Joel Markey sat upright with a jerk. Everything seemed normal, but he tested his limbs all the same. Odd, everything worked just fine. He got up from his chair and walked over to Derick’s station. It was empty, and there was a little note on it:
“Went to take a shower, coffee’s done. No, it wasn’t a dream.”
What did he mean, “wasn’t a dream”? Joel couldn’t recall anything abnormal in the past few days. Still, there was a nagging suspicion in the back of his head that something wasn’t right. Joel moved to the coffeepot and poured himself a cupful, then went to the galley for a bite to eat. He was starving, which wasn’t unusual, it was the intensity of the hunger that was. He usually wasn’t hungry enough to eat three meals at once.
***************
Derick Petterson came out of the restroom with his hair still wet from a shower. Taking a seat next to Joel, he took the proffered fork and proceeded to devour the meal before him. Once finished, he wiped his face with a rag and went to get a cup of coffee.
Joel asked, “You left a note on your chair. What do you mean, ‘wasn’t a dream’?” He sipped his coffee, grimacing at an odd aftertaste.
“You should know, you’re the one who yelled to dump it out.” Derick replied over his shoulder. He finished filling his mug and returned to the table.
“Wait…I said to dump something? What? I NEVER say to drop a load, you should know that!”
Joel was a bit upset at this. He took pride in his ship’s capacity for high-risk cargo, and he never jettisoned a cargo unless it was threatening his ship directly, like the nuclear warheads for the LSF a few months back.
“But…” Derick started, but stopped, thought, and continued. “You don’t remember, do you?” This alone was very worrisome. If Joel had forgotten…
“No, I bloody well don’t! Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to quiz the computer?” The ship’s computer was a bit on the neurotic side, a result of not having a disc defrag in years. Getting information from it would be a major hassle.
Joel pondered a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Two days ago we were contacted by the LPI for a job. Do you remember that much?”
“Yeah, any dunderhead would remember a job.” Joel was still upset.
“Do you remember what we were contracted to carry, and for whom?”
“Of course! A load of Optronics for Willard, care of some guy named Phedrin Maltak.” Joel was getting impatient with useless questions.
“No, it wasn’t. We were called in to carry a Nomad Power Cell to Corinth in Omicron 74 for a Zoner Destroyer, the Azmodeus. Called in by your son, no less.” Derick was really worried now. If Joel had lost him memory of the incident, who knew who or what was after them, to keep them quiet.
“Don’t be an idiot. There’s no such thing as a Nomad Power Cell. And I’ve never heard of the Azmodeus. As for Jim…Well, hmph! He’s never done a day’s work in the LPI since the Sleepers landed in Sirius!” Joel paused to catch his breath, then went on. “Besides, we’re not in Omi 74.”
Derick just shook his head. “No, we aren’t. You’ll want to see this.”
***************
The pair walked up to the bridge, which, now that he was awake, Joel could see that the blast shutters were over the windows. Hell, they were over EVERY window in the ship. Joel could think of a few things that could do that to a ship, and every last one of them involved an explosion that invariably resulted in the death of all crew members.
“Why are we still alive then? This makes no sense!” Joel was clearly baffled by this turn of events.
An alarm sounded, and the computer popped up a diagram on the secondary displays. Incoming fighters, Mollys!
“What the hell are MOLLYS doing here?” Joel was confused and angry at the same time. How DARE they try to destroy his ship. Then he remembered that his ship did look like a wreck. “Computer, all turrets, engage and destroy! Tractor in the lifepods as they launch.”
Fifteen seconds later, some incandescent dust was registered by the IR scanners. That was all that was left of the Molly patrol. Four pods now lay in the cargo bay. Joel activated the pressurization tanks and locked the doors. It might be a bit cold, but at least the pilots wouldn’t be dead.
Derick walked over to a console and moved his hand over the keys, selecting one and pressing it. Joel gasped as the main screen brought up the exterior cameras, their only source of visual contact. They weren’t in California, or any other Liberty system anymore.
“Recognize it?” Derick asked. “It’s called Newcastle. Bretonian. Hey…You okay?”
Joel had slumped to the floor as his mental block dissolved. What he had seen caused suppressed memories to flow to the surface, memories of being a slave to a creature. Slave not only in body, but in mind. Joel was never a Nomad host body, but he had been the closest thing to it without being physically infested. He had been mentally dominated by one he called “the Voice”. He choked once, gasped for breath, and sat up, panting. “Yeah…I’m fine…really”
Derick looked down at him, his brow furled in consternation. “What in the galaxy happened to you?”
“I just saw something out there. See it?” Derick looked, and fainted.
***************
The fighter slid into the gas cloud without so much as a whisper of movement as it sped towards the station. Hopefully he would not be too late. His research had led him thus far, perhaps he could yet decipher the mystery. The panel blinked; a ship matching his parameters had been located. Another panel showed a few fighters at long range. He had to move quickly; the Mollys were coming.
***************
The alerts board lit up on Sunderland Station. “Sir! We’ve picked up a signal. Read a single Liberator LF-class fighter, heading towards the research area. Shall I send interceptors?” The monitor was new, but knew his job well enough to not make stupid decisions alone.
“Yes, but don’t engage. Hail the craft and find out its intentions and designation.” The officer in charge of the Comms department said, after a short consultation with the station’s commander.
“Affirmative, sir. Ships launching now from the Grimsby. Estimated time to intercept: Two minutes.”
“Roger that. Sergeant Downing out.”
***************
The ship slipped past the Grimsby at a respectful distance, noting the fighters launching from the hangar. GJ understood their caution, this was a restricted zone, after all. Still, he had a job to do, and nothing, not even the BAF was going to stop him
***************
“Unidentified Light Fighter, this is BAF patrol Theta-2. Kill your engines at once and state your intentions.” The wingleader was a bit nervous, the Liberator had a reputation for being one of the most powerful vessels of its class.
“Negative, Theta-2. I am on a mission here, I cannot stop what I am doing now.” The fighter resumed its previous course, straight for where his calculations had determined the ship to be.
“All wingmen, launch cruise disruptors!” The wingleader was not about to be gainsaid by a light fighter; his wing of Templars was more that a match for any Liberator, no matter how good the pilot of that most excellent of craft. Four missiles arced towards the lone ship, closing, closing, closing….
***************
Joel went to the galley for a bucket of water. He hated wasting it on his copilot, but he needed to be able to talk to the guy. Besides, who knew if he’d need a gunner?
The Molly patrol flew inexorably onwards, to the last known location of their brethren. The leader was worried, his brother was flying in the patrol they were looking for. I do hope he’s alright. He’s the only sibling I have left. All the others had either been captured or killed in the war with Bretonia.
At the last second, the Liberator launched a single mine and a pair of countermeasures. The cruise disruptors, still actively scanning for the target, locked onto the CMs and detonated, propelling bits of shrapnel into the mine. It detonated into a ball of fire that scorched the paint off of the Templars, leaving them looking as though they had just come back from a battle in the Tau systems, instead of being factory-new Newcastle assigned vessels.
The wingleader was astonished. This pilot was good. As he reported the mine to the Grimsby, he realized that the pilot of the Liberator was not actively engaging them. He was only trying to buy time, but for what?
***************
Joel threw the bucket over Derick, who came to spluttering and threatening to disembowel his attacker, dethrone him, and disenchant his girlfriend. By this Joel knew he was going to be fine. When Derick’s mind registered Joel standing there, he started to mutter about an apology to someone distantly related to his last girlfriend’s cousin.
“You saw it too, huh?” Joel leaned over his friend and extended a hand.
“Yeah…”
***************
The Liberator broke the silence. “Templar pilots, leave me alone. I don’t want to kill you.”
“Liberator pilot, state your intentions, name, and what the hell Sunbucks is.”
GJ sighed audibly. He mentally flipped a few switches and sent an image of his cockpit to the pursuing Templars, as well as a document containing his history. He also attached a file titled “What the hell is Sunbucks?”
***************
The Molly leader’s scanners showed a single vessel where his brother’s wing should have been. Odd, it was apparently a derelict. All the windows were blastshuttered, and there were bits of Bloodhounds around. His vision reddened as he picked up the remains of his brother’s fighter. No!
His Wolfhound accelerated to its maximum speed as he primed his mine launcher.
***************
The Templar leader nearly dived into an asteroid. His secondary monitor picked up a live feed from the Liberator. His throat felt dry and sandpapery. His breath caught and he sputtered as his brain registered that there was no pilot. He sincerely hoped that it wasn’t a ghost. An alarm sounded; Mollys had been detected. He detailed two fighters to divert and take them down as he and his wingman continued after the Liberator.
***************
Joel groaned as the contact alert picked up another squad of Mollys. He quickly realized, however, that these were in Wolfhounds. Jamming the button to start the engines, he slipped into the pilot’s seat and began preflight tests. Derick activated a recorder to film the view outside as he punched in the coordinates of the Mollys.
Another alarm sounded, this time registering an unknown ship. A voice came over the comms from the contact.
“Joel? Derick? You guys okay?” Neither of the two men recognized the voice at all.
“This is Joel…” Joel let his voice trail off, he didn’t know this guy from Adam. Derick looked at Joel and signed that he had no idea who it was either
“Thank goodness! I got here in time. Look, you need to get your butts in gear and head out of here. Go to Chester, I’ll meet you there. Hurry! You’ve got some nasty buggers after you.”
“Wait! Who are you, and how do you know our names?” Joel’s question was valid, and Derick chimed in with accord.
“Derick, do you remember your cousin Greg? Greg Janssen?” The mysterious pilot asked by way of explanation.
“Uh, yeah, why? You’re not him, I know that much.” Derick’s expression was quizzical; this guy wasn’t anyone he’d ever met before in his life!
“No, I am not. I am his ‘son’, I suppose. I would love to meet you in person, but that is not really possible. I will talk to you more in Chester once I explain to these wonderful Bretonian gentlemen behind me. Oh, and leave the Mollys, the leader’s brother is coming and he is in a foul mood” The pilot ceased talking and Joel opened the comm to the cargo bay. “Molly pilots, suit up. You are going to be dropped off soon. Oh, and for your leader: your brother is coming.”
An alert pinged and coordinates began scrolling up the screen. Apparently there was a jumphole to Chester not too far away.
***************
The Molly leader’s computer beeped, and he angrily told it to shut up. It was insistent, though, so he diverted his eyes for a moment to see what the matter was. The vessel ahead had just launched a quartet of escape pods, one bearing the life signs of his brother. He’s not dead? Then…What happened? He vectored in on the pods, tractor beam at the ready.
***************
The Bretonian leader looked down at his kneeboard, as a message began to scroll across. It read:
Look, leave me alone already, leave these Mollys alone, and leave the Dream alone. Got it? We are going to Chester, and I do not want to be followed.
-A.R.S. Leader out.
Anomaly Research Squad? The pilot had heard of them before. He decided to heed the message and returned to the Grimsby. Oh, crap, he thought. How am I going to explain the condition of my ship?
Zealot Wrote:Just go play the game and have fun dammit.
Treewyrm Wrote:all in all the conclusion is that disco doesn't need antagonist factions, it doesn't need phantoms, it doesn't need nomads, it doesn't need coalition and it doesn't need many other things, no AIs, the game is hijacked by morons to confuse the game with their dickwaving generic competition games mixed up with troll-of-the-day.
