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July 19th, 2010


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02:04 am - Ramblings
Me
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Too little sleep
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Desire for Explosions
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Word Count: 1,004.


Log File 001

What is it that man has aspired to, ever since we first looked up to the stars?

That's a question that the best philosophers of our time can argue over for hours on end. However, most of them can agree on what it wasn't.

What it wasn't was a small vessel that looked like it was held together with duct tape and bubblegum, drifting merrily a few hundred miles from any occupied territory. Inside, it was just as silent as the cold, endless expanses beyond, save for the omnipresent engine hum.

When a ship flew into deep space, you had to just pray and hope that all the metal and all of the duct tape that kept your ship together would stay there. You hoped that nothing bad would go wrong so far away from a planet or a space colony, and, even if it was that it was only a minor inconvenience.

Ashlar Richardson was the man on board that was called when duct tape, metal, and prayer were not quite enough to keep the ship together. Wrench in teeth he dived into one of the cooling ducts and hoped to go that he'd managed to get it back to the mildly efficient cooling system it normally was.

More specifically, he hoped he could get it working before the laser fire started back up on the government ship currently trying to make them sitting ducks.

Or, he supposed, roasted ducks.

“Before you say it, I’ll cut you off with an ‘I'm working as fast as I bloody can, thank you’.”

At the bridge, the intercom faded into silence.

While the light or the lasers and the sensation of distant rattling against the shields was overwhelming, the silence was even more so. It was just about deafening.

Two people sat in the cockpit in this silence, not a word being said. This continued for some time, until one of them felt the need to break the silence.

"You just had to blow them up didn’t you.”

“Listen...They were a THREAT at the time. They left me no choice.”

“...They had white flags up---hell, they even sent us little animated ones.”

“No choice!”

"Whatever," came a voice from over the intercom system. "I won't say a damn thing. Except for possible 'this is all your fault and now I'm going to die a horrible death'."

The man steering the vessel was a bit...odd. Nobody who spoke to Zane Eiforti him could quite put their finger on it. The old-fashioned aviator's goggles he wore for no adequately-explained reason might have been a major contributing factor. Still, he was competent.

"Give me a rough estimate, Ash," he said, pulling into a dive. "How soon can you have the jumper ready to fire? WITHOUT tearing us apart?”

“In theory--two weeks with a nice hot bath every night. To prevent us from getting fried or captured? 10 minutes--the engines can take a little--so just...stall,” Ash said, and looked at the camera. “No gunfire.” He said, before turning it off and getting to work.

Jayna sighed softly, running her hands over her face. “Stall? How'd we manage to catch one of the brand-spanking new stealth ships?” She said, before running her hands over the console. “Fine, if he wants us to stall, we should stall, isn’t that right, Captain?”

Zane stared down at the controls, seemingly lost in space, both figuratively and literally. He suddenly snapped to attention and looked 'round. "No hope...no mercy...no future..." he muttered He then felt something soft bounce off his head. He shook his head violently. "Right, focusing," he said, gripping the controls tightly. "Ash, hold onto something. I'm about to do something stupid.”

Jayna called her little pet back, and sighed a bit. She hated something stupid.

Ash winced as he slipped into the panel he felt the whole world shift out from under him. HIs hands braced against the sides and he felt the shudders intensify.

“What the hell!”

When people of centuries past imagined space combat, they seemed to always picture aerial dogfights, the likes of which were seen in the wars of Old Earth. Real space combat is nothing like that; with no atmosphere, "up" and "down" were nothing more than states of mind.

An engine flared up as Zane pressed buttons and tweaked levers, and with a mighty heave, the vessel inverted on its Y-axis and took off...backwards. Narrowly avoiding a barrage of superheated projectiles.

Another pull and there was another flip as the ship dove straight "down" relative to its pursuit. "Punch the jumper!" shouted Zane. "Now!”

The ship bucked a bit, and then slammed itself forwards, slipping in just past the shields and into the space far in front of the other ship, just out of the range of the laser turrets.

The ship continued to speed forwards, trying to, if possible, stay just far enough out of range of the cannons to not get shot ‘out of the sky’.

His face locked in deep concentration, Zane mashed a few buttons - seemingly at random - and the vessel's other occupants (all two of them) felt the pressures of acceleration as they shot off like a greased pig.

Not long after, several more buttons were pressed and all was still.

"There," said Zane, panting deeply as if he had been pushing the ship by hand. "We're safe. We're alive. We're intact. We're still lost. But we're intact. And now I must rest."

With that, he fell out of his seat and onto the cold steel floor beneath.

After a few minutes, a weary sounding Ash popped up over the intercom. “Cooling systems are under control...we’ll have to buy a new unit when we get Portside.”

Jayna slipped the captain into the other seat, and slumped into the captain's seat. “Thanks, Ash--We're heading into Jump Space in ten.” she said, slipping her hands over the console. “Come back to the bridge when you squeeze back out of the ducts.”

“But of course, my queen.”



More to come from me and my friend!
Current Location: In my bedroom
Current Mood: accomplishedaccomplished
Current Music: Michael Jackson "Stranger in Moscow"

(Write it Down)


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