My Sci-Fi

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

Still no name, but at least you don't have to sort through 10,000 posts to find it this time. Now that my computer has been reunited with the Internet, I will now be able to post updates as soon as I get them finished. No more flash drives and library trips, yay!

Right. Anyway, a little background info. This is actually a picture story, with the pictures being acted out and shot in the Sims 2. This is done for a number of reasons, the main ones being:

1. I can bring my imagination to life.
2. It justifies the 10gb of Sims mods that currently reside on my hard drive, so they're not just for my...uh...fantasies.
3. Because I can.

The point being, this makes it rather image-heavy, so if you're on dial-up then stop being a cheap asshole and get broadband so it loads alright.


So, the story takes place in the mid-24th century. Basically, the human race bombed half their planet to Hell, and so they took off to the stars to find more places to live. They ended up finding a shitload of planets, and a shitload of aliens ON said planets. They made peace, blah blah blah, endless cliché, and now a bunch of psychotic anarchists are trying to dissolve the galaxy. Not literally (well, no shit) of course. I could go into detail, but then not only would some people not understand it, but I couldn't milk another story out of it either.

So, some helpful terms:

USAP- the United Strategic Alliance of Planets, aka just the Alliance. The intergalactic super-government that all known sentient species are part of.

ISL- Interplanetary Separatist League, mostly just called Rebels. The aforementioned psychotic anarchists.

Defense Council- Basically like the Joint Chiefs of Staff, but they actually preside over military affairs instead of advising the government. A better comparison would be the UNSC Security Committee.

Supreme Commander of the USAP Defense Force- Fairly self-explanatory. Basically like the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, with the exception that he or she controls the entire military instead of the President.

Re'nare- Probably the most prominent species besides humans. This is because their technology is the most similar. Have developed a "hippie" stereotype because of their environmentally-friendly technology and culture.

Anything else you don't get, feel free to ask.

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

Somewhere in hyperspace aboard civilian freighter No Spurs Needed. Date: April 16, 2360. 900 hours, GST.

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Hank Dawson loved his ship. And, at first glance, that was difficult to understand. It was several years old, falling apart, and had a paint job that could put a seasoned officer to tears. But truthfully, there was only one reason why he cherished it so much.
He loved it because it was all his. No orders to give or take, no one shooting at you, and no rules or regulations. This was, in a sense, freedom. Between that and his pronounced Texan drawl and Stetson, he considered himself the closest thing to a cowboy, minus the spurs and horse. A space ranger. Proud of that fact, he had named his ship No Spurs Needed.
Just him and space, with light-years separating him from the nearest Alliance fleet.
Or at least, until recently.
The comm chimed. He reached over and hit the 'on' switch.
“Dawson.”

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On the viewscreen appeared a man in a Navy uniform. His chest bore the insignia of the USAP Supreme Military Commander. He looked concerned.

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“Ericksson here. Do you have the shipment?”
“Yeah. Picked it up a few days ago.”
The look on Ericksson's face changed to irritation. “Then where have you been? Epsilon Eridani is only six hours away. I'm running out of time.”
“Had to stop an' recalibrate the hyperdrive, and whoever did it screwed up. We're still a long way out.”
“That damned ship of yours is always breaking down, Hank.”
“Then you shoulda' hired someone else. Why's it so important that I get it to you right away?”
“Because this is classified military contraband, and the Defense Council generally frowns at moving such cargo via mainstream transports.”
“Then why me? If I get caught, I'm screwed. You know I'm still makin' payments on this thing.”
Ericksson cracked a smile. “Because I trust you, and because we both know you love a risk like that.”

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“For a million credits, hell yeah.”

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“And no questions asked. Ericksson out.”
The viewscreen winked off. Damned Intelligence spooks, Hank thought to himself. All this smoke and mirrors. Shouldn't have taken this job. But a million credits wasn't something he would just turn down. And Ericksson knew that too.
Bastard.
He leaned back in his chair and fell asleep.

SPOILER: Click to show

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

7 Hours Later


“Hey, boss, you awake?” That was Bradley Stromm, his navigator. Hank didn't mind navigating his own ship, but the man was an ex-Navy pilot and undoubtedly better at dodging anything that might disagree with them.
He was also a smart-ass.
“Wake up, Dorothy. We're not in Kansas anymore.”

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Hank groaned and stretched, reaching up to take a swipe at Stromm's glasses.“Just 'cause ya came from Earth and had a good edu-ma-cation don't mean I can't kick yer' ass.”
“Bring it, Tex. I know Kor-ma.”
“Because I taught you,” said a Re'nare who was standing in the doorway.

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“And regrettably, my debt to Hank means that if you assault him, I will be forced to intervene on his part.”
Evann Drall. Hank's first mate and best friend. Due to a strange twisted path of events that led to their friendship, Evann also owed him a life debt.
“The hell with you, Evann. I could kick your blue ass back to the Mother World.”
“Do not mock my species. Besides, I am half-human and I tend to think that the human part shows more.”
“You have a point. Where are Adele and Skip?”
“Deck 1. Adele is doing something with the hyperdrive and Skip is getting dinner.”
“It's only 16:29.”
“He claims that his body still operates on Mars time and that it's dinnertime there.”
Stromm hit the intercom button. “Beckmann, if you're eating the rest of those Pegasi bread rolls, you had better start running because I'm going to squeeze them out of you.”
“I haven't eaten all day!”
“Bullshit! You polished off my last sandwich 4 hours ago.”
Hank chimed in, “An' it's 4:30 on Mars, ya lyin' bastard. Get up here an' double-check the sensor readings. I think somethin's wrong.”
A moment later, the door slid open and Skip stepped in. He still had half a bread roll in his hand.

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“I knew it! Hank, let me kick his ass.”

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“Shut it. Skip, look at this.”
Skip leaned over and peered at the readout. “Well, that can't be right.”

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“What?”
He slid into a chair and started rapidly typing calculations. “Our hyperspace vector is way off.”
That bothered Hank. The slightest miscalculation of a hyperspace vector could put you straight through a star or send you bouncing into a supernova. “How? I checked it myself.”
“It.....changed. Instantly.”
Hyperspace travel worked by punching a hole in the universe and coming out on the other side. It was like a line with point A being the start and point B as the destination. You couldn't slow down or change course once you jumped. And you couldn't stray from an established hyperspace route, either.
“That ain't possible.”
“But it's true.”
“Save it in the ship's log.” This could be something to keep Ericksson and the Alliance Astrophysics Division occupied for the better part of the decade. Ericksson in particular, seeing as he had been part of the team that had originally proposed (and later proved) this method of superluminal travel. “So where are we headed?”
Skip consulted the readout for a second. “Here.”
“What?”
Just then the strange, infinite blue-streaked realm of hyperspace faded from the screen, only to be replaced by a sea of rock. Asteroids flew past the viewscreen and impacted on the freighter's shields.
“Dammit! We jumped into an asteroid field!”
Stromm reappeared. “Sweet Sall'kar...what did you do?”
Hank frowned, puzzled by the interjection. “Who?”
“The Sent'arran patron saint of the stars. Evann told me.”
“Right. Now man yer' station an' hopefully Sal-whatever will save us.”
“Right-o, bossman.” He brought up a window on his console and examined the readout. “Our shields are offline, and our point-defense turrets have no plasma whatsoever.”
“Aw, hell. Get me Adele.”
Another screen activated, this one showing their engineer, Adele Ramirez.

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“Yeah, what?”
“I need you to try and boost our shields. An' recharge the turret plasma.”
“I'll try, but I just now got the engines to run.”
“Fix the damn thing already or we'll be crushed!”
The ship rocked as a particularly large chunk of rock hit her on the port side. The view on the screen shook and Ramirez fell over.
“Mierda! Okay, I'll do it. Adele out.”

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He turned his attention back to Skip and Stromm. “Get us the hell outta here!”
Stromm fiddled with the controls for a couple of seconds. “Engines not responding.”
“ADELE!”
“Not my fault! I can't get the capacitors to hold a charge!”
With no engines and no weapons, they were sitting ducks. Eventually, the asteroids would crush them.
“Boss.” Stromm was pointing out the viewport at an asteroid in the distance.
“Not now.”
“No, you have to see this.”
He examined the object. “It's a damned rock. Like every OTHER damned rock out here.”
“Look closely. It looks like a ship of some kind.”
Sure enough, there was what appeared to be a ship parked on a large asteroid. “Send a distress signal.”
After a few seconds of typing, he announced, “Done. They're not responding, but it seems like they're powering up.”
That sounded strange. “Try again.”
“Still no response- whoa!” The ship had suddenly flared to life, lifted off, and was moving toward them with surprising speed and agility for its size.
“Hank, I don't like this. They look like they're attacking.”
“Don't be jumpin' to conclusions.” He hit the “transmit” button on the comm. “Unidentified starship, this is-”
A light flared across the ship's starboard side, and a half-second later, a plasma beam shot towards them, striking the Spurs amidships.
“Shit! Get me Ericksson!”
“Who?”
“Never mind. I'll do it.” He reached over and keyed in Ericksson's priority comm number, including the twenty-four digit access code. Being the paranoid bastard that he was, everything of the Supreme Commander's was locked down tight and triple-protected.
After a minute of waiting for the system to accept his code, Ericksson's face appeared. He looked half-asleep.
“This is Supreme Commander-”
Hank cut him off. “Ericksson! I'm under attack!”
The officer's eyes shot open. “Hank! Where?”
“Somewhere past the Outer Rim, I think. Our hyperdrive malfunctioned an' changed course.”
“Not possible.”
“Yeah, that's what I said. But it happened. And now we're bein' attacked by some crazy pirates or somethin'.”
Stromm cut in, “Is that who I think it is?”

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Ericksson shot a glare at him, which was soon replaced by curiosity. “Do I know you?”
“...No,” Stromm said hesitantly, looking away.
They have met before, thought Hank. Some kind of story here.
“Is this what this classified cargo was about? We're working for him?”
Ericksson now wore an expression of bewilderment. “Why didn't you tell them?”
“SHUT UP, all o' you! We're bein' attacked!”
“I get it,” interjected Ericksson. “I have your coordinates, I'll send out a rescue party and-”
The power shut off.
“Uh-oh.”
The ship came closer. A docking tube extended from its side.
“Boss, what do we do? Should we wait for Ericksson?”
He thought for a moment. “No. By the time the Navy gets here, we'll be dead. Or they will,” he added, gesturing at the other ship.
“So what should we do.”
“Only one thing to do. Get the blasters. We're goin' to show these bastards exactly who they're messin' with.”

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

USAP Destroyer U.S.S. First One's Free, in orbit over Draco II
Seven Minutes Earlier


Commander Richard Steele, serial number RSN-01272464-CR, was frustrated. He had just returned from yet another service inspection, this time to recalibrate the inertial dampers. Yesterday it had been the hyperdrive, and last week the comm system. Always something wrong.
Admittedly, this wasn't where he had imagined himself to be when he had joined the Navy. His high test scores and outstanding performance rating had almost guaranteed him a spot near the action. A shiny new cruiser, a full crew, and a set of Captain's bars on his shoulder.
Before the war broke out. When Pegasi Delta had announced that it was seceding, a number of other planets had followed suit. Including Arcanis, the Alliance's primary source of titanium, erickssonium, and other super-strong alloys that were involved in shipbuilding.
And just like that, the USAP had all but stopped building ships. It couldn't have come at a worst time for Steele, who had been about to receive his first command.
So the Navy had turned to re-purposing and re-arming civilian vessels, crewing them with new, inexperienced officers, and putting them on mundane tasks such as pirate patrol duty.
Like the Free.
Originally, it had been a luxury cruise liner that had ferried passengers back and forth from Epsilon Eridani to Pegasi Delta. But then Pegasi seceded, and it was left to rust in a shipyard on Draco II. When piracy in the region had increased, it had been dragged out of retirement, hastily refitted, and set to patrol the region.
And assigned to Richard Steele.
So there he was, stuck on a deteriorating ship doing pirate patrol in the most backwater region of the Outer Colonies.
Zero opportunity for advancement. He had requested a transfer, and had been told that someone would speak with him on the issue.
Which was why he was in a hurry. A moment ago, his communications officer had informed him that someone from FLEETCOM was requesting an audience with him on the comm.
By the time he reached the bridge, he was practically running. He barely had time to slow down for the automatic doors to open. Straightening himself up, he approached the main viewer. “Onscreen.”

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On the screen appeared none other than the Supreme Military Commander himself, Chris Ericksson.
Startled, Steele straightened up even more than he thought possible. He snapped into a salute.
“Sir. This is an honor.”
“Thank you, Commander. I see here that you've requested a transfer.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
It took Steele a few seconds to find the right words. “May I speak freely, sir?”
Ericksson nodded. “Always.”
“I simply believe that my talents are not suited to this current assignment. Sir.”

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“Continue.”
“Well, sir, if you would examine my profile, you would see that my final test scores are quite high. Particularly in the Tactical section.”
Ericksson nodded, his eyes scrolling across something off-screen. Probably Steele's service record. “The examiner called you 'exemplary' and a 'genius in improvisation'.”

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“Yes. Sir.”
“And therefore, you believe your talents are wasted, what with this joke of an assignment on this backwater trash heap.”
“I wouldn't have put it quite that strongly, sir, but...”
“I can tell you agree. And I understand that, I honestly do. But the problem is, there are more Captains than ships. At this point in the war, you were lucky to get any kind of field assignment. But I'll see what I can do. We've got a lot less qualified officers out there with better assignments.” He paused. “Hold on. I've got another call.”

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The screen went into standby mode. After about 2 minutes, Ericksson reappeared.
“Commander, I've got an assignment for you. I'm sending you the details. Do this right and there may be a promotion in it for you. Ericksson out.”

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

Back on-board the Spurs


Clunk. Hiss.
“What was that?”
“Quiet. They're cutting the doors.” Hank's fake accent was gone now.
“Ouch, damn it! Stop poking me with that...uhh...whatever it is!”
Evann stroked his custom-made disruptor rifle. “It's not my fault it has to be so huge.”
“That's what she said-ow!” Stromm cringed as Adele shot him in the foot with a stun burst.

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“I liked you better as an uptight Navy brat,” she said.
“And I liked you better when you were back in Drewwa, 24 light-years away from me.”
“You son of a-”
BAM! The rear airlock hatch blew out, throwing metal and sparks everywhere. Thankfully, the intruders had thought to equalize the pressure first, or else the crew would have been sucked out into space. As it was, they were still thrown back against the wall.
As they struggled to get back up, four figures emerged from the air lock. Roughly human-sized, they each wore EVA helmets that hid their appearances and carried long thin, dangerous-looking devices that anyone could recognize as weapons.

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Hank counted down on his fingers, mouthing, “Three. Two. One.”
“GO!” They jumped out from behind the support beams, blasting at everything in the general direction of the strange intruders. Stromm's advanced weapons training allowed him to catch one in the helmet, blowing it off and revealing a being that was most certainly not human, or any other species Hank had seen.

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He supposed that it reminded him of a border race he had once encountered near VV Cephei around 2 decades prior, but that memory had long since faded and so he was more than likely wrong. Besides, that particular species worshiped anyone who could so much as strike a match, and therefore he doubted they could have achieved space travel in that little time. And they weren't so bizarrely colorful. So who were these beings?
He barely had enough time to ponder the thought before one of the alien's comrades almost succeeded in putting a laser bolt through his head, shaking him out of his reverie.
“Shit, they're tougher than they look!” reported Skip. He then attempted to blast a hole in what looked like the leader of the group. The bolt was defected by what appeared to be a portable energy shield, illustrating his point. The alien whose helmet had been blown off was apparently unharmed and advanced on Hank. Startled, he snapped a roundhouse kick at the being's head, who flew backwards, caught off guard.

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He aimed his blaster at its face and pulled the trigger. It stayed down this time. The other three continued on, seemingly unaffected.
Adele, meanwhile, had apparently run out of ammunition already and had engaged the leader in hand-to-hand combat. A right hook to its face and a knee in the gut was all it took to bring it down.

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The other two had also run out of ammunition and had assumed bizarre fighting stances that Hank could only assume were part of some alien martial art.

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They attacked, flipping and twirling in an almost graceful fashion. Stromm sidestepped them, and they went crashing into the wall.

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One recovered and leaped at him, catching him in the arm. Hank whirled around and found some sort of energy pistol leveled at his face.

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Everybody froze. The alien spoke, in a language nobody could recognize. Still, the meaning was clear: shoot and he dies. The crew lowered their weapons, even Stromm, albeit a bit hesitantly.

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Hank put his hands up, which was apparently a universal sign of defeat, for the alien lowered its weapon and motioned towards the docking tube.
Capitalizing on the split second the weapon was down, he reached into his pocket and slipped a small device to Skip. It was the starter chip for the freighter.
“The second they leave, turn on the cloaking and get the hell out of here.”
“How do we get them to leave?”
Stromm answered for him. “Like this.” He slammed into the alien and sent it crashing through the door.

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Alarmed, the others grabbed him and Hank, holding them in front like hostages. They walked backwards through the docking tube, dragging the two with them. “Go! Get to Ericksson's Alliance clowns!”
“They won't be gone long.” Skip inserted the chip into the ignition slot. A countdown appeared on the screen. 'Engine shakedown initializing. Startup in 90 seconds.'

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“Damn it! Piece of shit!” He turned to Adele. “Can you make this go any quicker?”
“No.” She paused, deep in thought. “I'll hold them off for you.”
“What? You're crazy!”
“None of us will make it out of here if they can't somehow be stalled. Look at their ship, there's bound to be more of them in there. As soon as they realize we're trying to take off, they'll send more. Special forces, not these wimps.” She gestured to the dead alien on the floor.
Evann handed her his rifle. “You'll need this.”
She took it. “I can't promise it's coming back in one piece.”
“I wouldn't need it anyways if we can't get out of here.”
She smiled. “Thanks. Now get the hell out of here.” She ran up the docking tube, pulling back the charge handle on the blaster as she went. Moments later, they heard shooting and yelling.
“I give her 10 seconds. How much longer do we have?”
“All systems are go.” He pressed the cloaking button and the ship disappeared from view. “Let's get to Ericksson.”

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The Spurs zoomed off into the distance. “Nothing can go wrong now.”

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

Forty-five minutes later


“Well, how was I supposed to know that she DID NOT fix the hyperdrive?” Evann and Skip were down in the engine room, poking and prodding at the various wires within the Inter-Space drive.

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“Because YOU were the one who told her to drop whatever she was doing and get up here!” Skip was irate. “And why do we have to drag that thing everywhere?”

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He pointed at the alien that had been left behind by its comrades. To their dismay, a quick examination had revealed that Hank hadn't killed it after all.
“So she does not kill us.”
“It,” Skip corrected. “So it doesn't kill us.”
“You can objectify your enemies all you want, but the fact is that she's a living, breathing sentient being like you.”
Skip sighed. “Yes, alive. Unfortunately. But see if you can pull the trigger when she wakes up and tries to strangle you.”
“I cannot. Adele took my rifle.”
“You're missing the point.”

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“And you are missing mine. Her comrades did not even so much as blink an eye when she went down. The ability to empathize is what separates us from them.”

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Skip studied him, bewildered. “What was this bullshit about you being half-human again?”
“My mother was the human one. She was in the Aerospace Corps, and believed that reducing your enemies to lower status than you was a good way to get shot down.”
“That only works if you're a pilot, not when you have to stare them in the eye. The rainbow eye, I might add, which still happens to be open.”
“If it makes you feel any better, that scares me too.”
“Was that genuine, or do you actually feel fear?”
“Kratej forasce iwral'dre.”
“Watch your language.”
Their banter was interrupted by the beeping of the proximity radar.
“Oh, hell. More of them?”
“I cannot tell. We are cloaked, though. They should not be able to see us.” He paused for a minute. “What are the odds that a ship would randomly jump here, and then head straight for a normally inaccessible location where we just happened to be parked on an asteroid?”

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“So low that I doubt one of those new Mk-45 androids could tell you.”
“Then we are being boarded again. Stay down.”
“Shouldn't we at least check to see if it's Ericksson?”
Evann consulted the scanners, baffled. “It looks like a...well, a civilian luxury liner.”
“Your odds just got lower.” Skip eyed the readout. He pointed to a shadow on top of the ship, as well as several smaller dots on the side. “Gun-ports. And a mass driver cannon on top. Wide-bore. Civilian ships don't carry that kind of firepower, not even corporate freighters.”

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“So, a Rebel blockade runner?”
“How would the Rebels know about this? Unless there's a base out here...”
“Is that possible?”
“Given the other alternatives, I'd say it's probable. But that's not how they operate. Rebel bases are usually positioned along regular shipping routes.”
“How would you know this?”
“I was a pilot on a Rebel blockade runner a few years ago. Back when our cause was legitimate.” He scowled. “Before that psychopath Pearson revealed his true goals. The USAP isn't the most efficient system, but the alternative was practically anarchy. So I went legit.”
His story was interrupted by a strange static-y sound.
“A transporter beam? Rebels do not have that kind of technology.”
“Quiet. We might be able to jump them.”
He heard boots clunking down the hall, and the sound of blaster rifles charging up. Then a deep voice called, “In here!” English. Human then, or some other friendly species. But who?
His question was answered momentarily afterward when the same voice called out, “Alliance Navy! Stand back!”
A higher voice said, “Placing charge.”
“Breach!” A door blew open on the two for the second time that day. A squad of Navy S.E.A.L.S. charged in, weapons aimed.

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Evann tossed his hands up. “Do not shoot! We're unarmed!”
A Re'nare stepped forward. He spoke with the same voice that they had heard earlier. “I am Lieutenant Tul, of the USAP Navy. Identify yourselves.”
Evann stepped forward. “I am Evann Drall. My comrade is Skip Beckmann. We work on this freighter.”
“Where is your captain?”
“Kidnapped by intruders. An unknown alien race.”
A frown creased the officer's brow. “What do you mean, unknown?”
Dumb laser-jockey, thought Skip. “We mean, unknown. They weren't one of the Twenty-One Recognized Sentient Species.” He dragged out the unconscious alien. “We caught one, though.”
The S.E.A.L. stepped forward, amid exclamations from his squadmates, examining the alien. “You say they attacked you?”

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“Yes. Their technology appeared to be somewhat superior.”
“This is not good.” He turned to one of the soldiers. “Get me Steele, pronto. Tell him we need immediate transport.” He gestured to Skip and Evann. “You're going to have to come with us.”


Onboard the U.S.S. First One's Free


Commander Steele was less than somber. In fact, he looked remarkably happy, considering the fact that he had been the commander of an operation that had just uncovered a possible serious threat to galactic civilization as a whole. This bewildered Skip and Evann.
“So, you say that they were armed with superior technology.”

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“Yes.”
“And they took your captain?”
“And two other crewmembers, yes.”
“But you managed to capture one.”
“Yeah, where are you keeping it? They're pretty tough.”
“We have a brig. It'll have to do until we reach a xenobiologist who can assess its' physiology and determine proper detention arrangements. Mind if I ask what the hell you were doing out there in the first place?”
“Our captain was apparently a contact of Ericksson's. We were moving some sort of cargo for him when-”

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Steele interrupted. “Ericksson? Supreme Defensive Commander Ericksson?”
“Yes. We sent out the distress call, which you answered. It is imperative that we contact him immediately.”
“Absolutely. I will comm him now.” He stepped jauntily out of the room, muttering something about 'no more pirate patrol', leaving
them with Lieutenant Tul.

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“I'm afraid that under the circumstances, I cannot allow you to return to your ship for the time being. However, as this ship was once a cruise liner, I believe you will be happy with your accommodations.” He motioned to one of the soldiers.

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“Petty Officer, show them where they will be staying.” He addressed Evann and Skip, again. “We have set a course for Cerea, and will be there in a few hours to rendezvous with Supreme Commander Ericksson. I expect he will want a full briefing, so get some sleep. This isn't over.”
And as the noncom ushered them to their room, Skip couldn't help but agree.

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

USAP NAVCOM Headquarters; in orbit over Cerea, main planet in Epsilon Eridani star system.
April 18. 2360. 2:40 hrs, GST.



“Sir-”

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“Drop the 'sir' crap and tell me what the hell you're doing here.”
“Well, sir-”
“That was an order, Ensign. I now am officially pissed. You see, I've got the ISL up my ass, the Defense Council in my hair about useless crap, and the President's been sending me intern after intern trying to get me to divert what meager defense budget we have into his latest propaganda campaign. So consider me up to my ears in that.
With slow, deliberate strides, the Supreme Commander got out of bed walked toward the terrified junior officer, pulling himself up to his full six feet, four inches.“And NOW I have you in my bedroom at 2 IN THE GODDAMNED MORNING, with your stammering 'Sir' this and 'sir' that, so you have exactly five seconds to explain yourself before I court-martial you. Spit. It. OUT!”

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“Commander Steele has arrived. He's in the hangar.”
“So help me God, if he says one more word about a promotion-”
“He has a message for you. Priority Alpha.”
Only three or four people knew Ericksson's personal comm number, and that wasn't liable to change. Therefore, Fleet Command had given up on trying to wrestle it out of him and instead used junior officers to deliver any personal messages, regardless of what he was doing at the time. It was Fleet Admiral Myles' idea of a joke. However, a Priority Alpha should have gone to his comm, as it would have had to pass through one of his contacts first anyway.
“What is it?”
“He says it's Contingency Roswell.” Clearly, the ensign was confused, but it stirred something inside Ericksson, for he immediately dashed to his wardrobe and began donning the closest uniform he could reach.
“Give me five minutes.”





NOTE: This chapter isn't actually finished yet, since I don't feel motivated enough to take the rest of the pictures at the moment. I just wanted to show off my green-screen.

[R³+Excep tDN`]

Honestly I couldnt be fucked reading ALL of that

[©³~ SilentK]

Me too...

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

Good God, enough. It's just the pictures, and you can always block them if it's hard to read. TBH I think Excep's story had more actual words than mine.

[HCR¬Ɗẩᴙᴷ]

I though my computer was about to crash from all the pictures being loaded and all at once. Dear god, too many pictures!

[©³~ SilentK]

What are you saying, my comp is fine and it's shit. Anyway I'll read it sometime, maybe never. Don't take it personally I just don't read any kinda-long stories.

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

It's not long. Just the pictures. And actually, I have a solution for that....just give me a little while and I can make it work.

[©³¬§HÄßÄH]

i was reading this in the library

[HCRÞ~мδňК]

Eureka! My genius has once again paid off and I have provided the essential coding needed to complete my magnum opus.

Translation: I Googled a code that allows people to put a show/hide button into a post. Now Dark has no excuse to bitch.

Honestly, why didn't Proboards think of that? Every other forum has this shit built into it.