Alien chapters 1-4

Alien 1: Scouring



Somewhere in the galaxy a small intrusion vessel sailed inbound the dry atmosphere of a barren planet. Unopposed it descended onto the landing zone. The vessel identified as a space shuttle, white with a few painted decorations and a big, black logo on the single exit door.

    As the shuttle hovered to a halt just above the ground, the door slid open and three individuals jumped out. They were each equipped and dressed for a sinister walk into hell. They stood communicating for a second, but eventually drew their weapons and headed out.

    The shuttle engines roared as the vessel soared for the atmosphere.

    The threesome moved along the cracked surface of the planet. It was dry and warm like a desert, and they mostly kept to the shadows of the mighty mountains, partially also for cover and to keep the element of surprise should a situation arise.

    One of the people looked sceptic as his eyes shifted from one side to the other, becoming fully aware of his current surroundings. “It’s so weird walking here. Everyone’s dead; gives me this creepy feeling,” he shared with the rest of the team, looking around at the carnage of beasts and armoured men.

    “Whoever did this could be a real threat,” said another. “Stay close and be ready for everything. If you see anything suspicious, hold your fire until attacked. Remember, this person’s no use to us dead.”

    “Roger that, Commander,” said the first one.

    The group halted as noise were heard dead ahead. About five seconds between. The soldiers looked at each other, assuring that it all wasn’t just illusion: they all had heard gunshots.

    “We got ‘em. Move up, and remember: we need him alive,” said the commander.

    They sneaked around protected by the shadows. The gunshots ceased but were suddenly replaced with weak but intense moaning and scream. Startled, the soldiers picked up the pace, the sound of their heavy protective boots echoing between the mountain walls. They got up on a hill and two took cover behind a boulder as the third lay down on the ground.

    “That weird enough for you, Commander?” the third soldier, a woman, asked looking at her captain.

    The first soldier positioned his sniper rifle and adjusted it until he had a clean shot to their target: “On your signal, Commander,” he nodded.

    “Fire,”  the commander ordered, and pointed straight for the scene a few hundred meters before them.

    The .50 calibre round hissed from the barrel of the rifle, but even with a suppressor the sound ricocheted powerfully into the great valley.

    The round blew the Droide’s head right off, tossing the machine off of its victim.

    “Good shot, Rogers, now let’s go get our client before he bleeds to death,” ordered the commander.

    “You think he’s still alive, sir?” Rogers asked seemingly worried.

    “Only one way to find out,” concluded the woman.

    They made their way down the hill and over to the body. It seemed to be in its last hours, slowly dragging its way towards two objects on the ground ahead. The alien suddenly collapsed, lying motionless on its front.

    They hurried, the woman feeling the creature’s pulse. “There’s still life, but it’s very faint. We have to get back to the Avenger before it’s too late!”

    The other soldier came over to the alien, sneaking his upper body underneath the stranger's and managed a fireman's carry. He rose, halting slightly as he breathed out. “Commander, I think it’s a she, and this gal's heavy.”

    The woman glared irritatedly at him. “Idiot, don’t you have any respect?”

    “Enough, you two,” called the commander calmly but sternly. He had recovered the blades that the alien had reached for on the ground before collapsing, and now he turned on the head comm. “Blitz, we have the package and are ready for pick-up.”

    “Aye, Commander, ETA about two minutes, out.”









Alien 2: The conflict



- 20 minutes earlier -



The area was rocky; tall, majestic mountains rose from the deep of diabolical crevasses that swallowed every little particle of light from the distant sun. Mara was nearly out of breath as she exited the steep-sided path to the valley. The weather was nowhere to be seen and cool air twirled all around her. This was her territory; this was the way she liked her surroundings. But she was not here to gaze upon another starry sky.

    Before her was a creature. It was around three meters tall and its metallic body gave a weak shimmer from the vague light. A mechanic stuttering sound came from somewhere inside it, and with references of a robot it said, “You followed us all the way out here. Why?” There was no specific tone of voice: it spoke monotonously and plain, but still there was no difficulty in understanding it.

    “I’m going to destroy you. Once I do, I have completed my mission and can go home,” Mara stated in a low voice, almost as if she was afraid of being eavesdropped on, but her tone had a certain determination in it. The machine said nothing for a little while. A big, red light functioning as its single eye stared at her.

    “We do not understand,” the machine said. “We have done nothing wrong. We flee because you are attempting to hinder us in our mission.”

    “What is your mission?” Mara wanted to know.

    “That, we are not programmed to reveal,” said the robot. It still showed no signs of hostility or even an urge to defend itself, but Mara knew that it was only trying to give her a false feeling of comfort, of safety, before it would rip her to shreds: she wouldn’t let her guard down.

    “If you can’t tell me,” Mara’s body suddenly burned with an indigo-coloured aura, “then I’m afraid I can’t let you live any longer.”

    The machine showed no emotion to her threat, but Mara figured by the gurgling sound that it was ready to defend itself.

    “Hostile target detected: extermination process initiated.” The Droide pulled out a fully loaded shotgun, but Mara was quicker. Her hand shot out from her side and engulfed the Droide in the red-pink aura, sending it into the air. A biotic wave hit the metal body and flung it several meters further into the valley.

    Mara stormed after it to finish the job. Pulling the Twins, two double-edged katana, from the sheaths on her back, she leaped to deliver the death blow, blade tips crossed in a downward arrow.

    Suddenly the light bulb started glowing; something she hadn’t hoped would happen anytime soon.

    “Processing data: target in sight. Gunning attempt futile: melee attempt inevitable.” The Droide lashed out a steel arm with an incredible accuracy. Mara felt her ribs crack and she was blown into a nearby boulder. But she had never lost a lethal fight; her luck wouldn’t suddenly just change like this. Her swords were no problem; they could cut through almost anything, even metal. It was the Droide’s shotgun that made her a little nervous. These were the ultimate close-quarter firearms. It made the situation and the target a lot riskier to acquire.

    Mara had no choice; she would leave her Twins for now and concentrate on a less quick way of death.

    Sheathing her katana, the biotic aura welled up around her.

    The Droide at once swapped to a more convenient weapon handling long-range, and without hesitation pressed the trigger: exploding light went off the barrel as the shiny piece of scrap started moving in a circle like in a boxing ring.

    Mara hurried behind the boulder just barely avoiding an intruding round that could have cost her the heel. Going down in hold, she tried to wait out the rounds that now shattered the stone walls around her. Her assault handgun ready, she was prepared to leap out of cover and attack as soon as the fire halted. And it did, but somehow Mara was still waiting. Something told her it was time, but her brain told her ears to listen and try to identify the switch of weapons.

    Mara’s eyes bulged with fear. Hearing the single, terrifying hiss of a heavy weapon, she knew exactly how inconvenient her holding position was. She got up and almost threw herself on the ground as the boulder was blown into a million pebbles, the force of the bang also shoving her away. She turned around just in time to notice a rock the size of her whole upper body coming at her head. Panic and instant reflexes initiated at the same time and the rest was like in slow motion: without even considering her actions she dodged with a Matrix-like evasive manoeuvre. Inches from her protective mask the rock hissed past her, and the terror of thoughts about the potential strike from the object almost succeeded in distracting her from what was really going on.

    Suddenly back in the fight, Mara realised another hissing sound. She was on the ground, but in less than a second threw herself to the side as another rocket exploded on impact only centimetres from her. Releasing a scream in both terror and pain she was thrust by an immense force several meters, slamming onto the ground. Another wave of panic mixed with anger and frustration attacked her inside: this was her worst scenario so far. She wanted to see the destruction of this threat. She had never given up on a job – why so now? She simply had to live.

    A renewed wave of determination and persistence spilled over her, and sudden, renewed strength rushed through her body.

    Hearing the Droide loading another missile, Mara knew she would most likely not have another chance. Making a painful effort she turned and with a scream sent a powerful load of biotic mass at the Droide. The direct hit made the heavy body wobble, thus its aim went a little off. Pulling the trigger in just the wrong moment, the missile hissed towards Mara on the ground, who had used the distraction to get onto her legs. She barely realised her mistake as the missile was only centimetres from her body.

    Reflexively throwing herself aside in a futile attempt to avoid the major impact from the heavy projectile, she was already too late. The rocket left a devastating explosion right in the dead centre of her body. Even with the protective suit and all its special components, she felt her insides tremble ominously as her skin tore underneath the suit. Her mask was partially melted due to the sudden storm of plasma-hot particles that had ravaged her body as a result of the explosion.

    Energy shields burst.

    Mara screamed. She couldn’t feel the ground under her feet. The exploding force tossed her through the air in 60 miles an hour. The final outburst of agony and utter defeat came as she smashed into the rock wall, rocks and dust going everywhere. Mara’s body loosened from the wall, falling to the ground as her legs could no longer support her simple fifty kilos of weight.

    “No way,” her weak whisper stuttered, barely able to breath. “I ... won’t go down...”

    Bloody choking sounds came from inside the helmet as her punctured body did a pathetic attempt to pick up the fight. She collapsed heavily after another weak try to get up on her hands; another load of vomit and blood smeared the inside of the helmet.

    With a huge effort Mara struggled up on her elbows. Panting sounded strongly from the respiratory filters on her mask. Her whole body despised her, and her stomach had already rejected the girl's judgment several times.

    “Hostile target confirmed still alive. Commencing assault,” stuttered a metallic voice.

    A sudden burst of energy raced through her body like lightening: her agonising drowning had completely covered the fact that an insane robot was trying to kill her – which was why she was in this mess in the first place.

    An incredible adrenaline screamed at her as a projectile barely missed her shoulder. Mara didn’t wait for a second shot, but the shot didn’t need her approval to penetrate her foot sole. Mara let out a stifled cry of pain, but she didn’t flinch – she leaped forward like a beast. The pain cutting through her leg made her stumble a few times, and as she went on it only got worse. But she forced her whole body to respond; right now there was only one thing that really mattered.

    Stay focused and in-action!

    Mara ignored the pain; she had been trained specifically for these kinds of missions.

    When things get tough, keep going.

    She sped up. The sustaining protective suit extracted all excess temperatures and adjusted once again to the comfortable climate, though she was drenched and coloured inside-out with puke, sweat and blood.

    Her shields regenerated.

    Mara rushed in hugely diametric circles around her target; how she managed to keep up 40 kph on a fairly slippery surface of rocks and gravel while being half demolished, was all thanks to a persistent mind and a strong build. Projectiles hissed past her to the left and right, but she kept on sprinting, lashing biotic waves at the target. Not many were hits, but she guessed she was lucky to strike it at all, being in such a condition.

    Suddenly she heard a buzzing coming from somewhere ahead of her. Estimating the buzzing sound carefully, she drew the Twins, and now concentrating on her new foe, she closed her eyes behind the mask.

    There!

    Mara suddenly leaped, avoiding a wildfire of metal. Somersaulting over the object Mara used a second to fully plant her one palm on the round steel plating, and thus identified the hostile object: a combat drone. Landing swiftly behind the AI, despite her injuries, Mara grabbed onto the drone and pushed it in front of her body. The giant orb shook and trembled as a fully loaded assault rifle magazine penetrated its plating bit by bit.

    The fire suddenly halted, and again she recognised the switching of arms. Enveloping the steel orb in the indigo aura, she lifted it into the air, and thrust it towards the Droide with a forced full-effort scream. The AI exploded halfway through its journey by a missile from its master, the real threat, now firing a new shot. Mara evaded another rocket, and set off towards the enemy.

    When all else fails, close-quarter combat will compromise the most.

    Mara steeled herself; she would not go down easily: she would expect everything from this opponent.









Alien 3: Death



Mara let out a war cry as she darted at the robot, launching a punch for its head. The Droide blocked and returned the attack. Mara evaded, going behind her opponent where the power couplings latched onto its spine from the back of the head. She reached for one, but had to use both hands to catch the intrusive elbow that tried to knock the air out of her lungs. The robot spun around evasively, and planted a vigorous iron knuckle in her solar plexus, another wretched moan coming from behind the greased and massacred mask as she was forced to lean forward.

    She tried to keep the intestines from escaping, causing a deep and intense breathing, which was suddenly interrupted by a brutal elbow crush in her lumbar region. Mara felt her head smash into the ground inside the helmet; most likely her jaw had cracked. A merciless kick in the side made her tumble uncontrollably three-four meters away from the iron monster.

    Rolling onto her back, Mara screamed in agony: this pain was simply more than one could keep hidden. Broken bones, burned and overheated armour and skin, drenched in urine, blood and puke. Her stomach was a far too eager mix-master without any lid: it had already spilt half its contents, and the rest would soon follow.

    When trying to move her body yelled for her to stop, but Mara knew better than listening to reason in these situations. Struggling, moaning and coughing to the pain she eventually got up on one elbow, but that was as far as she came. A split second later her back dug into the ground and a heavy burden plagued her stomach.

    Staring into a heavy pistol barrel, Mara believed for one second that her life would end at the outcome of the weapon. Some assassin I am – bested by a blasted tin can.

    “Target in sight. Commencing...”

    I hate Randex – makes me feel funny.

    Her fist struck the gun from the side so hard it startled the Droide, who watched the weapon fly out of reach. With a raging scream Mara sent a drowning energy wave and drove the scrap into the air, flinging it in the opposite end of the valley. “You’ve just made ... a new kind ... of enemy,” she panted as fighting her body's desire to fall asleep. Legs having lost all feelings, she wavered unsteadily. Her whole body trembled, and she flinched pointing her own heavy pistol at the robot, who reconsidered testing if she was aware if it moved.

    “Let’s finish this,” Mara said as finally having regained so much breath that she could talk and breath simultaneously. She drew her Twins slowly to preserve as much energy as possible before she would attack. Also not to risk any sudden moves on the enemy’s side, but it seemed to be at a loss.

    “Scanning: all firearms depleted; heavy weapon ammunition depleted – initiate close combat,” it stuttered weirdly.

    “Here we go again.” Mara sped up, though she was considerably slower after that intolerable beating, readying her katana. Seeing as she was literally dead tired and her suit and helmet had been partially ripped to shreds and practically soaked with all sorts of abominations, she could finally feel how it all dragged her down. Feeling her last strength ebbing out, she made an extra push for it, leaped and was once again brushed away by the enemy like a feather in the wind.

    Mara felt her hands let go of both the Twins, and she was uncontrollably flung several meters away from them. Getting up, panting, using her biotic power she thrust the foe away again with a frustrated scream. The heap of metal clunked into the ground, but the fact that it got up on its legs again was not the most unpredictable – Mara noticed she had incautiously thrown the robot right next to its gun; it was probably half loaded, too.

    Sending out a bio wave in hopes of shoving the pistol away from the foe, only a second earlier could’ve done it. The Droide picked up the gun, shielding the impact of the small wave with its hand. It directed the weapon at Mara, mumbling something hardly audible about “target locked...”

    Mara panicked. She started sending wave after wave for the robot as getting up. Starting to run, closing in on the target bit by bit, she imagined her attacks to do the trick, which would also be true ... at least for a while.

    Taking impact after impact the waves had distracted the robot from taking aim at her. She thought robots should do everything spot-on, that it all should be a dead-eye shot, until she heard a thermal clip fall to the ground and a sudden, frantic pain in her right shoulder ... then the same in the left. Two seconds later she found herself on the ground convulsing like an animal on fire. But that was also the situation, wasn’t it?

    She looked up.

    The foe stood over her body, still pointing the gun at her, but this time far more severe organs were up. Mara tried bravely to fight him off, but moving an arm was a no-go. She yelled in agony as the pain flashed through her chest and shoulders. The Droide gave signs to sensing her stern opposition, and Mara broke up heavily as she felt a small metal object ripping through her abdominals.

    Panting heavily, a powerful jolt made her painfully aware that her lungs had been deflated by a heavy object. She panicked, her hands racing blindly all over her chest where the metal foot had declared dominance. Apparently it didn’t like being opposed, pressing deeper into Mara’s chest. The panic grew hysterical, ignoring any other pain but the current.

    Her strength evacuated at once; paralysing fear struck her for the first time in years. Blood rushing to her head, exaggerated loads of blood cells and cerebral dictators meeting an overheated hypothermic dilemma: if she didn’t either die soon or get away her head would explode!

    Finally a new shot was heard. Mara was more than ready for the final judgment. She took a fresh breath...

    A fresh breath?

    What happened? Had she died just like that? She took another, heavier breath, and no, the pain was still there – only ten times worse! But the unbearable load was at least off her chest, literally.

    Where had it gone off to?

    Her leg suddenly kicked into something heavy and hard ... and it said clunk! Mara guessed that it was the robot finally paying for the sin of thinking it had bested her, when it only was enough to knock into an unpredictable coma for undecided amounts of time.

    But how?

    Had she hacked him and corrupted his hard drive to commit suicide once the final hour had come for her, just to let her suffer? Or maybe it’d been a virus from somewhere? Or maybe it had been installed that way?

    No, it couldn’t have been – she didn’t even know a thing about mechanics!

    Mara forced her body around. She scouted for her swords; they were about twenty meters away. She let out a great sigh. There was no way she could get all the way over there, not now, at least. But she had to try, secure the trusted tools from others who might come her way. Struggling to keep her insides inside due to the agonising pain, the horrible stench inside the helmet from earlier ... accidents, she started panting and coughing again – badly.

    Mara let out a final burst of breath as she collapsed helplessly on the ground. Sensing her all escaping her pitiful, havocked body, pain was the only remain. It kept her too sick to live, but too healthy to die as she completely let herself off to fate.

    The last thing she barely sensed before passing out was parts of her body burning.









Alien 4: Newcomer



The United Nations frigate UNSV Avenger drifted aimlessly around in the Mother system just outside the system’s 'Wormhole', an enormous construction of unknown age and origin old. The Avenger was a thin and long creation, measuring about thirty-five meters in height, twenty-five in width and over seventy in length. Its exterior was equipped with blaster cannons, particle beams and shields and armour of outstanding technology.

    Aboard the cruiser life was at its normal pace. The crew was relaxed, the pilot was doing his job, and the recently-returned shore party now took themselves a three-eight to gather up strength and have a meal down in the mess hall.



The commander lay on his bed half asleep as the loud-speaker on the ceiling in the centre of the room revealed the voice of the ship’s artificial intelligence: it was a plain, feminine voice.

    “The Chief Medical would like to speak with you in the infirmary, Commander,” it informed clearly.

    Roscoe stared up at the lightly blue ceiling. He hadn’t expected any appointments immediately after his mission. “Guess it’s to be expected,” he figured. “After all, it’s been a whole month. Nobody would ever last that long with such a condition in the first place...”

    He got out of bed and over to the door that led out in the hall. It was empty as he’d expect – the hall only had two doors; the elevator door and that to his private quarters – and there was never anyone up here unless they had a direct appointment and had to see him privately ... which rarely ever happened.

    Roscoe walked over to the elevator; the door opened with a hoarse whistling. He stepped inside and pressed the ‘crew quarters’ button – deck 3 – and as the doors closed behind him and the vague feeling of descent in his stomach began, he wondered again what the doctor wanted – surely the earlier retrieved package couldn’t be alive and well after what it had been through? Of course, that was his hopes of it to be still functional, and though he trusted his medical advisor to deliver one of the best patch-ups in Nations space something told him the odds were rare...



When the doors opened with another hiss he prioritized the medical bay, heading straight there. The doctor sat at her desk, taking some notes by hand. When she realised he was inside she turned her head in his direction.

    “Good to see you again, Commander,” she greeted with a smile. She was a little shorter than him, with grey shoulder-long hair and a face that had been altered by years of faithful service.

    “Good to see you too, Doc,” the commander replied polite. “You wanted to tell me something. Is it the package we recovered from Urn?”

    At once the aged lady looked a bit more concerned. She took some steps closer to one of the beds where a creature lay covered in a blanket.

    “I’m afraid it is,” the woman confirmed, nodding slightly.

    “Why do you say ‘afraid’? Has something happened to it?”

    “It’s a female, as Rogers said. And no, as far as I can tell, she is recovering bit by bit and is by now healthier than we could’ve hoped for considering her time spent here: the progress is far quicker than we’d anticipated.”

    “That’s good to hear. Then what’s the bad news?”

    “Well, physically she’s fine, as I said, at least for now. What’s really troubling me is that I’ve noticed very abnormal behaviour coming from her – physically. It’s only happened two or three times since you brought her aboard, however, I think I know what it is.”

    The commander crossed his arms expectantly. His face showed serious interest. “I’m listening.”

    The doctor started trotting back and forth, having a slightly more serious look on her face. Her eyes indicated fascination. “I think she sleepwalks. In a semi-conscious state.”

    Roscoe was perplexed. “Sleepwalks? But isn’t she unconscious? Has she ever woken up?”

    “No! No, she hasn’t, and that’s what is so odd. I mean, theoretically it’s impossible to do anything while you’re in a coma. The brain shuts down all mechanisms and only operates through one’s mind. The body doesn’t have the power or ability to operate on its own.”

    “Maybe her species is different? Maybe their brain continues to work or they don’t get into the same kind of coma?” the commander suggested, but the doctor shook her head sternly.

    “No, Commander, the brain works similarly with all organic life forms. Do you want to know where she heads off to each time – the bathroom. I followed her once, and my am I glad the crew are sleeping on the other side of the hall! That girl has a full load of smothered intestines every time!”

    “You mean she’s throwing up? How can you know for sure?”

    “Well, I am able to hear the pressured moans and screams from outside the door, you know, I'm not that old,” she stated.

    “That's not what I--” the commander tried, but she laughed mildly.

    “I know, Commander, I'm just teasing.” Then she went back to concentrating on the alien. “This poor girl has gone through one rough time on Urn, I must say. And those lungs! I dare say she’s probably got the the strongest on the ship! Remarkable.”

    “What species is she? Do you know?”

    “As a matter of fact I have a clue.” She suddenly sounded more enthusiastic. “Judging from the mask and her appearance my guess is that she is a Sorian. Their race has been isolated on a nearly uninhabitable planet near the borders of Droide space. They’re rarely seen in person, but a few have recently shown up in Nations space: they all seem to wear the same kinds of environmental suits, but that is about everything I know, Commander. Guess we can ask her when she—”

    Thatcher was interrupted by a weak breathing coming from behind. She wheeled around after a moment’s thought, and hurried over to the occupied bed. The patient's entire body was covered by a white blanket as if she was dead. Her forehead and eyes were covered by a big, wet cloth, and where her mouth would be was a single lump; the commander reckoned that's whare an oxygen mask would be.

    “No! Please don’t touch that, Commander,” Thatcher exclaimed when Roscoe was about to remove the cloth: he withdrew his hands immediately. “That is for her eyes, as you can see, but also for the rest of her face being exposed to strong light. It’s not that strong to us, I know, but I’ve heard that sorians are extremely sensitive to different elements, light being one of them. Her eyes may be the weakest part of her face.” Doctor Thatcher tried to calm her patient down. The Sorian’s head went from one side to another repeatedly with slow, dreaded motions. It was clear that she wasn’t even ready to wake up yet. “It’s ok, darling. Try not to move, you’ll be all right, I promise.”

    The man knew that the patient was too dizzy to pick up anything useful from their conversation, but still doctor Thatcher kept talking to her and told her to lie still as she put down the alien’s hands whenever she tried to move, and stroked her cheek to initiate contact to show that they were friendly to her.

    He looked at the patient. She didn’t seem to have problems with breathing; the pulse on the computer monitor showed normal life signs, although her breathing was abnormally fast and was accompanied by short pants every now and then.

    “I’ll go down in the engineering level and see if they finished her helmet,” he suggested, but he didn’t wait for her consent.

    Exiting the medical bay, he headed straight for the elevator to take him down under deck.

    When going out into the hallway of the engineering level there were two directions to go, but the two closest doors led to the same rooms, so he might as well choose right at random. At the far ends the corridor there were doors each leading to separate cargo storage rooms. He entered the first door on the right and headed down the stairwell to the reactor core, where two men sat talking. They both stood at a moment’s attention when their commander approached them.

    “Relax,” Roscoe said friendly. “I just came to ask you something. When we returned from that little trip to Urn about a month ago, we brought a package. She’s up in the medical bay now having doctor Thatcher tending to her. You didn’t happen to get a broken helmet from the doc?”

    The crewmen looked thoughtful, but then one said, “Yeah, I … I think so. Didn’t we get a helmet, Fred? You know – the one we’re supposed to fix because it was ‘urgent’?”

    The other crewman, Fred, seemed to agree on that, nodding. “Yeah, I think we did, but, uh, there was this little thing, uh, the glass, I think it was a little special, and so we didn’t exactly have that part, so...”

    The commander sighed. “All right, that’s the kind of thing you should tell me about so we can fix it. The thing upstairs has to have her helmet. She can’t walk around with only pieces of clothing and an oxygen mask strapped onto her head forever. We’ll head for Gomorrah, and you’ll tell me whatever you need so I can get it, understood? We'll get you on you fighting again in no time.”

    They both nodded; Roscoe wondered if he had scared them a little, but that didn’t have to be cleared up right away. Besides, they were grown-up men – could take some talking to.

    “Good. Now carry on with whatever you’re doing. Let’s just hope our patient can last a little longer...” He turned and headed for the stairs. From behind he heard an intimidated sob.



Back on F1 Roscoe headed for doctor Thatcher’s office.

    “I’m taking a team to Gomorrah to buy some parts to make the glass for the Sorian's helmet. It shouldn’t take long before we get her up to speed.”

    “Please hurry, Commander. She could be waking up any minute, and I don’t know if she wants to stay in an infirmary bed all day. I mean, not that she has any choice without her mask, and that is exactly what I mean. I’ll do what I can to keep her company,” the doctor smiled, and hushed her superior out of the room.

    Out in the CIC Roscoe went over to the Galaxy Podium, a small staircase at the point of a large triangle of monitors and data pads on a steel rack encasing a large, rotating hologram of the Avenger. Once the commander stepped onto the staircase the ship deflated to reveal an enormous star chart showing all the nearby and discovered systems in the Milky Way. Next to him was a holographic computer screen featuring the system names shown on the chart in front. Roscoe found the destination, and sent the coordinates to Blitz.

    “Coordinates received, Commander,” the pilot confirmed over the ship’s speakers. “I’m plotting a course to the Nylon right now – ETA about two hours.”