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Druzall Lythman

February 08, 2009

Two black HAEG ships docked with the mining ship, filled with precious trovium. Three officers, Melth, Sylar and Tyhlog entered the bridge, to find the entire crew dead, there throats slit and pockets emptied.

"Obvious Red Sun work. Looks like they're at it agian." Malth said, looknig aronud if anyone was alive.

"I'm surprised. We got the signal 10 minutes ago, we came throguh the void gate and fonud no enemy ships. They must ahve been quick." Sylar looked.

"Or they are still here. Perhaps they didn't leave?" Melth took Sylar and left Tyhlog to clear up. They investigated the hold, where they found someone they weren't expecting to see. An old colleague of there's, Druzall.

"Druzall, what are you doing here? Did you see anything." Sylar asked, a look of suspicion quickly forming on his face. He knew Druzall had a record of bribes, bribes and more bribes and had even killed a few innocents along the way, but the courts had put that down to accidents. Sylar knew better though.

"I'm inspecting. As you can see." Druzall smirked.

"What do you mean. Where did you come from, and where's your ship?" Melth stepped forward, angered my Druzall's incolence. "You better not have had anything to do with this."

"This is my ship." Druzall stepped forward, wiping the smile from his face and bringing a small Narlosian blade into Melth's chest, ripping out his heart.

"Freeze!" Sylar reached for his pistol, but instead received the blade into his forhead, bursting his brains all over the wall. Druzall looked at Melth, who was gurggling blood, and brought his foot to crush his skull.

"Bye bye!" Druzall walked off laughing, his pyschotic minding working away.

He stepped onto the bridge and called up all the CONSEC agents to the mining hold, and promptly flushed them out into space from the bridges mining controls. He stepped to the reactor and set it to 115% power, making sure to overload it and leave before the evidence of his murder was shown. He had his men laod all the trovium onto the second HAEG frigate and left monets before the reactor detonated and blew up both the CONSEC ship and the miner.

"CONSEC Security Group 2. Reporting that a Children ship has just entered Dacoran space and destroyed one of our ships and a friendly miner. They blasted them and left any survivors to frezze, over." Druzall had to struggle not to laugh at the chaos he was causing.

"What? But the Children, they're at peace with us. We're not an enemy of their's! This makes no sense." The Operator said.

"That's what I said, I hailed them and they fired on us and clearly knew who they were shooting. They killed them in cold blooda dn they are heading for a Dacoran trade station as we speak." Druzall was chuckling away from the mike.

"You mean, the Yuul station? But there's a summit there, on free trae in the pirate areas. You think they're going to attack it?" The Operator couldn't belive his ears.

"Oh yes. But they are disguised as an Ale Turan mechant ship. They also killed the crew when they jacked the ship so as to avoid attention. They've armed it too."

"Ok, I'll get the CONSEC and HAEG there straight away. By the way, who are you?" The Operator asked, wanting to know the informers name.

"Sergeant Melth. Gld to help. Over and out." Druzall burst into laughter and flicked a switch. It blew the Yuul station apart. He'd made sure to plant a bomb before hand. And know 30 delgates from Dacor and Mectis were blown apart, and he had pinned it on an innocent party. The one thing Druzall loved more than money and murder was stirring war.


What is it?

February 07, 2009

A Crash. A Drizzle. A fleck of rain, drizled down by the shuttle's broken windows. Daltear and his crew had landed in an unceremonious heap at the base of a huge mountain in the system S64. The cold froze the ship and with a few minutes after the crash, Daltear fonud himself dying a horrific death, his very blood frothing and freeezing inside him. His eyes and face crumbled and froze, slowly denying him any sense of his surroundings as his body broke down. And then he died.

It hadn't been a mistake. Oh no, someone or something had made him crash here to prolong his suffering. Something darkly malicous and sadistic, obviously shot them out of the sky, in such a way to prolong there lives on S64, just to make them die in the worst imaginalbe way. Slowly and terrified, they're sadistic observer watched, loving every minute of anguish and sorrow. Every moment of pain. The monstrosity had no name. No number. No form.

What was it?

It lingered, at least for a month to wonder and cherish S64 cold, fealing empty without something to torture. Without anyone to watch freeze, with no companion victims and no fun, it moved on to another place in the system, waiting to feed on the cold. It no doubt wanted something, revenge, retrebution, redemtpion, fun?

What was it?


iOnce in a New Moon/i

February 05, 2009

The migratory tribe numbered less than a hundred. With the shifting movement of the stars, the elders would proclaim that it was time to move from the northern lands to the familiar warm swamps, and as the stars would shift again the tribe would load their carts with only the necessities and start their trek back to the prairies in the north. The journey was long and difficult for this species of humped-back bipeds with buffalo-shaped heads, but the migration had proven more than beneficial for the tribe's survival over hundreds and hundreds of their years.

So, the season was changing. The daylight lengthened and the swampland became more humid, and the heated air lingered around them. The elders mandated the time had come for them to go back to the grasslands, and with anxious eyes searched the heavens for any omens of what may lay ahead.

It was at first but a bright speck in the darkened sky, but over a few nights it's size grew and grew. It's path across the horizon differed from that of the known stars. It passed over the land in a single night, so much like the three common moons. The elders surmised that this was indeed a new moon that had taken shape in the sky. A good sign or bad sign? As no such thing had ever occurred before, the elders were divided. But there was little time to take much notice as preparation for the migration was underway.

The dense canopy of trees shielded their view of the sky for several days and nights. The first night out of the thicket, they were to witness a most peculiar sight. For the new moon was now as large as the smallest familiar moon, and in a single instant the new moon moved closer to the ground. It was now as large as the largest known moon, and around it there were short flashes of light. Flashes that darted into and away from the moon. Sometimes brief, sometimes lingering. Although awed by this phenomena, the tribe was not fearful of the unknown, and they trusted the heavens for it was consistent in guiding them to better habitats, and for the star-readers it had for long revealed the future.

The new moon ceased its flight across the sky and now could be seen both day and night as the tribe prodded their well worn paths created over the many years of seasonal moves. There was much wonder as to how this round thing could hang in the sky and the strange objects that flew into and away from it. Giant avian creatures some surmised.

Over the days as their pack went further and further into the grassy low lands, the new moon hovered above them. And then, even a stranger thing came to be. A shiny long object flew over their caravan, so close to the ground it seemed tangible. A flying object that had no wings but roared loudly as it swiftly passed. It was a horrendously loud sound the likes of which none had ever witnessed. Members of the tribe scattered amid screams of terror, and tried to hide among the tall grasses.

It would not be until twilight that the group could be gathered. Many still shaken by the mysterious oddity. As night fell, the new moon shifted and almost instantaneously moved back into the heavens and was again as small as the smallest familiar moon. The darting flashes suddenly stopped, and the new moon once again began to move across the sky.

The next day, still alarmed by the unusual events, the tribe continued their trek staying as close as possible to a cropping of woods. The object did not return nor was the new moon visible in the daylight.

That evening as they made camp, now but a few days away from the plentiful hunting grounds of the grasslands, the elders searched the sky for sight of the new moon, but it was not be found.

Nor, did it ever appear again in any of their lifetimes.

New Moon

The Kid On the Pier

February 02, 2009

They all agreed that the kid had nearly made it, at least he’d come a hell of a lot closer than anyone else. So what if he spun his dronecycle into the observation deck on the last circuit and killed thirty spectators? It was still a good run, overall.

Everybody else agreed that it was criminal recklessness, and soon the half-breed was on his way to Gecimonde Prison, way out past Gamma Station. While he was there, he ran across some of Yekk Olen’s boys who remembered him from the Starport days, and he had to put them down. Whatever else you could say about the kid, there was no doubt that he inherited his Father’s fists and his Mother’s taste for warm blood.

Killing three members of the Olen gang got him transferred to the Deeps for a year, and that was where he picked up the Dacor dialects. It’s also where he learned to break circuits, which came in handy when he busted out and boarded The GMS Walrus bound for Omphalos.

He blended into the Ganite Merchant Marine easily enough, having enough of his Father’s genes to nearly pass for pure blood. Surrounded as he was by fugitives and foreigners from a dozen sectors, working eighteen-hour days in heat and darkness, who would notice?

It was the labor that finally broke him. Or taught him self-control at least, because it was a changed kid who debarked from the Walrus on that fine day, lining up for his pay on the ancient pier.


The Kid and the Doctor

February 02, 2009

The kid ducked into the first dive off the pier and elbowed his way past the Spacers and Pirates. They scuttled aside, shrinking away from the dead gleam in his eye as he slammed a fist onto the counter and bawled for Narlosian Crelm.

He drank until late in the night, towering over the bar and never taking a stool until a trio of Ale-Turans called him a half-breed. Then he snatched one from the floor and waded into them, swinging it like the hammer of some ancient God and scattering them into the corners with split skulls and broken limbs.

He took a room in the Steam district and would emerge nightly to drink and sometimes to fight with alien giants in the street. One night a Ganite deserter sank a knife into his belly and the kid fell to the pavement, clutching his assassin’s throat in a meaty paw and snapping the neck, even as his consciousness left him.

So that was how the kid awoke in a room that was white and clean with pretty Ganite maidens fluttering around his bed and smelling like the fields of Anther. He assumed that he had died and said so to the old Ganite who was perched beside him looking so officious.

“Dead? Not yet, my young half-breed. Not yet.”

“Well what the hell is this?” growled the Kid.

The elder peered sharply at him, suspecting congenital idiocy.

“You’re in my Clinic, boy, and the Doctor asks the questions here.”

The Kid subsided. To him questions meant prison, and prison meant that he would soon be fed.

“Was your Mother Ganite, or your Father?” the doctor asked.

“My Father.”

“No surprise there I suppose. What is it then? You’re one of those Vengeance War bastards looking for a handout from the local chapter of the War Orphans Society, is that it? Well you can forget that scheme Boy. Only children of Ganite Mothers are eligible for such compensation.”

The Kid had never heard of the War Orphans Society, and he said so.

“Well then. What are you doing here Boy? You weren’t born in the Confederacy, that much I know for certain. Your genetic tagging is quite wrong. What brings a half-breed back to the worlds of his Father hmm? Familial curiosity? Looking for relatives?”

“I took a job on a ship. This is where she landed.”

The Doctor frowned, “Merchant Marine hmm? I should have known.” He grumbled and then bent studiously over a small plastic chip.

“Your wounds are healing and you’re free to go. Take this card to Kuru Allocation and you should be able to get some work. Provided you don’t get in another knife fight along the way.” The Doctor handed the glossy plastic chip to the Kid.

“Just tell me Boy. What was your Mother’s race? Your genetic tagging is really quite wrong you know.”

“She was beautiful.” The Kid told him.

So the Kid left the Clinic, much to the disappointment of the maidens, who seemed to admire his extraordinary height and physique. He climbed up Orto Street and ate in a sidewalk steam, and after he had paid for the eggs he asked the service ‘bot where he could find Kuru Allocation.

The bot printed him directions and the Kid made his way to the center of the city. At Kuru Allocation he lined up with hungry Ganites and foreigners to listen to a young Ganite speak to them through a large nickel plated Ampliphone. The young Ganite wore a uniform and shouted words at them meant to trigger a response. Then he enticed them with promises of pay and light duty. When it was all over, the line turned to one side and they signed onto the crew of a Special Operations Frigate.

They handed the Kid a uniform and sent him to work refueling plasma cannons in the dark and creaking hold of a ship called The Pyrth. One of the Ganites next to the Kid had been drunk throughout the speech and asked him the next morning where they were headed.

The Kid thought about what the uniform had said, but all he could remember was that they would be sent against the bulwarks of intergalactic tyranny. Since he could remember nothing else, he said nothing at all.

the kid


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