Wild Frontier
"The only thing that matters in this life is what you are doing here and now. We leave the past behind in a blazing trail of fire and twisted metal as we throttle ever onward into the unknowable black void of the future. Our lives are defined by the actions we take in the present, the only thing we can ever hope to control."
Chapter One: Come to space!
A low electrical hum issued from the small, egg-shaped device in his hand, it's sound unchanging in the still, stale air of the dim corridor, like the feeling you sometimes get just before a thunder storm. Looking as a man does when all hope is splattered against the dark side of a moon, he wondered how it had ever come to this, knowing it was a useless thought but thinking it anyway. He wasn't supposed to be here, not today, not any day. He had a Plan, dammit!
"A fixer", a dirty, overweight man had called it when it was shoved rudely into his hand earlier that morning. All he knew was how to activate it, nothing about what it did, but he could guess that, whatever it was, wouldn't be good for the guy to which it was intended. It smelled there, like a lot of the mining outposts in human colonized space, it smelled like hot chemicals and ozone, mixed with the delicate aromas of human waste. The hallway was cramped, a single flickering light amidst four or so burned out tubes illuminated a row of doors on both sides and a rusting metal sign to his left reading [HOUSING UNIT 10-D]. There was trash piled up all around him, graffiti covering almost every surface, and what appeared to be a dried blood stain running down the far wall where the hallway split into a "T".
It was a cesspit, the constant droning of the refinery was punctuated rhythmically by a distant banging that he could feel from his feet all the way up to his spine. A softer noise, the chugging of the dated and poorly maintained air recycler came out of the overhead vents, along with a wafting stink that made him think of rotting meat. "Yep, nothing but the best of luxuries for this sorry lot." He thought to himself out loud, just one of his many "quirks".
Pulling his sleeve up his forearm, he double-tapped a small gray strap around his wrist. It quickly lit up, displaying an holographic interface about the size of his hand. Flipping through the various menus, he came to a note written in some sort of highly advanced code. Unlocking it as he was shown, by tapping the display in seven very specific places, he then spoke a passphrase, "ad inexplorata". He didn't know what it was, but it sounded just like the rest of the bull he had heard in the last six months.
Upon finishing the unlocking sequence, the display darkened and a silhouette of a well groomed, finely dressed man from the shoulders up appeared in it's place. Not speaking, for Gods forbid Ilarian, which was probably a bull name to go along with his bull narrative, should denigrate himself to speaking, even indirectly, to the likes of him. No, there would be no talking, instead, a list of names appeared next to a list of locations to which the person was last seen. Fifteen or so names were shown in blue, and seven were shown in yellow. One stood out immediately, as it was displayed in a glaring red. This was his name, not his personally, somebody elses', his "tergit". It was assigned to him by the same surly man that gave him the egg. "Mo'Uhn", he muttered to himself under his breath, his lips moving to make the sounds of the name, wondering what this person had done to earn the wrath of the Party. Moving down the hall, he stopped in front of a dingy, graffiti riddled mirror with the barely readable words "THIS PERSON IS RESPONSIBLE FOR SAFETY" etched into the top. He was surprised to see his face, never had he seen it so barren of life, so devoid of the essence and confidence that once had filled it. Staring for a long while he looked deep into his blue eyes, remembering what was at stake, remembering his humanity, and remembering his own mortality. Scoffing, he moved quickly away down the passage to the last door on the right, [10-D-15] was printed in black lettering above the plain metal door. A comm panel protruding from the frame to his left told him that it was locked, as expected. Taking out another device from his pocket, he held it against the panel and squeezed the sides. Rectangular and small, the object made no noise, but quickly and efficiently went to work on the doors low security lock, cracking it in a matter of seconds.
With a quiet click and a chirp from the other side, the door scraped open on rusty wheels, revealing a dark room beyond. Stepping briskly through the entrance, the man closed the door behind him, discretion was key here, he couldn't be caught now, not now when everything was on the line. Feeling around the wall behind him, he touched the light switch, which illuminated a single, bare fluorescent light tube on the ceiling in the middle of the sparsely furnished room. There was a stool to his right and a bed next to a window at the far end, through which the inky blackness of space crept into the room. "No "tergit"", he said, making air quotes, further mocking the illiterate -bag that had briefed him. Glancing around the room, he noticed immediately that there was a small data pad sitting on the stool, it was old, not even holographic, just words typed on a blank surface.
"You're too late. I knew you were on the station the second you docked, and have taken measures so as not to be followed. Sorry for you luck, frie-" He was still reading when he was startled by a shrill chirping from by the window. Panicking now, he dropped the data pad and moved quickly to the door only to find that it had locked behind him when he entered. While fumbling for the comm panel and the unlock switch, the chirping ceased, followed by a deafening explosion which blew out the bulkhead around the window. "NO!" Was what the man had intended to scream, but when he opened his mouth, all of the air in his lungs, as well as a good portion of esophagus, blew out through the opening, immediately followed by the rest of his already cold, dead corpse. Strangely enough, the egg-shaped object he held in his hand began to glow a bright white, spreading the light across the room as it too blew out the open window, leading to a massive, secondary explosion just outside the station.
"A new life in space, they said". "Travel the galaxy and earn credits doing something that matters, they said". "Well screw 'em, I say!" Speeding away from the outpost at top speed, Andol turned off the comms in his stolen Sidewinder, the very one that his would-be assassin had shown up in, just as the emergency station lock-down message started to bellow in the speakers. Through the cockpit window, he could see the explosion, a little bigger than he had anticipated, but still small enough not to take the room next to it. An icy cloud of crystallized air was forced out, along with the dead body of the sorry son of a that had tracked him here. A blinding flash made him avert his eyes, when he looked back, he could see that the entire housing unit had been vented. "Amateur", he thought, but felt no regret for doing what had to be done. Punching the boost, he entered coordinates into the display terminal to his left and engaged the Frameshift drive, streaking off into the depths of the unknown, once again.
"The only thing that matters in this life is what you are doing here and now. We leave the past behind in a blazing trail of fire and twisted metal as we throttle ever onward into the unknowable black void of the future. Our lives are defined by the actions we take in the present, the only thing we can ever hope to control."
Chapter One: Come to space!
A low electrical hum issued from the small, egg-shaped device in his hand, it's sound unchanging in the still, stale air of the dim corridor, like the feeling you sometimes get just before a thunder storm. Looking as a man does when all hope is splattered against the dark side of a moon, he wondered how it had ever come to this, knowing it was a useless thought but thinking it anyway. He wasn't supposed to be here, not today, not any day. He had a Plan, dammit!
"A fixer", a dirty, overweight man had called it when it was shoved rudely into his hand earlier that morning. All he knew was how to activate it, nothing about what it did, but he could guess that, whatever it was, wouldn't be good for the guy to which it was intended. It smelled there, like a lot of the mining outposts in human colonized space, it smelled like hot chemicals and ozone, mixed with the delicate aromas of human waste. The hallway was cramped, a single flickering light amidst four or so burned out tubes illuminated a row of doors on both sides and a rusting metal sign to his left reading [HOUSING UNIT 10-D]. There was trash piled up all around him, graffiti covering almost every surface, and what appeared to be a dried blood stain running down the far wall where the hallway split into a "T".
It was a cesspit, the constant droning of the refinery was punctuated rhythmically by a distant banging that he could feel from his feet all the way up to his spine. A softer noise, the chugging of the dated and poorly maintained air recycler came out of the overhead vents, along with a wafting stink that made him think of rotting meat. "Yep, nothing but the best of luxuries for this sorry lot." He thought to himself out loud, just one of his many "quirks".
Pulling his sleeve up his forearm, he double-tapped a small gray strap around his wrist. It quickly lit up, displaying an holographic interface about the size of his hand. Flipping through the various menus, he came to a note written in some sort of highly advanced code. Unlocking it as he was shown, by tapping the display in seven very specific places, he then spoke a passphrase, "ad inexplorata". He didn't know what it was, but it sounded just like the rest of the bull he had heard in the last six months.
Upon finishing the unlocking sequence, the display darkened and a silhouette of a well groomed, finely dressed man from the shoulders up appeared in it's place. Not speaking, for Gods forbid Ilarian, which was probably a bull name to go along with his bull narrative, should denigrate himself to speaking, even indirectly, to the likes of him. No, there would be no talking, instead, a list of names appeared next to a list of locations to which the person was last seen. Fifteen or so names were shown in blue, and seven were shown in yellow. One stood out immediately, as it was displayed in a glaring red. This was his name, not his personally, somebody elses', his "tergit". It was assigned to him by the same surly man that gave him the egg. "Mo'Uhn", he muttered to himself under his breath, his lips moving to make the sounds of the name, wondering what this person had done to earn the wrath of the Party. Moving down the hall, he stopped in front of a dingy, graffiti riddled mirror with the barely readable words "THIS PERSON IS RESPONSIBLE FOR SAFETY" etched into the top. He was surprised to see his face, never had he seen it so barren of life, so devoid of the essence and confidence that once had filled it. Staring for a long while he looked deep into his blue eyes, remembering what was at stake, remembering his humanity, and remembering his own mortality. Scoffing, he moved quickly away down the passage to the last door on the right, [10-D-15] was printed in black lettering above the plain metal door. A comm panel protruding from the frame to his left told him that it was locked, as expected. Taking out another device from his pocket, he held it against the panel and squeezed the sides. Rectangular and small, the object made no noise, but quickly and efficiently went to work on the doors low security lock, cracking it in a matter of seconds.
With a quiet click and a chirp from the other side, the door scraped open on rusty wheels, revealing a dark room beyond. Stepping briskly through the entrance, the man closed the door behind him, discretion was key here, he couldn't be caught now, not now when everything was on the line. Feeling around the wall behind him, he touched the light switch, which illuminated a single, bare fluorescent light tube on the ceiling in the middle of the sparsely furnished room. There was a stool to his right and a bed next to a window at the far end, through which the inky blackness of space crept into the room. "No "tergit"", he said, making air quotes, further mocking the illiterate -bag that had briefed him. Glancing around the room, he noticed immediately that there was a small data pad sitting on the stool, it was old, not even holographic, just words typed on a blank surface.
"You're too late. I knew you were on the station the second you docked, and have taken measures so as not to be followed. Sorry for you luck, frie-" He was still reading when he was startled by a shrill chirping from by the window. Panicking now, he dropped the data pad and moved quickly to the door only to find that it had locked behind him when he entered. While fumbling for the comm panel and the unlock switch, the chirping ceased, followed by a deafening explosion which blew out the bulkhead around the window. "NO!" Was what the man had intended to scream, but when he opened his mouth, all of the air in his lungs, as well as a good portion of esophagus, blew out through the opening, immediately followed by the rest of his already cold, dead corpse. Strangely enough, the egg-shaped object he held in his hand began to glow a bright white, spreading the light across the room as it too blew out the open window, leading to a massive, secondary explosion just outside the station.
"A new life in space, they said". "Travel the galaxy and earn credits doing something that matters, they said". "Well screw 'em, I say!" Speeding away from the outpost at top speed, Andol turned off the comms in his stolen Sidewinder, the very one that his would-be assassin had shown up in, just as the emergency station lock-down message started to bellow in the speakers. Through the cockpit window, he could see the explosion, a little bigger than he had anticipated, but still small enough not to take the room next to it. An icy cloud of crystallized air was forced out, along with the dead body of the sorry son of a that had tracked him here. A blinding flash made him avert his eyes, when he looked back, he could see that the entire housing unit had been vented. "Amateur", he thought, but felt no regret for doing what had to be done. Punching the boost, he entered coordinates into the display terminal to his left and engaged the Frameshift drive, streaking off into the depths of the unknown, once again.
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