The Scarman Enigma

[|Scarecrow|]

Commander David Sinclair looked out of the forward viewport in puzzlement at the large vessel orbiting Los Angeles several thousand kilometers off the bow of his own ship. It looked similar to a standard Liberty Dreadnought, although its pattern was subtly different. It seemed to look sleeker, more streamlined and was a darker toned of blue / grey. The words Tuatha de Danaan were visible across her prow, a name Sinclair wasnt familiar with within the Liberty Navy, unless she was an experimental vessel.
Either way, Sinclair didnt like the situation and intended to get some answers for himself. He turned to his helmsmen and asked for a situation report.
Whats the status on those pirate vessels? He asked, scratching his chin.
They are fleeing sir; shall I order our gunships to pursue? The young helmsman spun in his chair to face his Commander.
Negative, it would just waste resources. I want to know more about that ship there, He indicated the Danaan, Can you raise her?
As far as I can see Commander, they are using as standard communication channels as any.
Ok, patch me through, He waited a moment before the helmsman nodded. He turned to the front of the bridge and took in a deep breath.

This is Commander David Sinclair of the LNS Prometheus, identify yourselves.
The communicae came over the main speaker, turning most of the heads on the Danaans bridge.
Admiral, the cruiser is coming about to face us, her gun ports are all open and trained on us. Ensign Powell reported from her console.
Oh great, Fleet Admiral Merlow sighed.
It was bound to happen sooner or later, Marcus tried to comfort him.
Id rather it have been later, Merlow turned around. Marcus, in the absence of Admiral Shaytan Im appointing you liaison officer, congratulations.
Never a better time sir, Marcus said through gritted teeth. He turned to the helm and sat down in the command chair. Patch me through,
The face of a ageing man wearing a Liberty Navy uniform, one slightly different to the uniforms of Scarecrows home dimension, appeared on the screen looking slightly disgruntled.
This is Admiral Marcus Scarman of the LNS Tuatha de Danaan, I hear you Commander Sinclair.
State your identification, immediately. Sinclair said, looking slightly angry.
I think hes pissed, Ensign Powell whispered from her console.
Constructive input, as always Ensign. Marcus replied, Commander, it is good to meet you. We have a lot to discuss.

---

Tyrant Marcus Scarman stole quietly throughout the decks of the Freedom Fighter flagship. After consulting a ship layout map, he had a vague idea of where the guest suites were, and thus where Senator Scarman was. There had been no alarms, no sound of gunfire. He could only assume that the Freedom Fighters either hadnt realized that there had been three Sadukar Soldiers missing, or were conducting a search discreetly. Still, he had every faith in his Brawlers. Connors and Hurst would be nearby, keeping to the shadows at all times, ready to divert any attention away from him.
With a hiss, the door before him slid back into its berth. According to the layout plans of the ship, he was now somewhere amidships, near the command staffs quarters. All of the command staff was on the bridge, so Marcus had no worries of bumping into anyone on his travels. He had avoided a couple of Navy personnel and FF troops moving throughout the decks, but had encountered no confrontations.

He deftly made his way down the corridor before him, taking care to move quickly and quietly. In the exposed well lit corridors, there was no hiding. Only speed would be able to save him should he be discovered. He turned the corner at the end of the room and entered a wider area, with a number of doors leading off around the edges. Each door carried a digit just above its frame. One of the doors was open, a young girl standing right in front of it with her back turned to him. He halted stone dead out in the open, looking frantically for somewhere to hide.
Heather, a voice called from inside. Dont wander too far Heather, this is a dangerous place.
Yes mommy, The little girl turned around, an exasperated expression on her face. He caught sight of Scarman standing in the entrance to the corridor and paused for a moment. Marcus felt a rising sense of self hatred at the forethought of what he must do, but he was cut off. The girl suddenly smiled and waved and began skipping jovially down the opposite corridor. Quite puzzled, Marcus watched her go. Once she had turned the corner, he advanced across to the open doorway and entered.

He quietly walked through the main entrance, noting the fresh sense of cleanliness as he entered. It was a stark contrast to his damp, unwashed flight suit. He entered the main space of the quarters and saw a neatly made bed with a carry case spread out on its pristine covers. A photo frame stood on the bed side table, next to a dim reading light. The quarters were simple, not lived in. The doors of a wardrobe built into the wall on the other side of the bed were ajar with a number of suits and dresses showing in hangars. The sound of someone singing to themselves was drifting out from another bulkhead to his right along with thin wisps of warm steam. A water shower! Marcus hadnt had a shower with real water for a lot longer than he could remember. He walked over to the bulkhead and held out his hand towards the control.

He paused however as he saw the picture beside the bed. Turning away, he walked around the bed and picked it up. It showed an attractive young woman wearing a cute wedding dress with her arms draped lovingly around a tall, handsome young man. It took Marcus several seconds to realize that he was looking at himself. The Tyrant snarled at the image of his alternate-self. The man was tall and straight, wearing a well pressed suit and tie. He was clean shaven and had a neat comb-over, but still retained a look of youthful energy beneath his eyes. He was a stark contrast to the shaggy Scarecrow that stood intruding in his quarters. Tyrant Marcus Scarman hadnt had a shave in many months and was supporting a large beard that looked even scraggier thanks to his long, matted hair. His scar was visible, running down his right eye and his skin was pale and unhealthy. He would have to look into his appearance later. For the moment, he had more pressing matters to attend too. Turning, Tyrant Scarman dropped the photo frame and made for the bulkhead. A dark grin crossing his features, he pressed his thumb against the door controls. Silently, he entered the steam filled bathroom, the bulkhead clicking shut behind him.

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| S C A R E C R O W |

"See you space cowboy..."