Then, obviously quite pleased with herself, she lay her head against his shoulder and was still. None of them knew quite what to make of it…but they sure didn't question it. They left in a rather amazed state, Tis and Kadi to
return home to their other children and he to try and explain all this to Ginger.
((Cont. in next post))
Three of Two
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Three of Two (cont.)
Date: 8/14/1997 10:17 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
At first she thought he was playing a joke on her…a very sick joke. But he convinced her that Kadi and Tis were serious, something he was sure she didn't quite believe until she talked to them herself. He really wasn't sure how she felt about the whole thing; she was overjoyed to be sure, but he sensed something else too. The closest word he could use to describe it was relief, but he wasn't sure if that was accurate or not. All he was sure of was that they now had a daughter…they may not have
been her parents but they were now her family. And Cissi would still play with her brothers and sisters; Kadi and Tis would still see her, still be able to love her. They were all lucky he knew, and he couldn't help but think, as stared at the laughing face and the twinkling deep wide eyes that were her windows to the world, that maybe, just maybe, his new baby daughter had somehow planned this from the very start.
From: Goldglo
At first she thought he was playing a joke on her…a very sick joke. But he convinced her that Kadi and Tis were serious, something he was sure she didn't quite believe until she talked to them herself. He really wasn't sure how she felt about the whole thing; she was overjoyed to be sure, but he sensed something else too. The closest word he could use to describe it was relief, but he wasn't sure if that was accurate or not. All he was sure of was that they now had a daughter…they may not have
been her parents but they were now her family. And Cissi would still play with her brothers and sisters; Kadi and Tis would still see her, still be able to love her. They were all lucky he knew, and he couldn't help but think, as stared at the laughing face and the twinkling deep wide eyes that were her windows to the world, that maybe, just maybe, his new baby daughter had somehow planned this from the very start.
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In Search Of
Date: 8/22/1997 3:51 PM Central Daylight Time
From: DonBlkwolf
Silent and stern in the empty night of deep space, the cruiser sliced through the random photons and particles of the void, her twin-pronged prow aimed towards one particular bright speck in the starfield.
Aboard her, the lone pilot's eyes watched his instruments intently. Well, one eye did anyway. The other was but a memory, lost behind a black eyepatch, worn with years. His expression was one of calm anticipation, or perhaps preparation. As he drew nearer and nearer to the subspace beacon, the static crackles of deep space gradually faded out, to be replaced by another sound entirely..
"Unidentified vessel, this is Star's End Control. Please slow to one-quarter impulse and identify yourself."
The man reached to touch a control panel to his right. "Star's End Control. This is Donald Black Wolf, my ship registry is S.S. Black Wolf, Delta Santos Four. Request approach and landing vectors for starport."
The voice was silent for a time, as he slowed the ship to what amounted to an interminable crawl. Finally they came back, a bit less suspiciously. "S.S Black Wolf, proceed on a two-one-seven mark eighteen vector, do not exceed one-quarter impulse once entering planetary approach boundary."
He smiled. "Roger that, Control. Many thanks."
First step was complete...find Star's End. The next would be to find the place known by the intelligence report as the Outback, apparently a martial arts dojo or competition center.
And then, his target.
From: DonBlkwolf
Silent and stern in the empty night of deep space, the cruiser sliced through the random photons and particles of the void, her twin-pronged prow aimed towards one particular bright speck in the starfield.
Aboard her, the lone pilot's eyes watched his instruments intently. Well, one eye did anyway. The other was but a memory, lost behind a black eyepatch, worn with years. His expression was one of calm anticipation, or perhaps preparation. As he drew nearer and nearer to the subspace beacon, the static crackles of deep space gradually faded out, to be replaced by another sound entirely..
"Unidentified vessel, this is Star's End Control. Please slow to one-quarter impulse and identify yourself."
The man reached to touch a control panel to his right. "Star's End Control. This is Donald Black Wolf, my ship registry is S.S. Black Wolf, Delta Santos Four. Request approach and landing vectors for starport."
The voice was silent for a time, as he slowed the ship to what amounted to an interminable crawl. Finally they came back, a bit less suspiciously. "S.S Black Wolf, proceed on a two-one-seven mark eighteen vector, do not exceed one-quarter impulse once entering planetary approach boundary."
He smiled. "Roger that, Control. Many thanks."
First step was complete...find Star's End. The next would be to find the place known by the intelligence report as the Outback, apparently a martial arts dojo or competition center.
And then, his target.
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Backlash
Date: 8/24/1997 1:29 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
The roar of the blast echoed in his ears as he sprinted down the cliff towards home. Quite a bit had happened the past few weeks, starting with the adoption of little Sarah. He had started calling her that instead of Cissi; Sarah had been his mother's name and for some reason, felt more comfortable calling the child by her first name. He skidded down the rocky slope, nearly losing his balance and toppling over, while the man behind him calmly walked back towards his ship down on the beach. He
cursed under his breath as he leaped from a jutting rock to more solid ground below, wondering why in the world the past never ever seemed to go away. He slowed down a bit as he neared the house, trying to collect his thoughts. Things had just gone from fairly simple to extremely complex in a matter of hours, and he needed to figure out how to lay it all out without sending Ginger into an outright panic. He felt she was still mildly upset with him over the Shanni scenario, but he couldn't quite blame
her for that.
He had jumped at the chance when Shanni offered him a job working for her at CDR, as a pilot no less. An escort mission here, a salvage operation there, money in his pocket, and the chance to get back up into space…how could he have said no? He made sure that Shanni knew he wasn't in for long operations; he had no desire to leave Gin and Sarah alone for any length of time, and he sure as hell wasn't going to do so for weeks on end. She had agreed, saying that most of the work would be two days max
and often could be done in less than twenty-four hours. That sat fairly well with him, and he told Shanni he was in barring Gin's outright refusal.
When he told her, Ginger looked at him in that way she always did when she was less than pleased and sighed, returning to looking after Sarah. Sometimes, she said much more with those expressions than words, and her look basically told him her reaction was one of, "You're going to do it anyhow no matter what I say so why'd you bother asking in the first place other than to make me feel like I had a part in deciding?" After a few halfhearted attempts at explanation he gave up; she wasn't in the mood
to listen and he wasn't in the mood to argue. He knew she feared he would go up one day and not come home again, and that was a valid concern. The only predictable thing about space was that it was unpredictable. She knew it, he knew it, and to tell the truth, he was just as worried as she was. But he trusted Shanni, she hadn't survived this long by being stupid or careless, and neither had he. He couldn't stop Ginger from worrying; all he could do was try to minimize that worry. Going back up
there didn't exactly do that, and she let him know it in her own way.
Now came the new part; the part that she didn't know of and that he had just discovered himself. He swallowed and leaned his arm against the side of the house, wiping the sweat from his forehead and trying to recapture his breath. Someone had been asking about him…someone who wanted him. Whoever the person was, they had tried the Outback, RSS, and probably a few other places trying to dig up information on him. The man had tried speaking to Shanni, but she was less than forthcoming and had
immediately gone to the Outback to warn him that somebody was looking for him. And tonight, tonight their paths had crossed.
((Cont. in next post))
From: Goldglo
The roar of the blast echoed in his ears as he sprinted down the cliff towards home. Quite a bit had happened the past few weeks, starting with the adoption of little Sarah. He had started calling her that instead of Cissi; Sarah had been his mother's name and for some reason, felt more comfortable calling the child by her first name. He skidded down the rocky slope, nearly losing his balance and toppling over, while the man behind him calmly walked back towards his ship down on the beach. He
cursed under his breath as he leaped from a jutting rock to more solid ground below, wondering why in the world the past never ever seemed to go away. He slowed down a bit as he neared the house, trying to collect his thoughts. Things had just gone from fairly simple to extremely complex in a matter of hours, and he needed to figure out how to lay it all out without sending Ginger into an outright panic. He felt she was still mildly upset with him over the Shanni scenario, but he couldn't quite blame
her for that.
He had jumped at the chance when Shanni offered him a job working for her at CDR, as a pilot no less. An escort mission here, a salvage operation there, money in his pocket, and the chance to get back up into space…how could he have said no? He made sure that Shanni knew he wasn't in for long operations; he had no desire to leave Gin and Sarah alone for any length of time, and he sure as hell wasn't going to do so for weeks on end. She had agreed, saying that most of the work would be two days max
and often could be done in less than twenty-four hours. That sat fairly well with him, and he told Shanni he was in barring Gin's outright refusal.
When he told her, Ginger looked at him in that way she always did when she was less than pleased and sighed, returning to looking after Sarah. Sometimes, she said much more with those expressions than words, and her look basically told him her reaction was one of, "You're going to do it anyhow no matter what I say so why'd you bother asking in the first place other than to make me feel like I had a part in deciding?" After a few halfhearted attempts at explanation he gave up; she wasn't in the mood
to listen and he wasn't in the mood to argue. He knew she feared he would go up one day and not come home again, and that was a valid concern. The only predictable thing about space was that it was unpredictable. She knew it, he knew it, and to tell the truth, he was just as worried as she was. But he trusted Shanni, she hadn't survived this long by being stupid or careless, and neither had he. He couldn't stop Ginger from worrying; all he could do was try to minimize that worry. Going back up
there didn't exactly do that, and she let him know it in her own way.
Now came the new part; the part that she didn't know of and that he had just discovered himself. He swallowed and leaned his arm against the side of the house, wiping the sweat from his forehead and trying to recapture his breath. Someone had been asking about him…someone who wanted him. Whoever the person was, they had tried the Outback, RSS, and probably a few other places trying to dig up information on him. The man had tried speaking to Shanni, but she was less than forthcoming and had
immediately gone to the Outback to warn him that somebody was looking for him. And tonight, tonight their paths had crossed.
((Cont. in next post))
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Backlash (cont.)
Date: 8/24/1997 1:30 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
"Bounty Hunter," he nearly spat the words as he whispered them. He had no love for their kind, none at all. And this one had been sent to bring him back on some charge that he had purposefully led eleven of his men to their deaths. He had already been tried and cleared at a court-martial for that incident, but somebody had re-opened the case, or so it seemed. But this hunter was different, at least, he seemed to be. He asked questions first and shot later, and he had many questions. They spoke
in the Outback, playing word games and dancing around the issue until the hunter laid it all out. The hunter's explanation reached his ears, passed right through his brain, and sank right down into his gut with a resounding "thud" sound. They were after him again; no holds barred this time. His mind thought back to that night, to the forest, to the violet-eyed Deanna. "We'll get them all," she had told him. He should have known better.
It seemed they had more power than even he guessed possible. To re-open a closed case, to get the government to intervene in a military matter, these were things not easily accomplished. And this hunter, sent to retrieve him, wasn't entirely sure he had been told the whole story. So the former Colonel made sure he was enlightened, only half-aware that the group behind him, Janella, Tisman, Jammer, Jacq, Jen, and even Iain were watching, ready to assist him should he need it. Most of them hadn't
been around when the things he was discussing with the hunter had taken place, and those who had still didn't know the whole story. But they didn't care, they wanted to protect him, and their support helped him stay strong. Everyone in the room was on edge, and the hunter probably knew that best of all. He wanted to speak alone, telling the Colonel to meet outside.
He spoke a few hasty words to the group, and followed the hunter, ready for just about anything when he exited out the back. But only the hunter was there, and they took a walk. After listening and considering, the hunter switched sides, all in the name of "justice." He didn't buy that for a minute, justice was almost a foreign concept nowadays. The hunter had a plan, which could easily be turned into a trap, but as he said, if he intended to take in his bounty, he would have done so long ago.
But this plan required a third person, and Matt was not about to ask any of his friends to do any more than they already had, especially not to die for him. But he had little choice, he had to ask somebody…and the logical selection, as even the hunter pointed out, was Shanni. So they made a tentative agreement; if Shanni agreed to help, she would meet the hunter again. If she trusted the man, then they would make their plans. If she didn't, then he would take his chances on his own. His gut told
him that the hunter was probably speaking truthfully when he said he would help, but then again, one never knew for sure. They both agreed that for the sake of his friends, he wouldn't tell them any of this, and would maintain the pretense that the hunter was still trying to capture him. But he needed to tell Ginger; she had to be ready for anything. The hunter fired a blast from his riot gun into the air and told the Colonel to run, and to tell whoever asked that he had just managed to escape
capture.
He moved to the porch, lighting a small lantern and placing it on the top step; just in case Janella did decide to drop by, she would know that he was safe, at least for the moment. He sighed and opened the door, bolting it shut behind him.
This promised to be a long night.
From: Goldglo
"Bounty Hunter," he nearly spat the words as he whispered them. He had no love for their kind, none at all. And this one had been sent to bring him back on some charge that he had purposefully led eleven of his men to their deaths. He had already been tried and cleared at a court-martial for that incident, but somebody had re-opened the case, or so it seemed. But this hunter was different, at least, he seemed to be. He asked questions first and shot later, and he had many questions. They spoke
in the Outback, playing word games and dancing around the issue until the hunter laid it all out. The hunter's explanation reached his ears, passed right through his brain, and sank right down into his gut with a resounding "thud" sound. They were after him again; no holds barred this time. His mind thought back to that night, to the forest, to the violet-eyed Deanna. "We'll get them all," she had told him. He should have known better.
It seemed they had more power than even he guessed possible. To re-open a closed case, to get the government to intervene in a military matter, these were things not easily accomplished. And this hunter, sent to retrieve him, wasn't entirely sure he had been told the whole story. So the former Colonel made sure he was enlightened, only half-aware that the group behind him, Janella, Tisman, Jammer, Jacq, Jen, and even Iain were watching, ready to assist him should he need it. Most of them hadn't
been around when the things he was discussing with the hunter had taken place, and those who had still didn't know the whole story. But they didn't care, they wanted to protect him, and their support helped him stay strong. Everyone in the room was on edge, and the hunter probably knew that best of all. He wanted to speak alone, telling the Colonel to meet outside.
He spoke a few hasty words to the group, and followed the hunter, ready for just about anything when he exited out the back. But only the hunter was there, and they took a walk. After listening and considering, the hunter switched sides, all in the name of "justice." He didn't buy that for a minute, justice was almost a foreign concept nowadays. The hunter had a plan, which could easily be turned into a trap, but as he said, if he intended to take in his bounty, he would have done so long ago.
But this plan required a third person, and Matt was not about to ask any of his friends to do any more than they already had, especially not to die for him. But he had little choice, he had to ask somebody…and the logical selection, as even the hunter pointed out, was Shanni. So they made a tentative agreement; if Shanni agreed to help, she would meet the hunter again. If she trusted the man, then they would make their plans. If she didn't, then he would take his chances on his own. His gut told
him that the hunter was probably speaking truthfully when he said he would help, but then again, one never knew for sure. They both agreed that for the sake of his friends, he wouldn't tell them any of this, and would maintain the pretense that the hunter was still trying to capture him. But he needed to tell Ginger; she had to be ready for anything. The hunter fired a blast from his riot gun into the air and told the Colonel to run, and to tell whoever asked that he had just managed to escape
capture.
He moved to the porch, lighting a small lantern and placing it on the top step; just in case Janella did decide to drop by, she would know that he was safe, at least for the moment. He sighed and opened the door, bolting it shut behind him.
This promised to be a long night.
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Inconsistency?
Date: 8/25/1997 7:11 PM Central Daylight Time
From: DonBlkwolf
Don wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the now-dying trail of smoke from his narcostick, as it rose to the ceiling....perhaps an hour, perhaps more. During that time, he'd thought, and rethought the entire thing...it wasn't adding up. And he'd always considered himself rather decent at sums, too.
The order was simple enough. Suspect, Colonel Matthew Simon - wanted for deliberately leading thirteen men into a death trap. Charges negated via court-martial, then renewed when new evidence was presented. Suspect considered extremely dangerous, etc. etc. A hazardous job, but Don usually enjoyed those kinds - it kept him sharp. And from the reports, the man was a true scumbag.
The arrival had gone much as expected. He'd scouted the area, found the "Outback" and observed for a few days. He'd then begun collecting information...right about there was where the inconsistencies began. Unless these people were really clannish and sticking together, the Matthew Simon he'd been briefed on, and the man living here were two entirely different people. Don had been warned to expect a cold and uncaring killer, your basic convict material. This guy wasn't anything near the
sort...married, a kid, friends who believed him to be a decent guy.
So he'd talked with the man, a radical departure with his usual methodology. You don't talk with them, you don't give them a chance to mess with you, and you never open yourself up to retaliation. Don had done all of these...because he had a very definite feeling something was not kosher here. Little by little, things surfaced, more inconsistencies. So Don had offered the man a chance to prove his story...if he was on the level, he'd be free and clear. If not...
If not, Don had been forced to kill before.
From: DonBlkwolf
Don wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the now-dying trail of smoke from his narcostick, as it rose to the ceiling....perhaps an hour, perhaps more. During that time, he'd thought, and rethought the entire thing...it wasn't adding up. And he'd always considered himself rather decent at sums, too.
The order was simple enough. Suspect, Colonel Matthew Simon - wanted for deliberately leading thirteen men into a death trap. Charges negated via court-martial, then renewed when new evidence was presented. Suspect considered extremely dangerous, etc. etc. A hazardous job, but Don usually enjoyed those kinds - it kept him sharp. And from the reports, the man was a true scumbag.
The arrival had gone much as expected. He'd scouted the area, found the "Outback" and observed for a few days. He'd then begun collecting information...right about there was where the inconsistencies began. Unless these people were really clannish and sticking together, the Matthew Simon he'd been briefed on, and the man living here were two entirely different people. Don had been warned to expect a cold and uncaring killer, your basic convict material. This guy wasn't anything near the
sort...married, a kid, friends who believed him to be a decent guy.
So he'd talked with the man, a radical departure with his usual methodology. You don't talk with them, you don't give them a chance to mess with you, and you never open yourself up to retaliation. Don had done all of these...because he had a very definite feeling something was not kosher here. Little by little, things surfaced, more inconsistencies. So Don had offered the man a chance to prove his story...if he was on the level, he'd be free and clear. If not...
If not, Don had been forced to kill before.
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Sleep to Dream
Date: 8/31/1997 12:35 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
He awoke to the sounds of soft moaning, interrupted only by the time it took to reclaim the air necessary to create the noise. Slowly and gently turning on his side, he found Gin's sleeping yet agitated form greet his eyes. What surprised him, however, was that the soft sounds weren't coming from her lips, but from the tiny body clutched in her arms.
Sarah's eyes were wide, and she wasn't quite sure what to do. Her tiny mind sensed that something was wrong and the stronger that feeling became, the tighter Gin seemed to hold her. She waved her free arm and uttered another soft cry…she knew enough not to disturb her mother but needed to let someone know that something was the matter. Her dark eyes looked up at him and she waved her hand once again, her expressive face asking him to please fix it so mommy and I can sleep again. He smiled softly,
reaching out to disengage her from Gin's grasp, but Gin was unwilling to let her go. Sarah let out a squawk as she was squeezed too tightly this time, her already huge eyes threatening to expand even more.
As noiselessly and gently as he could, he rose from the bed, leaning down and all but wresting the baby from the arms of her captor. Sarah's head immediately swiveled towards her mother as she was placed into the wicker-basket Victor and Dulce had provided for her. She remained knelt in her new home, despite Matt's attempts at getting her to lie down. Her small hands gripped the side of the basket and she stared at the Gin's sleeping form as if nothing else in the world existed or mattered. He
couldn't tell for sure what was going on inside her still undeveloped mind, but he had a pretty good idea it was similar to what was going on in his. He tore his gaze from his daughter and looked back to his wife who was rustling now, reaching out as if looking for something she'd lost and was unable to find it again. Her forehead was creased and her eyebrows knitted in worry while a distraught frown played its way across her lips.
He glanced around the room that Victor and Dulce had provided for all three of them. The attack last night had caught all of them off guard, especially him. He hadn't expected two in one day, and he really hadn't expected them to go after Sarah and Ginger in addition to himself. If they hadn't already been going through the portal when the blast erupted behind them...he didn't want to think about that. He guessed that the events of the previous day were plaguing Gin's mind even now; clutching
onto Cissi was no accident, she had done the exact same thing not twenty hours before while trying to escape the men chasing her down. He sighed softly, unwilling to think about things to come in the days ahead; his family was safe and they would remain that way. That was what mattered the most to him.
He returned to the bed as stealthily as he had left it, looking towards the basket where his child still sat. Only the top of her head and her still immense eyes were visible, the diminutive fingers nearly imperceptible against the soft colored edge of the basket. Satisfied that she would stay put, he turned over, accidentally brushing against the smooth and warm skin that lay next to him. He began to edge away but was too quickly enveloped in a mass of arms and legs and red curls. Completely
encased in her grasp, there was nothing for him to do but hold her in return, perhaps bringing some comfort back to the turmoil raging in her troubled mind. He raised his head a little as she whispered his name; the lines of worry slowly disappearing from her face. He smiled softly as the color returned to her paled cheeks and he felt her hands clasp behind him, sealing the human lock that encased him. He lowered his head onto the pillow, stray strands of her hair drifting down and resting upon his
face, faint tendrils of a smile creasing her lips. She had once again found her peace, reclaiming what she had lost. Now it was his turn to do so, and like her, he would not stop until he had.
From: Goldglo
He awoke to the sounds of soft moaning, interrupted only by the time it took to reclaim the air necessary to create the noise. Slowly and gently turning on his side, he found Gin's sleeping yet agitated form greet his eyes. What surprised him, however, was that the soft sounds weren't coming from her lips, but from the tiny body clutched in her arms.
Sarah's eyes were wide, and she wasn't quite sure what to do. Her tiny mind sensed that something was wrong and the stronger that feeling became, the tighter Gin seemed to hold her. She waved her free arm and uttered another soft cry…she knew enough not to disturb her mother but needed to let someone know that something was the matter. Her dark eyes looked up at him and she waved her hand once again, her expressive face asking him to please fix it so mommy and I can sleep again. He smiled softly,
reaching out to disengage her from Gin's grasp, but Gin was unwilling to let her go. Sarah let out a squawk as she was squeezed too tightly this time, her already huge eyes threatening to expand even more.
As noiselessly and gently as he could, he rose from the bed, leaning down and all but wresting the baby from the arms of her captor. Sarah's head immediately swiveled towards her mother as she was placed into the wicker-basket Victor and Dulce had provided for her. She remained knelt in her new home, despite Matt's attempts at getting her to lie down. Her small hands gripped the side of the basket and she stared at the Gin's sleeping form as if nothing else in the world existed or mattered. He
couldn't tell for sure what was going on inside her still undeveloped mind, but he had a pretty good idea it was similar to what was going on in his. He tore his gaze from his daughter and looked back to his wife who was rustling now, reaching out as if looking for something she'd lost and was unable to find it again. Her forehead was creased and her eyebrows knitted in worry while a distraught frown played its way across her lips.
He glanced around the room that Victor and Dulce had provided for all three of them. The attack last night had caught all of them off guard, especially him. He hadn't expected two in one day, and he really hadn't expected them to go after Sarah and Ginger in addition to himself. If they hadn't already been going through the portal when the blast erupted behind them...he didn't want to think about that. He guessed that the events of the previous day were plaguing Gin's mind even now; clutching
onto Cissi was no accident, she had done the exact same thing not twenty hours before while trying to escape the men chasing her down. He sighed softly, unwilling to think about things to come in the days ahead; his family was safe and they would remain that way. That was what mattered the most to him.
He returned to the bed as stealthily as he had left it, looking towards the basket where his child still sat. Only the top of her head and her still immense eyes were visible, the diminutive fingers nearly imperceptible against the soft colored edge of the basket. Satisfied that she would stay put, he turned over, accidentally brushing against the smooth and warm skin that lay next to him. He began to edge away but was too quickly enveloped in a mass of arms and legs and red curls. Completely
encased in her grasp, there was nothing for him to do but hold her in return, perhaps bringing some comfort back to the turmoil raging in her troubled mind. He raised his head a little as she whispered his name; the lines of worry slowly disappearing from her face. He smiled softly as the color returned to her paled cheeks and he felt her hands clasp behind him, sealing the human lock that encased him. He lowered his head onto the pillow, stray strands of her hair drifting down and resting upon his
face, faint tendrils of a smile creasing her lips. She had once again found her peace, reclaiming what she had lost. Now it was his turn to do so, and like her, he would not stop until he had.
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Surfacing
Date: 9/3/1997 11:41 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
It was dusk. The remaining sliver of the sun cast both light and shadow over the calm stillness that was the sea while the sky reflected a brilliant array of color upon the landscape. He stood upon the rocky ground of the cliff, gazing out towards lands beyond, letting the stillness wash over him and soothe his thoughts. The crashing of the ocean waves below was nearly lost to his ears; it seemed so much a natural part of things that he hardly registered its existence. The breeze was slight and
cool, drifting over him and into the trees behind, creating a rustling noise so slight that it too, seemed not to exist. It was almost as if he was detached from this place, that he was not really here but looking upon it from a distant land, able to sense and smell and feel but not exist. Unconsciously, he stepped forward, edging closer to the edge of the craggy overhang that he stood upon, causing a few scattered pebbles to careen down into the ocean below. Had he noticed or bothered to pay
attention, he would have seen the ripples caused by their merging with the water quickly assimilated into the greater mass of the sea, unnoticed and uncared for by everything else but the water itself. The lone cry of a bird of prey pierced the air, echoing and reverberating in the silence for a few brief seconds before fading away in the wind. The raptor flew above, screeching again as if trying to reawaken the life it knew dwelt in the lands below. But the life remained still and hidden and the
osprey, giving up, flew off to try again elsewhere.
The sun was gone now, sunk below the horizon, relinquishing control of the night to Phoebe and her minstrels. As he watched this celestial changing of the guard, he couldn't help but notice that although the master of day was gone, lingering tendrils remained. Brilliant streaks of red and orange played across the sky, unwilling to let go their hold on their domain, unwilling to let the darkness of night take hold and rule. But their time was past and flee they must, at least until the morrow.
That thought elicited a small smile from his lips, for he knew that soon those tendrils would return, followed by the body that controlled them. Somehow, that made him feel a bit better.
Now he turned, his first truly perceptible movement in hours, looking at the devastation that lay behind him. The charred and blackened ruins of what had been his home stood before him, quiet, dark, and silent. He moved closer, stepping into what had been the living room, running his hands over the soot and ash that covered the still standing hearth. The blackened stuff crumbled and fell under his touch, most coming to rest in a pile upon the floor, but the rest rising into the air and out of
sight. He felt and heard the sharp cracking of wood and shattered glass under his booted feet, the sounds quickly dissipating into the ether above. The attack had been swift and neat, the noise loud and short, the mission simple and well planned. They might have succeeded too, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve they didn't know about, and nearby portal entrances didn't hurt either.
Whoever had been here and known their job and would have done it well, except for the part that they ultimately failed to reach their goal. Someone, somewhere, ended up stuck with half a destroyed house, a lot of questions, and nothing to show for it which suited him fine, expect for the part about the house. It had been Ginger's long before it had been his, and he had never quite gotten used to it being "their" home. He always caught himself referring to it as "her" home and ended up correcting
himself who knew how many times. But no matter how he looked at it, as his, hers, or theirs, it really didn't matter now. He would see to it that whomever had invaded and violated it would suffer for it.
((Cont. in next post))
From: Goldglo
It was dusk. The remaining sliver of the sun cast both light and shadow over the calm stillness that was the sea while the sky reflected a brilliant array of color upon the landscape. He stood upon the rocky ground of the cliff, gazing out towards lands beyond, letting the stillness wash over him and soothe his thoughts. The crashing of the ocean waves below was nearly lost to his ears; it seemed so much a natural part of things that he hardly registered its existence. The breeze was slight and
cool, drifting over him and into the trees behind, creating a rustling noise so slight that it too, seemed not to exist. It was almost as if he was detached from this place, that he was not really here but looking upon it from a distant land, able to sense and smell and feel but not exist. Unconsciously, he stepped forward, edging closer to the edge of the craggy overhang that he stood upon, causing a few scattered pebbles to careen down into the ocean below. Had he noticed or bothered to pay
attention, he would have seen the ripples caused by their merging with the water quickly assimilated into the greater mass of the sea, unnoticed and uncared for by everything else but the water itself. The lone cry of a bird of prey pierced the air, echoing and reverberating in the silence for a few brief seconds before fading away in the wind. The raptor flew above, screeching again as if trying to reawaken the life it knew dwelt in the lands below. But the life remained still and hidden and the
osprey, giving up, flew off to try again elsewhere.
The sun was gone now, sunk below the horizon, relinquishing control of the night to Phoebe and her minstrels. As he watched this celestial changing of the guard, he couldn't help but notice that although the master of day was gone, lingering tendrils remained. Brilliant streaks of red and orange played across the sky, unwilling to let go their hold on their domain, unwilling to let the darkness of night take hold and rule. But their time was past and flee they must, at least until the morrow.
That thought elicited a small smile from his lips, for he knew that soon those tendrils would return, followed by the body that controlled them. Somehow, that made him feel a bit better.
Now he turned, his first truly perceptible movement in hours, looking at the devastation that lay behind him. The charred and blackened ruins of what had been his home stood before him, quiet, dark, and silent. He moved closer, stepping into what had been the living room, running his hands over the soot and ash that covered the still standing hearth. The blackened stuff crumbled and fell under his touch, most coming to rest in a pile upon the floor, but the rest rising into the air and out of
sight. He felt and heard the sharp cracking of wood and shattered glass under his booted feet, the sounds quickly dissipating into the ether above. The attack had been swift and neat, the noise loud and short, the mission simple and well planned. They might have succeeded too, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve they didn't know about, and nearby portal entrances didn't hurt either.
Whoever had been here and known their job and would have done it well, except for the part that they ultimately failed to reach their goal. Someone, somewhere, ended up stuck with half a destroyed house, a lot of questions, and nothing to show for it which suited him fine, expect for the part about the house. It had been Ginger's long before it had been his, and he had never quite gotten used to it being "their" home. He always caught himself referring to it as "her" home and ended up correcting
himself who knew how many times. But no matter how he looked at it, as his, hers, or theirs, it really didn't matter now. He would see to it that whomever had invaded and violated it would suffer for it.
((Cont. in next post))
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Surfacing (cont.)
Date: 9/3/1997 11:42 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
He had grown more attached to the building than he ever had realized before; it was the place Ginger had nursed him back to health, it was the place where they had shared their most special moments together, it was the place that to him would always mean "family". It hurt to see it in this condition, it hurt to know he could have done something to prevent it (he didn't bother thinking about what), it hurt that someone had forced him and his family, away from here.
He moved into what had been their bedroom, casting a glance to the rear of the home. That part had come through fairly unscathed, and was still sheltered by the roof. But half a home wasn't going to do any of them much good, especially not now. He had returned, he told himself, to salvage what he could, to reclaim anything that they had missed the first time when they were preparing to leave. But he had another reason beyond that one, a much darker reason.
He needed to hate. He needed to become enraged, fill himself with fire and anger; he needed to become motivated, to have a driving force that would not fail him until he had brought this whole entire mess to a close. He needed to see and feel the carnage that followed him, to physically feel it in his hands so he could remember it in his heart. He needed something to replace the fear and uncertainty that had swarming over him, fears of what was to come, uncertainty that he could pass through it
unscathed. He needed reminders of what would happen if he failed, reminders that his wife and child were the consequences this time. Luck had been on their side thus far, but luck was fickle, and she came and went at will, washing her hands of whatever she left behind.
Night had long since ascended. The moon, presiding over her domain unleashed her minions into the air, the forest, the ocean, everywhere; all others retreating and sleeping until it was their time to come forth and reign. He stood there, a statue once again, much longer than he intended. Everything was a shadow now, everything was secluded, everything was a mystery. His eyes registered the darkness but his unconscious mind heeded much more. He made himself a part of night, a creature of
obscurity, just another conundrum in a world filled with puzzles. He spent the time thinking dark thoughts, doing what he had to, becoming everything he didn't want to, just so he could beat them at their own game. He spent his time amassing those feelings, then tucking them away until he needed to call on them, almost hoping he never would.
When he finally moved away he did so stealthily, afraid that even the slightest sound would spoil everything, that even his movements threatened to do the same. He scurried away, retreating back to Ginger and Sarah and sanity. He had accomplished what he needed to accomplish and he would move on. He pressed on, a shadow in shadows, one outline amongst thousands of others, a creature among creatures. He was not himself, he was not something else; he was both, yet he was neither. He was two worlds
in one, each trying to dominate, yet always finding themselves in a stalemate. Soon, he hoped, he could leave one world behind, abandoning it gladly and joyfully, embracing the other with open arms. But now he needed both worlds, he needed to be everything at once and somehow maintain control over it all. He didn't question whether or not he could do it because he had to do it, he had to do it the first time and he had to do it right. That much he knew.
((Cont. in next post))
From: Goldglo
He had grown more attached to the building than he ever had realized before; it was the place Ginger had nursed him back to health, it was the place where they had shared their most special moments together, it was the place that to him would always mean "family". It hurt to see it in this condition, it hurt to know he could have done something to prevent it (he didn't bother thinking about what), it hurt that someone had forced him and his family, away from here.
He moved into what had been their bedroom, casting a glance to the rear of the home. That part had come through fairly unscathed, and was still sheltered by the roof. But half a home wasn't going to do any of them much good, especially not now. He had returned, he told himself, to salvage what he could, to reclaim anything that they had missed the first time when they were preparing to leave. But he had another reason beyond that one, a much darker reason.
He needed to hate. He needed to become enraged, fill himself with fire and anger; he needed to become motivated, to have a driving force that would not fail him until he had brought this whole entire mess to a close. He needed to see and feel the carnage that followed him, to physically feel it in his hands so he could remember it in his heart. He needed something to replace the fear and uncertainty that had swarming over him, fears of what was to come, uncertainty that he could pass through it
unscathed. He needed reminders of what would happen if he failed, reminders that his wife and child were the consequences this time. Luck had been on their side thus far, but luck was fickle, and she came and went at will, washing her hands of whatever she left behind.
Night had long since ascended. The moon, presiding over her domain unleashed her minions into the air, the forest, the ocean, everywhere; all others retreating and sleeping until it was their time to come forth and reign. He stood there, a statue once again, much longer than he intended. Everything was a shadow now, everything was secluded, everything was a mystery. His eyes registered the darkness but his unconscious mind heeded much more. He made himself a part of night, a creature of
obscurity, just another conundrum in a world filled with puzzles. He spent the time thinking dark thoughts, doing what he had to, becoming everything he didn't want to, just so he could beat them at their own game. He spent his time amassing those feelings, then tucking them away until he needed to call on them, almost hoping he never would.
When he finally moved away he did so stealthily, afraid that even the slightest sound would spoil everything, that even his movements threatened to do the same. He scurried away, retreating back to Ginger and Sarah and sanity. He had accomplished what he needed to accomplish and he would move on. He pressed on, a shadow in shadows, one outline amongst thousands of others, a creature among creatures. He was not himself, he was not something else; he was both, yet he was neither. He was two worlds
in one, each trying to dominate, yet always finding themselves in a stalemate. Soon, he hoped, he could leave one world behind, abandoning it gladly and joyfully, embracing the other with open arms. But now he needed both worlds, he needed to be everything at once and somehow maintain control over it all. He didn't question whether or not he could do it because he had to do it, he had to do it the first time and he had to do it right. That much he knew.
((Cont. in next post))
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Surfacing (cont.)
Date: 9/3/1997 11:42 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
He re-emerged from the portal much more focused and determined than when he had first entered it some unknown hours before. He moved with a purpose through the night…that being to find his family and to cradle them to his heart. For as much as he needed the caliginous reminders, he needed the blithe ones as well. One had no meaning without the other, and neither could exist without its counterpart. Soon enough, he would once again be battling for not only for his life, but also for the things
that gave him reason to live that life. Now, he needed to revel in those things, immerse himself in them, and prepare himself to fight for them. Because they were what mattered, they were what were important.
They and nothing else.
From: Goldglo
He re-emerged from the portal much more focused and determined than when he had first entered it some unknown hours before. He moved with a purpose through the night…that being to find his family and to cradle them to his heart. For as much as he needed the caliginous reminders, he needed the blithe ones as well. One had no meaning without the other, and neither could exist without its counterpart. Soon enough, he would once again be battling for not only for his life, but also for the things
that gave him reason to live that life. Now, he needed to revel in those things, immerse himself in them, and prepare himself to fight for them. Because they were what mattered, they were what were important.
They and nothing else.
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Special Job
Date: 11/6/1997 7:54 PM Central Daylight Time
From: ShanniCltn
The battered hulk was set carefully down onto the tristeel mat that protected the stone-like floor of the Artifact. It didn't look like much, really, but she wasn't seeing the wreck there in front of her. In her mind's eye, she was seeing the finished product, the ship as it *would* become.It was the hull, a shell really, of a Raptor class heavy fighter. Not much was left that would make this a 'ship'...the engines removed, hull torn and damaged, all electronics gone...for the most part it was a wreck. Her plan was to start with this base, and (using the specs she'd acquired through some mutual contacts) rebuild the ship to Matt's list of requirements. Not an overnight process to be sure, but you had to start somewhere.Once the heavy lifters had set the hulk down on the tristeel mats, Shanni, Devan and Neil looked the thing over - she'd already decided that they were to be the only ones privy to this particular job. For all the stripped-down appearance and junk yard look, the basic framework was sound. Neil had done a multiple-spectrum scan of the hull, and there were no red-flag weak spots found. The first step would be to clean off the oxidations and restore it to spec standards. That mean pneumatic-sandblasting and some serious paintwork. Fortunately, they had all the tools and enough manpower to get it going. Shanni had already placed an order for the engines; they would take about a month or so for delivery."Well, let's get a move on...this stuff ain't coming off by itself." Shanni walked over to the rack, and pulled down one of the blaster-nozzles. Time to get to work.
From: ShanniCltn
The battered hulk was set carefully down onto the tristeel mat that protected the stone-like floor of the Artifact. It didn't look like much, really, but she wasn't seeing the wreck there in front of her. In her mind's eye, she was seeing the finished product, the ship as it *would* become.It was the hull, a shell really, of a Raptor class heavy fighter. Not much was left that would make this a 'ship'...the engines removed, hull torn and damaged, all electronics gone...for the most part it was a wreck. Her plan was to start with this base, and (using the specs she'd acquired through some mutual contacts) rebuild the ship to Matt's list of requirements. Not an overnight process to be sure, but you had to start somewhere.Once the heavy lifters had set the hulk down on the tristeel mats, Shanni, Devan and Neil looked the thing over - she'd already decided that they were to be the only ones privy to this particular job. For all the stripped-down appearance and junk yard look, the basic framework was sound. Neil had done a multiple-spectrum scan of the hull, and there were no red-flag weak spots found. The first step would be to clean off the oxidations and restore it to spec standards. That mean pneumatic-sandblasting and some serious paintwork. Fortunately, they had all the tools and enough manpower to get it going. Shanni had already placed an order for the engines; they would take about a month or so for delivery."Well, let's get a move on...this stuff ain't coming off by itself." Shanni walked over to the rack, and pulled down one of the blaster-nozzles. Time to get to work.
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Elsewhere
Date: 12/8/1997 2:55 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
It was night, now; a time at which both of them should have been fast asleep, but neither were. It had grown chilly recently and the bleakness of winter fast approached. Unable to penetrate the modest home, the wind shrieked loudly outside, almost as if in rage. The sky was crystal clear, the moon bright white and full. It was what some would call a perfect night, but better enjoyed by one letting the warmth of a fire and not the chill of the
wind leave its mark upon them. But that was not what had awakened him. He had felt the warmth of her body leave him the instant she moved, and he cracked his eyes open as the sheets molded themselves around his form. Her feet padded silently across the wooden floor, the material of her cream-colored silken nightgown rustling softly against her skin.
The door to the nursery had been left open and she stepped through, almost seeming to glide as she moved across the floor. Uninhibited by clouds, the light from the moon streamed through the windows and into their home, casting long shadows throughout; shadows in which he hid himself as he rose and followed her. He crept as quietly as she, pausing by the door of the nursery and carefully peeking inside. There he stayed, watching quietly, as
she smiled down to the tiny child that lay in the crib. Their adopted daughter, Sarah, slept there now, unaware of how happy she had made her two guardians these past few months. Ginger stood unmoving for a long long while, the light in the room reflecting off of her blood red hair, creating a soft aura about her face. The love in her eyes was readily apparent even from his obscured position by the door, and he dared not move as mother and
daughter spent a long quiet moment together for fear of disrupting the scene and breaking the spell.
She turned to leave the room; too late, he began to draw back and her eyes locked with his for the briefest of moments. He remained frozen, not daring to even blink. The wind had stopped wailing and the sound of his own breathing seemed drowned out by the utter intensity of the silence. The slightest crease of a smile crossed her face as her eyes tore themselves from his and focused on the mirror to her left. She turned again, her profile
facing him, and he exhaled slowly. She hadn't seen him.
She stood staring into herself, her hands slowly moving over the small but noticeable roundness of her belly, the sole physical sign of the children growing within. She gazed at herself in wonder as he watched. Her hands were unconsciously smoothing out the thin fabric covering her body and she slowly raised her arms into the air, clasping her hands together and stretched towards the heavens, graceful, elegant, and beautiful. With this, he
silently moved away, back to their bed, the image of her infinite reach burned into his mind. How long it was before she slipped back underneath the sheets he couldn't say. His back was to her, and she slid her arms around his chest, pressing her body to his as she interlocked her fingers, sealing him to her. He felt her lips brush against his ear as she whispered, "Sleep well, darling." She said nothing after that, and soon after her breathing
because rhythmic and subdued and she was still.
And the next day, after she smiled down and kissed him good morning, he completely lost the nerve to ask her whether she had seen him or not.
From: Goldglo
It was night, now; a time at which both of them should have been fast asleep, but neither were. It had grown chilly recently and the bleakness of winter fast approached. Unable to penetrate the modest home, the wind shrieked loudly outside, almost as if in rage. The sky was crystal clear, the moon bright white and full. It was what some would call a perfect night, but better enjoyed by one letting the warmth of a fire and not the chill of the
wind leave its mark upon them. But that was not what had awakened him. He had felt the warmth of her body leave him the instant she moved, and he cracked his eyes open as the sheets molded themselves around his form. Her feet padded silently across the wooden floor, the material of her cream-colored silken nightgown rustling softly against her skin.
The door to the nursery had been left open and she stepped through, almost seeming to glide as she moved across the floor. Uninhibited by clouds, the light from the moon streamed through the windows and into their home, casting long shadows throughout; shadows in which he hid himself as he rose and followed her. He crept as quietly as she, pausing by the door of the nursery and carefully peeking inside. There he stayed, watching quietly, as
she smiled down to the tiny child that lay in the crib. Their adopted daughter, Sarah, slept there now, unaware of how happy she had made her two guardians these past few months. Ginger stood unmoving for a long long while, the light in the room reflecting off of her blood red hair, creating a soft aura about her face. The love in her eyes was readily apparent even from his obscured position by the door, and he dared not move as mother and
daughter spent a long quiet moment together for fear of disrupting the scene and breaking the spell.
She turned to leave the room; too late, he began to draw back and her eyes locked with his for the briefest of moments. He remained frozen, not daring to even blink. The wind had stopped wailing and the sound of his own breathing seemed drowned out by the utter intensity of the silence. The slightest crease of a smile crossed her face as her eyes tore themselves from his and focused on the mirror to her left. She turned again, her profile
facing him, and he exhaled slowly. She hadn't seen him.
She stood staring into herself, her hands slowly moving over the small but noticeable roundness of her belly, the sole physical sign of the children growing within. She gazed at herself in wonder as he watched. Her hands were unconsciously smoothing out the thin fabric covering her body and she slowly raised her arms into the air, clasping her hands together and stretched towards the heavens, graceful, elegant, and beautiful. With this, he
silently moved away, back to their bed, the image of her infinite reach burned into his mind. How long it was before she slipped back underneath the sheets he couldn't say. His back was to her, and she slid her arms around his chest, pressing her body to his as she interlocked her fingers, sealing him to her. He felt her lips brush against his ear as she whispered, "Sleep well, darling." She said nothing after that, and soon after her breathing
because rhythmic and subdued and she was still.
And the next day, after she smiled down and kissed him good morning, he completely lost the nerve to ask her whether she had seen him or not.
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Strange Days--The First
Date: 12/11/1997 6:01 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
It was a lazy rainy day, the kind of day he had only dreamed of experiencing again merely a year ago. Raindrops splattered against the glass panes of the windows, scattering apart and reforming again and again, always changing and never quite the same twice. How many hours had he spent longing for days like this, for one more chance to hear the rain pitter patter onto the ground? Too many, and not enough. It was hard to keep the things most
people took for granted in perspective when trapped aboard a floating hunk of unfeeling steel, being taken here and there so you could do your job. The only problem had been here and there never changed. Blackness was here and blackness was there-that was the one thing with space. By itself, it had no personality. This wasn't to say that space wasn't beautiful, oh no. To him it was one of the most beautiful things he ever had the privilege to
see. But the beauty was much easier to appreciate here, in the calmness and the stillness of life, rather than in the midst of a firefight.
That had been the one problem with his days as a combat pilot; there was just no time to appreciate anything. Mission after mission, sortie after sortie, strike after strike. If you took time out to look at the nova in the distance, you soon became a small version of one yourself and you'd never be able to appreciate anything again.
He grunted, picking himself up from the chair he had positioned to look out the window. Turning around, he glanced around the room and grunted again. He was feeling nostalgic today. Usually, he hated that, because he ended up depressing himself more often than not. Moving towards the closet, his eyes flickered over the sleeping forms of his wife and baby daughter. That was the trouble with lazy rainy days, he thought. You either sleep or
you stop to think and reflect and there isn't much middle ground to fall back on. Today, however, we was remembering something good, one of the few instances he could point to and say yeah, that's why I did it…that's what made it all worthwhile. He had brought a lot of things with him when he made the move down to the planet, thing he doubted Ginger even knew existed. To be honest, he wasn't really sure how much she knew about his exploits and she
never really asked. He didn't know if that was because she thought it would be hard for him to talk about of if she just wasn't interested and he also didn't know why it was he never volunteered anything. There was always the "You never asked" excuse to fall back on but he also suspected that he might actually find his experiences difficult to relate because they were so much a part of him and yet at the same time so far away. He shook his head
slightly as he opened the closet door. He could learn to hate rainy days.
Retrieving what he was looking for, he quietly moved to the desk in the small workspace he had put together for himself. This house, unlike their old one, lacked a library, and everything pretty much centered around one room. But he had managed to mark out a small little niche for himself to work in, and that place was where he sat now and where he gently set down the large black velvet-lined box in his hands. He unclasped the small lock and
opened the box without so much as a sound, letting it rest upon the silver hinges connecting the two halves. He removed the small data disk from its place in the box and slipped it into the terminal that sat in front of him. The disk spun in the machine with a whispering whir before offering him the option to choose what he wanted to view. He touched the screen with his finger, selecting the image in the top right hand corner that quickly enlarged
to fill the whole screen as a new list of options was presented to him.
He sat back in the chair, staring past the words on the screen to the image in the background. God he looked so young. How long ago was it now, two years? No, three years, soon after he had been given his first command. The youngest active Squadron Leader in the Navy, he had been kept under close watch by just about everybody. Not like he could blame them. His entire squadron was in the picture before him; the entire unit, friends dead and
gone, crew chiefs, everyone, and he had the biggest smile of them all. They had won that year. Not just him personally, but all of them. Damn, they had been so proud and they looked on top of the world. He couldn't help but smile.
From: Goldglo
It was a lazy rainy day, the kind of day he had only dreamed of experiencing again merely a year ago. Raindrops splattered against the glass panes of the windows, scattering apart and reforming again and again, always changing and never quite the same twice. How many hours had he spent longing for days like this, for one more chance to hear the rain pitter patter onto the ground? Too many, and not enough. It was hard to keep the things most
people took for granted in perspective when trapped aboard a floating hunk of unfeeling steel, being taken here and there so you could do your job. The only problem had been here and there never changed. Blackness was here and blackness was there-that was the one thing with space. By itself, it had no personality. This wasn't to say that space wasn't beautiful, oh no. To him it was one of the most beautiful things he ever had the privilege to
see. But the beauty was much easier to appreciate here, in the calmness and the stillness of life, rather than in the midst of a firefight.
That had been the one problem with his days as a combat pilot; there was just no time to appreciate anything. Mission after mission, sortie after sortie, strike after strike. If you took time out to look at the nova in the distance, you soon became a small version of one yourself and you'd never be able to appreciate anything again.
He grunted, picking himself up from the chair he had positioned to look out the window. Turning around, he glanced around the room and grunted again. He was feeling nostalgic today. Usually, he hated that, because he ended up depressing himself more often than not. Moving towards the closet, his eyes flickered over the sleeping forms of his wife and baby daughter. That was the trouble with lazy rainy days, he thought. You either sleep or
you stop to think and reflect and there isn't much middle ground to fall back on. Today, however, we was remembering something good, one of the few instances he could point to and say yeah, that's why I did it…that's what made it all worthwhile. He had brought a lot of things with him when he made the move down to the planet, thing he doubted Ginger even knew existed. To be honest, he wasn't really sure how much she knew about his exploits and she
never really asked. He didn't know if that was because she thought it would be hard for him to talk about of if she just wasn't interested and he also didn't know why it was he never volunteered anything. There was always the "You never asked" excuse to fall back on but he also suspected that he might actually find his experiences difficult to relate because they were so much a part of him and yet at the same time so far away. He shook his head
slightly as he opened the closet door. He could learn to hate rainy days.
Retrieving what he was looking for, he quietly moved to the desk in the small workspace he had put together for himself. This house, unlike their old one, lacked a library, and everything pretty much centered around one room. But he had managed to mark out a small little niche for himself to work in, and that place was where he sat now and where he gently set down the large black velvet-lined box in his hands. He unclasped the small lock and
opened the box without so much as a sound, letting it rest upon the silver hinges connecting the two halves. He removed the small data disk from its place in the box and slipped it into the terminal that sat in front of him. The disk spun in the machine with a whispering whir before offering him the option to choose what he wanted to view. He touched the screen with his finger, selecting the image in the top right hand corner that quickly enlarged
to fill the whole screen as a new list of options was presented to him.
He sat back in the chair, staring past the words on the screen to the image in the background. God he looked so young. How long ago was it now, two years? No, three years, soon after he had been given his first command. The youngest active Squadron Leader in the Navy, he had been kept under close watch by just about everybody. Not like he could blame them. His entire squadron was in the picture before him; the entire unit, friends dead and
gone, crew chiefs, everyone, and he had the biggest smile of them all. They had won that year. Not just him personally, but all of them. Damn, they had been so proud and they looked on top of the world. He couldn't help but smile.
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Prelude
Date: 12/11/1997 6:04 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
It was the Gunnery, Combat, and Munitions Tournament of 2654. Captain Matthew Algiers Simon and his squadron had been chosen to represent the Exeter class Destroyer TCS Othello in the Tourney. Combat had been light in the months preceding the tournament, and his previous squadron, the Steel Wasps, had been assigned to sector patrol in a relatively calm region of space. His squadron commander, Major StevenDykstra, decided to keep his pilots on their toes by having them engage in daily formation drills and wing to wing maneuvers in order to "remind everyone that the basics were just as important as the fancy tricks and maneuvers." Everyone thought the Major was either nuts or just a stickler for the rulebook, but nearly everyone thanked him later when the tactics he taught them saved their lives. It was during this time, five months before the GCM Tourney, that he received his promotion from First Lieutenant to Captain and his first squadron command. Captain Simon. He remembered fastening the double bars on his collar for the first time and the pride he felt when doing so. Plus, he was going to get something he had always wanted, namely, a command of his own. But a new command meant a new ship and a new squadron, and he knew no oneonboard the Othello. His new unit was good, not the best but they had held their own and proven themselves in skirmish after skirmish. He was replacing Major Shelli J. Armstrong, KIA while on a pre-strike Search and Destroy mission. She had been the Squadron Leader for just under two years and although he knew he couldn't replace her, he had to do his best to try. Those first weeks had just been hell; he was an outsider and he wasn'texactly greeted with open arms. He could understand that for how could he, a green Captain with his first command, possibly compare to a decorated Major, an excellent pilot, and a damn good friend? Well, he remembered thinking, nobody ever said command was easy. He had felt odd giving orders to men and women who were mostly older or more experienced than he was and he worried a long time over how they might react to his implementation of Major Dykstra's drill policy. He eventually realized that although he was young and many viewed him as too inexperienced to properly lead a squadron, he did hold the command and the rank and like it or not, people were going to have to learn to follow his orders. Hewas pleasantly surprised when his crew not only accepted but seemed supportive of the idea and he taught them as well as he was able, learning more than a few things himself as well. Although he had always been a wildcard, command came naturally to him, and no one person, himself included, was more important than another. He instilled this concept into his unit, pushed teamwork above all else. As he matured as a commander, his squadron matured asa team, and they all became tight friends and were as close to family as possible, a dangerous thing in war. Their combat efficiency improved dramatically, not because of his efforts, but because they all fought not for themselves, but for each other. The team was important, the family was what mattered, and the good of the few vastly outweighed the good of the one. Losses to the enemy were nonexistent for those five months and his family remainedwhole and intact. When tournament time neared, he appealed to his C.O. for entry and his squadron, one of three on the Othello, was chosen to go along with two others from the carrier group. Of course, there were the usual critics asking what right did the military have to participate in war games in the midst of a real war but the GCM Tournament was not only tradition, it was a sorely needed morale booster. Those ships stationed in vital sectors withheavy fighting were not able nor allowed to spare personnel or ships for a tournament, but the men and women on those ships felt the excitement and shared the moments, even if only through a VidNet screen. This year, the GCMT would be held on Morgabi Station in the Quanserno sector, just three jumps away from where the Othello was currently stationed. So they left, pilots and crew onboard two Drayman transports and their ships stored on theTCS Miranda, a Corvette that would return to the carrier group as soon as it unloaded its cargo onto the station. Tournament time was at hand.
From: Goldglo
It was the Gunnery, Combat, and Munitions Tournament of 2654. Captain Matthew Algiers Simon and his squadron had been chosen to represent the Exeter class Destroyer TCS Othello in the Tourney. Combat had been light in the months preceding the tournament, and his previous squadron, the Steel Wasps, had been assigned to sector patrol in a relatively calm region of space. His squadron commander, Major StevenDykstra, decided to keep his pilots on their toes by having them engage in daily formation drills and wing to wing maneuvers in order to "remind everyone that the basics were just as important as the fancy tricks and maneuvers." Everyone thought the Major was either nuts or just a stickler for the rulebook, but nearly everyone thanked him later when the tactics he taught them saved their lives. It was during this time, five months before the GCM Tourney, that he received his promotion from First Lieutenant to Captain and his first squadron command. Captain Simon. He remembered fastening the double bars on his collar for the first time and the pride he felt when doing so. Plus, he was going to get something he had always wanted, namely, a command of his own. But a new command meant a new ship and a new squadron, and he knew no oneonboard the Othello. His new unit was good, not the best but they had held their own and proven themselves in skirmish after skirmish. He was replacing Major Shelli J. Armstrong, KIA while on a pre-strike Search and Destroy mission. She had been the Squadron Leader for just under two years and although he knew he couldn't replace her, he had to do his best to try. Those first weeks had just been hell; he was an outsider and he wasn'texactly greeted with open arms. He could understand that for how could he, a green Captain with his first command, possibly compare to a decorated Major, an excellent pilot, and a damn good friend? Well, he remembered thinking, nobody ever said command was easy. He had felt odd giving orders to men and women who were mostly older or more experienced than he was and he worried a long time over how they might react to his implementation of Major Dykstra's drill policy. He eventually realized that although he was young and many viewed him as too inexperienced to properly lead a squadron, he did hold the command and the rank and like it or not, people were going to have to learn to follow his orders. Hewas pleasantly surprised when his crew not only accepted but seemed supportive of the idea and he taught them as well as he was able, learning more than a few things himself as well. Although he had always been a wildcard, command came naturally to him, and no one person, himself included, was more important than another. He instilled this concept into his unit, pushed teamwork above all else. As he matured as a commander, his squadron matured asa team, and they all became tight friends and were as close to family as possible, a dangerous thing in war. Their combat efficiency improved dramatically, not because of his efforts, but because they all fought not for themselves, but for each other. The team was important, the family was what mattered, and the good of the few vastly outweighed the good of the one. Losses to the enemy were nonexistent for those five months and his family remainedwhole and intact. When tournament time neared, he appealed to his C.O. for entry and his squadron, one of three on the Othello, was chosen to go along with two others from the carrier group. Of course, there were the usual critics asking what right did the military have to participate in war games in the midst of a real war but the GCM Tournament was not only tradition, it was a sorely needed morale booster. Those ships stationed in vital sectors withheavy fighting were not able nor allowed to spare personnel or ships for a tournament, but the men and women on those ships felt the excitement and shared the moments, even if only through a VidNet screen. This year, the GCMT would be held on Morgabi Station in the Quanserno sector, just three jumps away from where the Othello was currently stationed. So they left, pilots and crew onboard two Drayman transports and their ships stored on theTCS Miranda, a Corvette that would return to the carrier group as soon as it unloaded its cargo onto the station. Tournament time was at hand.
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Arrival
Date: 12/12/1997 2:27 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Goldglo
The Miranda disappeared in a blinding flash of bluish white light when it reached the jump-point, heading back to its routine escort duty while Captain Simon and company disembarked the Drayman transports. Moving through the airlock and onto Morgabi Station, they were fairly impressed. Military bases weren't exactly the most pristine places to visit, but it looked as if someone had actually tried to make this one look halfwaydecent for the Tournament. It was 0817 when they left the transports and 1015 was the scheduled briefing period for all pilots and crews participating in the GCMT. They were escorted to a rather large lounge area by station personnel and found that they were one of the first crews to arrive. The blue-white flashes blinked in and out occasionally as more 'sports jumped in-system to deliver the competition. The Captain watched the large bulky'sports lumber along through space at intolerably slow speeds and it seemed to take each one a lifetime to reach the docking rings. Patrol fighters would streak by occasionally-a pair of Scimitars and a pair of Hornets, a rather light patrol for a deep space station. But then again, they were pretty far inside of friendly territory and the chances of an enemy strike fleet slipping through the sensor net that had been established through a four jumpradius was slim to none. The two Hornet light fighters spun around in a lazy roll, an indication that both pilots had probably been out there too long and were either trying to keep awake or just amuse themselves. The Scimitar mediums broke their formation and split into two ends of a "V" before entering what looked like a landing pattern. From the corner of his eye he noticed two more Scimitars shoot out from the launch bay and he glanced down athis chronometer--1000 hours. Time for a shift change it seemed and time for everyone present to head to wherever this briefing was supposed to take place. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to know where that was. His crew was split up amongst the room, talking and joking among themselves and with old friends and former squad-mates that were also attending the competition. He scanned the room for Dykstra or any of the other Steel Wasps but sawno sign of them. He grunted slightly, wishing they would hurry up and get here. He was looking forward to a little friendly competition with his old buddies. By 1030 people were becoming antsy and when 1100 rolled around with no word from anyone about the briefing or the Tournament people were wondering what the hell was going on. The last Drayman had jumped out nearly an hour ago and the room was filled with more people than it could handle and it was becoming rather hot. He was chatting with a Lieutenant whom he hadn't seen since his class left the Academy, a bomber pilot who was convinced hissquadron would win the Short-Range Bombing competition hands down. He quirked a small smile, for his friend had always been enthusiastic about anything he had ever done, whether it be flying or pulling KP. Somehow, he reflected, he never could get himself excited about KP back in those days. He belonged in the cockpit and that was where his heart stayed, even if his body was forced to do something else. About the time everyone had decided to leave the room and roam around until they got some answers, Colonel Nicolas Kingman, head of the GCMT this year, entered the lounge. A rather small man, Col. Kingman had an unusually powerful voice, and it easily cut through the sounds of conversations in progress. All heads swiveled and everyone snapped to attention and tried not to laugh when glasses and chairs crashed to the floor as some personnel wereless than careful when they jumped to their feet. The Colonel grimaced, looking like he was trying real hard not to insult the whole lot of them as he spoke. "Listen up people, we've suffered some setbacks." Kingman's glaring stare shut up each and every groan before it had a chance to escape from anyone's mouth. "It looks as if there are going to be a few squadrons who are unable to make it to this year's Tournament. Most of these were either occupied with a crucial assignment or suffered equipment loss or damage before leaving their posts. However…," here the Colonel paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "However, there is one squadron who will be missing from this event for another reason. The transports carrying the Steel Waspsquadron were attacked by an extended Kilrathi patrol that infiltrated through one of our jump points. Escort fighters were present but unable to deflect the attack and both transports were destroyed. Lifepods were launched and recovered but we're not sure who made it and who didn't. We just received word a few minutes ago ourselves about this and we'll let you all know more details as we get them." The Colonel paused, looking as if he wanted tosay something more, but was holding back. "Your briefing will be in half an hour in room H-12, over the launch bay. Commander Galarza will meet you there." Glancing over the room one more time, the Colonel made a quick exit, leaving a rather stunned group in his wake. To die was one thing. To die in combat was another. But to die trapped and helpless in a transport was something else altogether and everyone in that room knew it. Those who realized that Captain Simon had been a part of the Steel Wasps half-turned to him; whether they were expecting some sort of speech or a fit of anger hecouldn't say. Slowly unclenching his tightly balled fists, Matt made no other movements and the room remained silent and still. The mood quite subdued from what it had been just a few minutes before, people began slowly moving towards the door and to the launch bay. His squad stayed behind, remaining with him, and he felt their eyes staring at him as he turned to face them. They looked worried and concerned and he couldn't help but let a smallsmile escape from his lips. He loved this bunch of misfits. His voice was quiet when he spoke, but the determination was difficult to miss. "Let's win this thing," he said. "Let's go do what we do best. Win." With that, they left the lounge, confident, sure, and just a little bit emptier inside.
From: Goldglo
The Miranda disappeared in a blinding flash of bluish white light when it reached the jump-point, heading back to its routine escort duty while Captain Simon and company disembarked the Drayman transports. Moving through the airlock and onto Morgabi Station, they were fairly impressed. Military bases weren't exactly the most pristine places to visit, but it looked as if someone had actually tried to make this one look halfwaydecent for the Tournament. It was 0817 when they left the transports and 1015 was the scheduled briefing period for all pilots and crews participating in the GCMT. They were escorted to a rather large lounge area by station personnel and found that they were one of the first crews to arrive. The blue-white flashes blinked in and out occasionally as more 'sports jumped in-system to deliver the competition. The Captain watched the large bulky'sports lumber along through space at intolerably slow speeds and it seemed to take each one a lifetime to reach the docking rings. Patrol fighters would streak by occasionally-a pair of Scimitars and a pair of Hornets, a rather light patrol for a deep space station. But then again, they were pretty far inside of friendly territory and the chances of an enemy strike fleet slipping through the sensor net that had been established through a four jumpradius was slim to none. The two Hornet light fighters spun around in a lazy roll, an indication that both pilots had probably been out there too long and were either trying to keep awake or just amuse themselves. The Scimitar mediums broke their formation and split into two ends of a "V" before entering what looked like a landing pattern. From the corner of his eye he noticed two more Scimitars shoot out from the launch bay and he glanced down athis chronometer--1000 hours. Time for a shift change it seemed and time for everyone present to head to wherever this briefing was supposed to take place. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to know where that was. His crew was split up amongst the room, talking and joking among themselves and with old friends and former squad-mates that were also attending the competition. He scanned the room for Dykstra or any of the other Steel Wasps but sawno sign of them. He grunted slightly, wishing they would hurry up and get here. He was looking forward to a little friendly competition with his old buddies. By 1030 people were becoming antsy and when 1100 rolled around with no word from anyone about the briefing or the Tournament people were wondering what the hell was going on. The last Drayman had jumped out nearly an hour ago and the room was filled with more people than it could handle and it was becoming rather hot. He was chatting with a Lieutenant whom he hadn't seen since his class left the Academy, a bomber pilot who was convinced hissquadron would win the Short-Range Bombing competition hands down. He quirked a small smile, for his friend had always been enthusiastic about anything he had ever done, whether it be flying or pulling KP. Somehow, he reflected, he never could get himself excited about KP back in those days. He belonged in the cockpit and that was where his heart stayed, even if his body was forced to do something else. About the time everyone had decided to leave the room and roam around until they got some answers, Colonel Nicolas Kingman, head of the GCMT this year, entered the lounge. A rather small man, Col. Kingman had an unusually powerful voice, and it easily cut through the sounds of conversations in progress. All heads swiveled and everyone snapped to attention and tried not to laugh when glasses and chairs crashed to the floor as some personnel wereless than careful when they jumped to their feet. The Colonel grimaced, looking like he was trying real hard not to insult the whole lot of them as he spoke. "Listen up people, we've suffered some setbacks." Kingman's glaring stare shut up each and every groan before it had a chance to escape from anyone's mouth. "It looks as if there are going to be a few squadrons who are unable to make it to this year's Tournament. Most of these were either occupied with a crucial assignment or suffered equipment loss or damage before leaving their posts. However…," here the Colonel paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "However, there is one squadron who will be missing from this event for another reason. The transports carrying the Steel Waspsquadron were attacked by an extended Kilrathi patrol that infiltrated through one of our jump points. Escort fighters were present but unable to deflect the attack and both transports were destroyed. Lifepods were launched and recovered but we're not sure who made it and who didn't. We just received word a few minutes ago ourselves about this and we'll let you all know more details as we get them." The Colonel paused, looking as if he wanted tosay something more, but was holding back. "Your briefing will be in half an hour in room H-12, over the launch bay. Commander Galarza will meet you there." Glancing over the room one more time, the Colonel made a quick exit, leaving a rather stunned group in his wake. To die was one thing. To die in combat was another. But to die trapped and helpless in a transport was something else altogether and everyone in that room knew it. Those who realized that Captain Simon had been a part of the Steel Wasps half-turned to him; whether they were expecting some sort of speech or a fit of anger hecouldn't say. Slowly unclenching his tightly balled fists, Matt made no other movements and the room remained silent and still. The mood quite subdued from what it had been just a few minutes before, people began slowly moving towards the door and to the launch bay. His squad stayed behind, remaining with him, and he felt their eyes staring at him as he turned to face them. They looked worried and concerned and he couldn't help but let a smallsmile escape from his lips. He loved this bunch of misfits. His voice was quiet when he spoke, but the determination was difficult to miss. "Let's win this thing," he said. "Let's go do what we do best. Win." With that, they left the lounge, confident, sure, and just a little bit emptier inside.