The deep swirl of space wrapped around the edges of his cockpit like a grand flush of space and time. It drew his eyes to the abyss at its heart. The deep. Dark. Heart of space. A nothingness that would soon reveal itself to be merely a veil over everything. The grandeur of the cosmos. Everything he had ever cherished, loathed, or encountered. Every love. Every step. Every death.
Out there. In the color wrapped abyss.
Zechs glanced down at his flashing controls. Time drew nearer. Soon the stars would rush back and clear out the swirl. Soon everything would be back upon him, and the peace of the abyss would be lost to the vile manner of war and its colorful ramifications.
His grip tightened around his controls. The cramped cockpit felt at home to him. A coffin that had graced most of his adult life. One he had too often gotten lost in. Sometimes in the abyss. Other times adrift. Emotionally or literally reaching out to clench onto something. A cause. A hope. The remnants of a blurry memory. Something sturdier than the latest passion.
Shields: they were set to cycle up upon exit from hyperspace.
Weapons: ready but stuck currently in the last stage of inflight optimization.
Engines: eager for a break. They would fine none over there where they were going.
Zechs: he could use a nap.
He had planned to take a nap during the jump, but the abyss kept his attention. It often did. It drew him in with its swirl. The soothing pattern locked in a steady rhythm. All drawing him in deeper. Closer. Ever closer. To the abyss.
It gave him time to think. Time to remember or at least to try to not to. It was a difficult relationship. The mind a cruel creation thrust upon those sworn to… Duty. Emotions often swelled up and weren’t easily cast back into the abyss. They had to be faced, and their faces often were a gnarling blur set on driving out what little fragment of his sanity remained.
A faceless blob he had slain amongst the star. Cries from a building fired upon by his orders. Whispers of those who the Corporate Sector had enslaved, and he enforced for a few measly credits. Memories. Echoes. Fragments of his past lives. Tears.
The swirl soon drew him into tomorrow. That distant thing shaped by all his yesterdays. More of the same. Less of some others. A hazy thing out of today’s reach but ever so dependent on all those days before. The hope it might represent snuffed out by the fighter he rode. The latest in a long series of mistakes. No, tomorrow would be filled with regrets. Regrets of his failings or of the lives he took. A bitterness from a battle he could not avoid.
Tomorrow…
The XJ began to shiver. His power to deviate from the destiny before him waned. The hyperdrive began to cries to relax. The swirl. The vortex. In an instant, it gave way. It pulled back unto itself. The abyss dragged him forth into the dark away from the entrancing light. A blinding dark with everyone, everything, to reveal.
A starfield. A system. Worlds. Lives. A battle to be joined.
The past faded away. Tomorrow drifted out of view. The now consumed him. Zechs pushed his fighter ahead. The simulations ran to ensure its optimal performance. His faithful droid behind him putting in place ever changing optimizations, so he might remove one or two more hostile from existence than he might otherwise have. Or save his life at the expense of another’s. It was tricky how these things could be looked upon. On one side, glory for a cause dubbed noble. On the other, pain. The fact remained unchanged.
Zechs had arrived.
To nothing.
Peace of the Abyss (Closed-ish)
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Zechs Merquise
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- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:07 pm
- Location: Greater New Orleans Area
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Zechs Merquise
- Full Member
- Posts: 580
- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:07 pm
- Location: Greater New Orleans Area
Re: Peace of the Abyss (Closed-ish)
Nothing.
In a way, Zechs wasn’t surprised. Droids had their limits. Courses infinite variables. To be in the wrong system and ready for battle was amongst the most Zechs things ever. The bright spot was the sun. It wasn’t unfamiliar, and it meant the Empire, Sith, and other less righteous scum of the galaxy didn’t control it.
He was armed and ready to fire on the Alliance he stood with. It must have been Taungsday.
His XJ stood down. Its wings collapsed down upon each other. The engines shifted into a more casual pace. Towards the planet his course shifted.
A standard looking world in a galaxy far from sane. Plenty of green. A touch of blue. A little grey on top the pole he could see. A finely aged world with a decent amount of traffic still piercing its atmosphere.
The battle was elsewhere. It’d take him too long to get there, so Zechs took it easy. It was just another mistake in a long line of them. Nothing to be dwelled on, but it’d come back to bug him in the middle of the night. There, stuck with all those what ifs and other fun questions, he’d toss and turn till his body gave out. His mind never.
Safe. That’s what this world should be, but he settled on using an alias all the same. Cyrene Wind would work. A scout for a corporation that would prefer remain anonymous. Oh? The XJ? He’d hint it was best not to read into that or do so as far as they’d like. There were plenty of corporations fond of a flashy entrance or… showing off the goods.
It was a solid plan as he began to make his final approach to the planet. A random city chosen with the famous closed eye click method. A landing pad.
He wasn’t sure what he had actually brought with him to sell any of this, but he’d make it work. His flight jacket was easily removed, and his casual attire neutral enough. His kit should have adequate arms for those eventualities, but Zechs was rather frank in his desire to avoid laser shows.
The battle was elsewhere. He was here. Best to let the troubles of elsewhere remain where they were. He was due a nice sandwich, a decent bottle of something, and perhaps some company worth ignoring. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
In a way, Zechs wasn’t surprised. Droids had their limits. Courses infinite variables. To be in the wrong system and ready for battle was amongst the most Zechs things ever. The bright spot was the sun. It wasn’t unfamiliar, and it meant the Empire, Sith, and other less righteous scum of the galaxy didn’t control it.
He was armed and ready to fire on the Alliance he stood with. It must have been Taungsday.
His XJ stood down. Its wings collapsed down upon each other. The engines shifted into a more casual pace. Towards the planet his course shifted.
A standard looking world in a galaxy far from sane. Plenty of green. A touch of blue. A little grey on top the pole he could see. A finely aged world with a decent amount of traffic still piercing its atmosphere.
The battle was elsewhere. It’d take him too long to get there, so Zechs took it easy. It was just another mistake in a long line of them. Nothing to be dwelled on, but it’d come back to bug him in the middle of the night. There, stuck with all those what ifs and other fun questions, he’d toss and turn till his body gave out. His mind never.
Safe. That’s what this world should be, but he settled on using an alias all the same. Cyrene Wind would work. A scout for a corporation that would prefer remain anonymous. Oh? The XJ? He’d hint it was best not to read into that or do so as far as they’d like. There were plenty of corporations fond of a flashy entrance or… showing off the goods.
It was a solid plan as he began to make his final approach to the planet. A random city chosen with the famous closed eye click method. A landing pad.
He wasn’t sure what he had actually brought with him to sell any of this, but he’d make it work. His flight jacket was easily removed, and his casual attire neutral enough. His kit should have adequate arms for those eventualities, but Zechs was rather frank in his desire to avoid laser shows.
The battle was elsewhere. He was here. Best to let the troubles of elsewhere remain where they were. He was due a nice sandwich, a decent bottle of something, and perhaps some company worth ignoring. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Zechs Merquise
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- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:07 pm
- Location: Greater New Orleans Area
Re: Peace of the Abyss (Closed-ish)
The local starport was ripe with activity and large banners making it clear this starport was brought to you by Ewoken’s Treats. Ewoken’s Treats: the best, delights, this side, of the, forrest moon, or, you’re digestive track, back. How Christopher Ewoken almost became the Chief of State boggled Zechs’s mind. The ewok had come far from his Corporate Sector days. Almost to the top of the Alliance. Not many anyones could say that.
A short green vermin looking creature rushed up to Zechs as he gracefully tumbled out of his fighters. “What you parking dat here for? We don’t need no trouble with you space hacks. We got enough problems keeping lunch down.”
Zechs took a second to find the ground. In the starport. Where spacecraft landed. “What?” Elegant as always.
“Oh forget about it.” The vermin bated the air. “Yous gonna buy the insurance or take the chance that hack of an ewok paid enough to lock the door tonight?”
A flash of his blaster sent the vermin’s hands up. “Oh. Fancy fella. I guess I shouldn’t have had my buddies arm da turrent and aim it at ya… assets.” A smirk. Always a good sign.
Zechs relented. Admitted his failings to account for the starport’s ample defenses. He had been outplayed by a vermin with mucus dripping from its ears, and to be perfectly honest, he didn’t want to cause a scene or dive deep into trouble a few seconds after landing on a planet. It’d make a nightmare out of the rest of his stay, so he paid the insurance fee and went on with his business.
Out on the street, there was an odd calm and two Ewoken’s Treats across from one another. One advertising the best treats of the Alliance. The other the greatest hits of the Empire. It was one way to gauge the crowd. Zechs hadn’t had an Ewoken burger in… a year? The whole political campaign with free up sizing on all orders of 8 credits or more really had gotten to him. His waist could only expand so far before he needed an entirely new wardrobe.
Vacation. Things to do for fun. Zechs wasn’t seeing any. In fact, the lack of many shops begged a couple questions. Why was this starport here? What was driving the traffic? It couldn’t all be carry-out.
Zechs took a left and strode into the Alliance version of Ewoken’s Treats. There in their infinite grandeur was the all ewok staff, doing their part to bring the forrest moon of Endor back to its green, safe, and masterless self it used to be. Unless it was Christopher Ewoken. The elder ewok seemed to be the hip leader this band would follow anywhere where the pay was reasonable and danger little.
“Welcome to Ewoken’s Treat.” One ewok said through a very rough and staticy translator. “Would you like to try special of the day? It’s a burger made with 100% MonCalimari eels glazed with sarlacc sauce and served on bread fresh from Roche with your choice of sides: an Endor Pop or a tomato.”
There were days Zechs questioned why he left the Corporate Sector. There were days he wondered what had happened to the little gang of ewoks who served along side him there. Then there were days like this when he watch the latest migrants from Endor serve those now rich ewoks and wonder why he didn’t invest when Christopher Ewoken pitched him this insane idea.
Joke was on Zechs. Insanity sold.
A short green vermin looking creature rushed up to Zechs as he gracefully tumbled out of his fighters. “What you parking dat here for? We don’t need no trouble with you space hacks. We got enough problems keeping lunch down.”
Zechs took a second to find the ground. In the starport. Where spacecraft landed. “What?” Elegant as always.
“Oh forget about it.” The vermin bated the air. “Yous gonna buy the insurance or take the chance that hack of an ewok paid enough to lock the door tonight?”
A flash of his blaster sent the vermin’s hands up. “Oh. Fancy fella. I guess I shouldn’t have had my buddies arm da turrent and aim it at ya… assets.” A smirk. Always a good sign.
Zechs relented. Admitted his failings to account for the starport’s ample defenses. He had been outplayed by a vermin with mucus dripping from its ears, and to be perfectly honest, he didn’t want to cause a scene or dive deep into trouble a few seconds after landing on a planet. It’d make a nightmare out of the rest of his stay, so he paid the insurance fee and went on with his business.
Out on the street, there was an odd calm and two Ewoken’s Treats across from one another. One advertising the best treats of the Alliance. The other the greatest hits of the Empire. It was one way to gauge the crowd. Zechs hadn’t had an Ewoken burger in… a year? The whole political campaign with free up sizing on all orders of 8 credits or more really had gotten to him. His waist could only expand so far before he needed an entirely new wardrobe.
Vacation. Things to do for fun. Zechs wasn’t seeing any. In fact, the lack of many shops begged a couple questions. Why was this starport here? What was driving the traffic? It couldn’t all be carry-out.
Zechs took a left and strode into the Alliance version of Ewoken’s Treats. There in their infinite grandeur was the all ewok staff, doing their part to bring the forrest moon of Endor back to its green, safe, and masterless self it used to be. Unless it was Christopher Ewoken. The elder ewok seemed to be the hip leader this band would follow anywhere where the pay was reasonable and danger little.
“Welcome to Ewoken’s Treat.” One ewok said through a very rough and staticy translator. “Would you like to try special of the day? It’s a burger made with 100% MonCalimari eels glazed with sarlacc sauce and served on bread fresh from Roche with your choice of sides: an Endor Pop or a tomato.”
There were days Zechs questioned why he left the Corporate Sector. There were days he wondered what had happened to the little gang of ewoks who served along side him there. Then there were days like this when he watch the latest migrants from Endor serve those now rich ewoks and wonder why he didn’t invest when Christopher Ewoken pitched him this insane idea.
Joke was on Zechs. Insanity sold.
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Zechs Merquise
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- Posts: 580
- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:07 pm
- Location: Greater New Orleans Area
Re: Peace of the Abyss (Closed-ish)
Vacations left him doing… nothing. And nothing seemed awfully boring. Sleeping. Eating. Drinking. Sleeping. There wasn’t much to do around the starport, but he didn’t feel like traveling far. Worse of all after 2 days, It had him checking his messages on the holonet and was there ever many.
Advertisements.
Collection notices that were autoforwarded to his people.
Messages from his people about his collection notices.
More advertisements.
A bank notice of interest earned.
Dues due from the Ranch.
A message from… Captain Winters? Two weeks old.
Zechs played it in private as he sucked on his fruity pop. The old captain still brave enough to wear his Corporate Sector uniform sat behind a desk with stars peaking in from the narrow window behind him. “Sir, I know it’s been some time, since the fall of our former… unstable acquittance, but times demand groveling. Raiders, slavers, desertions. Time has undone us. Order long lost. One ship. No home. It’s all that’s left of our little gang. We know you still have connections in the Corporate Sector, within the Empire and Alliance. And you’re sane. The cloak needs some… work, but our resolve to serve isn’t. Coordinates attached.”
He wouldn’t lie. It was half tempting to instantly reply. Friends were so fleeting at times. Relationships unstable at best. But coordinates. He could do coordinates. Coordinates safe in Alliance space no less and in a fairly well traveled region. A flyby if nothing else, he could do. He owed Winters at least that much for leaving the comfy gig of Corporate Sector defending. Not that he had any part in his tumble into wild web of conspiracies brought about by a mad clone.
No. None of that was his fault. It was his on again and off again “friend” Thrion’s fault. Zechs never trusted clones. Copies were never as perfect as the original. Tweaked ones even less. No, Zechs didn’t feel any guilt over Winters current state. But.
But, Zechs wouldn’t say no to helping out a ship of mates who could help him do a few noble things in unnoble ways. Hopefully the ship could be brought up to ship shape without breaking the bank. Even if not, it’d make a far better home than a ranch covered in feathers.
Yes. Zechs made his way to the starport. He’d go see them, if they were still there. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a ghost ship or worse a corpse ship. Hopefully they had redubbed it something better than Messiah, because the idiot who commanded it before was far from that. One way or another, he’d fix that.
Advertisements.
Collection notices that were autoforwarded to his people.
Messages from his people about his collection notices.
More advertisements.
A bank notice of interest earned.
Dues due from the Ranch.
A message from… Captain Winters? Two weeks old.
Zechs played it in private as he sucked on his fruity pop. The old captain still brave enough to wear his Corporate Sector uniform sat behind a desk with stars peaking in from the narrow window behind him. “Sir, I know it’s been some time, since the fall of our former… unstable acquittance, but times demand groveling. Raiders, slavers, desertions. Time has undone us. Order long lost. One ship. No home. It’s all that’s left of our little gang. We know you still have connections in the Corporate Sector, within the Empire and Alliance. And you’re sane. The cloak needs some… work, but our resolve to serve isn’t. Coordinates attached.”
He wouldn’t lie. It was half tempting to instantly reply. Friends were so fleeting at times. Relationships unstable at best. But coordinates. He could do coordinates. Coordinates safe in Alliance space no less and in a fairly well traveled region. A flyby if nothing else, he could do. He owed Winters at least that much for leaving the comfy gig of Corporate Sector defending. Not that he had any part in his tumble into wild web of conspiracies brought about by a mad clone.
No. None of that was his fault. It was his on again and off again “friend” Thrion’s fault. Zechs never trusted clones. Copies were never as perfect as the original. Tweaked ones even less. No, Zechs didn’t feel any guilt over Winters current state. But.
But, Zechs wouldn’t say no to helping out a ship of mates who could help him do a few noble things in unnoble ways. Hopefully the ship could be brought up to ship shape without breaking the bank. Even if not, it’d make a far better home than a ranch covered in feathers.
Yes. Zechs made his way to the starport. He’d go see them, if they were still there. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a ghost ship or worse a corpse ship. Hopefully they had redubbed it something better than Messiah, because the idiot who commanded it before was far from that. One way or another, he’d fix that.
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Zechs Merquise
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- Posts: 580
- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:07 pm
- Location: Greater New Orleans Area
Re: Peace of the Abyss (Closed-ish)
The Solitude. It was a better name than the Messiah. A lot less egotistical. More reflective of their current state. And just the way Zechs liked it.
Zechs approached the Nebulon B2 Frigate. Comms flickered as the voice of Captain Winters came through it. “Still using those old designations, sir. You’re cleared for landing.” He didn’t know what to say in reponse to that. Just because something was old didn’t mean… It was a tired saying.
The hanger wasn’t as busy as he expected. Nor armed as he last remembered it. A squadron of X-wings. A squadron of Assault Gunboats. One YT-2000 sitting in its spot with space for another that seemed absent. And the only transport design in the galaxy to cause him to drool over: a Lambda shuttle.
No. It wasn’t the force he remembered them having. Even the ship felt smaller, but the squad of former Imperial, Rebel, Republic, and Corporate troopers awaiting him made him feel all the more alien.
His fighter landed in a free spot guided by a tired man with shiny hands. The cockpit rolled back. Out he went in his less than formal travel wear he had switched into on that now far off and less than real planet. Salutes which felt new he returned.
A female in full Imperial army regalia snapped them to attention. “Welcome aboard, sir. Col Fenring at your service. Captain asked me to escort you to his quarters.” He made a motion towards the corridor. Her hand a little too close to her pistol for his comfort. He had been smart enough to leave his in the cockpit.
Zechs bowed his head.
The two walked in silence down the corridor, up a deck, and to the Captain’s quarters. The lights along the way occasionaly flickered. Some of the door seemed to have been battle scared. Some recently cleaned. She, the ship, didn’t seem too far from ready for battle.
Captain Winters rose from behind his desk as the two entered. “Welcome aboard the Solitude, sir. Still the old girl you knew, but she’s seen better days. I’m sure you noticed the sign of the little rebellion amongst the less than natural portion of the crew. We’re now 100% clone free and sane.”
Fenring nodded along. “Took a few too many good people to get that way, but we’re better off.” It was to be debated.
“And she has your back, sir. We all do.” Winters came around the desk and sat on it. Zechs remained silent as he stood there. “Give me a month in a discrete repair dock and a few credits. I’ll get her ship ready. The men fully outfitted as the Colonel prefers. We’ve spent too long in the dark dealing with the aftermath of the insanity of Kane. We’re ready to do what must be done.”
Zechs crossed his arms as he invited himself to sit down. “Of that, I have no doubt. The question is what.” Credits were easy to spend. Repairs essential. The ship… A little special.
She had been renamed a few times, but Zechs had first boarded her when… It was back in his first days of service. Under the Empire. He had come aboard it when it served the Secret Order and a Victor Kurgan, a dark force user who had no interest in meeting again. Then it changed commands a few times. For a brief time his own.
Winters smirked, which Zechs could never remember him doing. “We’ve always been a ship of the shadows, sir. It’d be a shame to change that.” Fenring agreed. The mixed crew made it the perfect role. And then there was that slightly out of operational cloak he had mentioned. Not good with a hyperdrive but great otherwise. A benefit of being brought into service under the Secret Order and having a commander willing to raid a storehouse of the former Emperor.
“Agreed.” His way with words never ceased to surprise anyone.
Fenring marched to Winters’ side. “Allow me to be blunt. These aren’t clones. Serving a cause means something, and I won’t throw away their lives for nothing. We do this; we do it right or not at all.”
Zechs rose to his feet after a slight struggle to get out of the dated chair. “Oh. I don’t disagree, Colonel.” He hoped some of the rest of the command staff had a sense of humor or could relax a little. This situation warranted the seriousness, but there was tension in the air someone needed to cut. Winters never would. It wasn’t him. Fenring seemed almost stoic. He wondered if Zahn was still onboard. She knew to break the tension, even if her jokes were all awful.
Still, it was what it was. Done and hands shook. Winters went to his private safe and pulled out a bottle of some Etti IV brew Zechs had somehow never heard of. He poured four glasses.
“A toast. To tomorrow!”
Fenring echoed it, but Zechs felt it required an amendment. “To a tomorrow better than yesterday.”
Within a day, the Solitude would be making her way to a non-government operated repair dock and soon there after repairs and a few upgrades underway. But a month. Zechs wouldn’t hold Winters to it. This had to be done right.
Zechs approached the Nebulon B2 Frigate. Comms flickered as the voice of Captain Winters came through it. “Still using those old designations, sir. You’re cleared for landing.” He didn’t know what to say in reponse to that. Just because something was old didn’t mean… It was a tired saying.
The hanger wasn’t as busy as he expected. Nor armed as he last remembered it. A squadron of X-wings. A squadron of Assault Gunboats. One YT-2000 sitting in its spot with space for another that seemed absent. And the only transport design in the galaxy to cause him to drool over: a Lambda shuttle.
No. It wasn’t the force he remembered them having. Even the ship felt smaller, but the squad of former Imperial, Rebel, Republic, and Corporate troopers awaiting him made him feel all the more alien.
His fighter landed in a free spot guided by a tired man with shiny hands. The cockpit rolled back. Out he went in his less than formal travel wear he had switched into on that now far off and less than real planet. Salutes which felt new he returned.
A female in full Imperial army regalia snapped them to attention. “Welcome aboard, sir. Col Fenring at your service. Captain asked me to escort you to his quarters.” He made a motion towards the corridor. Her hand a little too close to her pistol for his comfort. He had been smart enough to leave his in the cockpit.
Zechs bowed his head.
The two walked in silence down the corridor, up a deck, and to the Captain’s quarters. The lights along the way occasionaly flickered. Some of the door seemed to have been battle scared. Some recently cleaned. She, the ship, didn’t seem too far from ready for battle.
Captain Winters rose from behind his desk as the two entered. “Welcome aboard the Solitude, sir. Still the old girl you knew, but she’s seen better days. I’m sure you noticed the sign of the little rebellion amongst the less than natural portion of the crew. We’re now 100% clone free and sane.”
Fenring nodded along. “Took a few too many good people to get that way, but we’re better off.” It was to be debated.
“And she has your back, sir. We all do.” Winters came around the desk and sat on it. Zechs remained silent as he stood there. “Give me a month in a discrete repair dock and a few credits. I’ll get her ship ready. The men fully outfitted as the Colonel prefers. We’ve spent too long in the dark dealing with the aftermath of the insanity of Kane. We’re ready to do what must be done.”
Zechs crossed his arms as he invited himself to sit down. “Of that, I have no doubt. The question is what.” Credits were easy to spend. Repairs essential. The ship… A little special.
She had been renamed a few times, but Zechs had first boarded her when… It was back in his first days of service. Under the Empire. He had come aboard it when it served the Secret Order and a Victor Kurgan, a dark force user who had no interest in meeting again. Then it changed commands a few times. For a brief time his own.
Winters smirked, which Zechs could never remember him doing. “We’ve always been a ship of the shadows, sir. It’d be a shame to change that.” Fenring agreed. The mixed crew made it the perfect role. And then there was that slightly out of operational cloak he had mentioned. Not good with a hyperdrive but great otherwise. A benefit of being brought into service under the Secret Order and having a commander willing to raid a storehouse of the former Emperor.
“Agreed.” His way with words never ceased to surprise anyone.
Fenring marched to Winters’ side. “Allow me to be blunt. These aren’t clones. Serving a cause means something, and I won’t throw away their lives for nothing. We do this; we do it right or not at all.”
Zechs rose to his feet after a slight struggle to get out of the dated chair. “Oh. I don’t disagree, Colonel.” He hoped some of the rest of the command staff had a sense of humor or could relax a little. This situation warranted the seriousness, but there was tension in the air someone needed to cut. Winters never would. It wasn’t him. Fenring seemed almost stoic. He wondered if Zahn was still onboard. She knew to break the tension, even if her jokes were all awful.
Still, it was what it was. Done and hands shook. Winters went to his private safe and pulled out a bottle of some Etti IV brew Zechs had somehow never heard of. He poured four glasses.
“A toast. To tomorrow!”
Fenring echoed it, but Zechs felt it required an amendment. “To a tomorrow better than yesterday.”
Within a day, the Solitude would be making her way to a non-government operated repair dock and soon there after repairs and a few upgrades underway. But a month. Zechs wouldn’t hold Winters to it. This had to be done right.
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Zechs Merquise
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- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:07 pm
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Re: Peace of the Abyss (Closed-ish)
The dock was far from perfect. Progress would be slow if it was to be kept uninterseting. The frigate was far from near as ready as anyone thought. Maintenance was long past due on half the systems. Its drive needed a complete recalibration. Outdated tech required extra care. What was clear was it’d take more time and money than expected. It demanded one major revision.
Winters approached Zechs on the bridge. “Well, sir. I think this is the first time we’ve seen a dry dock since… Well, since before I took command.”
“And?” There was always an and or a but.
“Bad news: the cloak is now spare parts to name the most notable system now effectively to be mothballed. Time wore down the relays and fused them together. Bolts have rusted. Fried too many circuits. Not that we ever used it often, for example. Drawbacks were too great. The good news is the net of it all will free up space. Given our habit of remaining between worlds for longer length of time than most ships, I would suggest we use it for recreation facilities and a hydroponic garden.”
Shore leave for any warship was a pain in the rear. Trading out a only semi-useful peice of technology for the means of keeping people sane? Zechs would make it any day. This wasn’t the Empire. They didn’t need junk cluttering up space. They needed good people ready to do what needed to be done.
Fresh food? A gym? Maybe they could fit in a mind doctor in there too. Whatever they were called. Zechs had too many screws loose to bother thinking up the word.
Elim Cotto came around the corner in his casual pilot’s attire. Zechs had yet to see the man in a uniform. He was former Republic, if he recalled right. Too young to serve back in the Rebellion, but old enough to die for the Republic. Or might have. Not anymore.
“Hanger decks practically nude.” He let out a slight sigh. “It’ll be a week before they’re done doing whatever it is they’re doing down there. With any luck, they’ll get that buzzing out of the field. It always kicks up a notch when the hyperdrive is active. A bunch of bull our guys haven’t been able to figure it out.”
Little annoyances. Little things that tended to bloom into larger things. Colorful things. There’d be a lot more. Zechs was sure of it as he went look out the forward viewport. It was quiet out there. A few tugs sparking the hull. Some transports in the distance breaking atmosphere like small comets. Peace. Almost too peaceful.
He crossed his arms. “There is no rush, gentlemen. As far as I’m concerned, combat is the last thing this ship will see, but we must be ready. It serves the cause of good better in the shadows, as some put it.”
That’s what Zechs had in mind. A means to ferry operatives to and fro without diminishing the Alliance’s forces. A ship capable of passing into Imperial or other space without a banner flying over it and sparking a greater conflict. Special operations, if special meant suicidal.
And for that reason, taking care of her crew was all the more important. It was time to rotate a few off onto leave while work was done. And at the same time, quarters and such upgraded to beyond a modern standard. Everyone deserved a little extra room. Everyone deserved a hot shower. Everyone deserved a private place to handle their affairs.
Zechs nodded. This would work.
Winters approached Zechs on the bridge. “Well, sir. I think this is the first time we’ve seen a dry dock since… Well, since before I took command.”
“And?” There was always an and or a but.
“Bad news: the cloak is now spare parts to name the most notable system now effectively to be mothballed. Time wore down the relays and fused them together. Bolts have rusted. Fried too many circuits. Not that we ever used it often, for example. Drawbacks were too great. The good news is the net of it all will free up space. Given our habit of remaining between worlds for longer length of time than most ships, I would suggest we use it for recreation facilities and a hydroponic garden.”
Shore leave for any warship was a pain in the rear. Trading out a only semi-useful peice of technology for the means of keeping people sane? Zechs would make it any day. This wasn’t the Empire. They didn’t need junk cluttering up space. They needed good people ready to do what needed to be done.
Fresh food? A gym? Maybe they could fit in a mind doctor in there too. Whatever they were called. Zechs had too many screws loose to bother thinking up the word.
Elim Cotto came around the corner in his casual pilot’s attire. Zechs had yet to see the man in a uniform. He was former Republic, if he recalled right. Too young to serve back in the Rebellion, but old enough to die for the Republic. Or might have. Not anymore.
“Hanger decks practically nude.” He let out a slight sigh. “It’ll be a week before they’re done doing whatever it is they’re doing down there. With any luck, they’ll get that buzzing out of the field. It always kicks up a notch when the hyperdrive is active. A bunch of bull our guys haven’t been able to figure it out.”
Little annoyances. Little things that tended to bloom into larger things. Colorful things. There’d be a lot more. Zechs was sure of it as he went look out the forward viewport. It was quiet out there. A few tugs sparking the hull. Some transports in the distance breaking atmosphere like small comets. Peace. Almost too peaceful.
He crossed his arms. “There is no rush, gentlemen. As far as I’m concerned, combat is the last thing this ship will see, but we must be ready. It serves the cause of good better in the shadows, as some put it.”
That’s what Zechs had in mind. A means to ferry operatives to and fro without diminishing the Alliance’s forces. A ship capable of passing into Imperial or other space without a banner flying over it and sparking a greater conflict. Special operations, if special meant suicidal.
And for that reason, taking care of her crew was all the more important. It was time to rotate a few off onto leave while work was done. And at the same time, quarters and such upgraded to beyond a modern standard. Everyone deserved a little extra room. Everyone deserved a hot shower. Everyone deserved a private place to handle their affairs.
Zechs nodded. This would work.
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Zechs Merquise
- Full Member
- Posts: 580
- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:07 pm
- Location: Greater New Orleans Area
Re: Peace of the Abyss (Closed-ish)
The darkness lurked within the elegant frames of the once minty fresh Nebulon B2 Frigate. Corridors once stark in the drapery of the old Empire lost to the quiet calm of the present. Chambers once devoted to the dark arts now empty and laid bare. A hold once used to store the mad obsessions of fools long dead now empty and cleared. The “Dark Side Compendium” (not the one famous in some dark circles of the same name) and it’s mad entirely useless ramblings of a delusional clone gone entirely batty was tucked away in the computer system best left forgotten. Weapons batteries long silenced by secretive missions. For the moment, the Solitude was its namesake.
Zechs stared out the front viewport of the once Imperial shuttle as he waited. He didn’t know how. He didn’t care why. Only how long was the question that scratched at his mind. How long would it take to contain the leak and the teams to get back to work?
She had been evacuated till the scope of the leak could be determined. Safer to have specialists go in with the proper gear then risk the lives of those anywhere on the ship if it proved more extensive than the lower decks as estimated.
Maintenance. It was important. It was to be never overlooked or passed up in the name of priorities. This was the true relic of the old orders. The latest obsession was always more important than tending to the boring tasks like checking airlocks for a proper seal or that pipes had not been weakened. What use was a warship in battle or on a survey mission if it could not operate as intended?
Col. Fenring peaked into the cockpit. “Still no word, sir?”
Word. There were plenty of them. Few worth actually hearing or reading. “Ample but none you’d care to hear.” Time. It’d take time to get to the bottom of anything. Pressure to find out more sooner might only result in more trouble or delays. They had no use for either.
They had to do this right, if they were going to do it at all.
This wasn’t the Empire. This wasn’t the Corporate Sector. This wasn’t the New Republic. This wasn’t officially the Alliance. The pressure on them was only of the kind they imposed on themselves. A pressure Zechs cared to relieve.
He turned to face the former Stormcommando. “Pass word along to extended shore leave to anyone who doesn’t have something they can be doing and send most of them as well. Within reason. At the Captain’s discretion, of course.” He was an admiral of no one, but he was an admiral. He’d suggest to Winters normally, but this time, a shove was best.
She nodded. “I’ll draw up some suggestions and get them on the way.”
She was gone as quick as she arrived. Almost with a strange pep in her step as if at last she had an operation worthy of her time and effort, but it was probably an excuse to become busy. It was hard staring and waiting. So much to do. So much time to be anywhere. Progress stalled. There was a wickedness to it all.
Relics. They were surrounded by them and confined by them. From the shuttle to the uniform and armor Fenring chose to wear. They each were. The darkest secret of them all was that it was by choice. They always had one.
Zechs stared out the front viewport of the once Imperial shuttle as he waited. He didn’t know how. He didn’t care why. Only how long was the question that scratched at his mind. How long would it take to contain the leak and the teams to get back to work?
She had been evacuated till the scope of the leak could be determined. Safer to have specialists go in with the proper gear then risk the lives of those anywhere on the ship if it proved more extensive than the lower decks as estimated.
Maintenance. It was important. It was to be never overlooked or passed up in the name of priorities. This was the true relic of the old orders. The latest obsession was always more important than tending to the boring tasks like checking airlocks for a proper seal or that pipes had not been weakened. What use was a warship in battle or on a survey mission if it could not operate as intended?
Col. Fenring peaked into the cockpit. “Still no word, sir?”
Word. There were plenty of them. Few worth actually hearing or reading. “Ample but none you’d care to hear.” Time. It’d take time to get to the bottom of anything. Pressure to find out more sooner might only result in more trouble or delays. They had no use for either.
They had to do this right, if they were going to do it at all.
This wasn’t the Empire. This wasn’t the Corporate Sector. This wasn’t the New Republic. This wasn’t officially the Alliance. The pressure on them was only of the kind they imposed on themselves. A pressure Zechs cared to relieve.
He turned to face the former Stormcommando. “Pass word along to extended shore leave to anyone who doesn’t have something they can be doing and send most of them as well. Within reason. At the Captain’s discretion, of course.” He was an admiral of no one, but he was an admiral. He’d suggest to Winters normally, but this time, a shove was best.
She nodded. “I’ll draw up some suggestions and get them on the way.”
She was gone as quick as she arrived. Almost with a strange pep in her step as if at last she had an operation worthy of her time and effort, but it was probably an excuse to become busy. It was hard staring and waiting. So much to do. So much time to be anywhere. Progress stalled. There was a wickedness to it all.
Relics. They were surrounded by them and confined by them. From the shuttle to the uniform and armor Fenring chose to wear. They each were. The darkest secret of them all was that it was by choice. They always had one.
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Zechs Merquise
- Full Member
- Posts: 580
- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:07 pm
- Location: Greater New Orleans Area
Re: Peace of the Abyss (Closed-ish)
Dew dripped across the bland visor of the storm commando armor Fenring wore. Her gaze as ever oblivious to Zechs as it had been for the last hour. Masks worked that way. They had yet to fail any of them.
The other officers sat around the beachfront table in far more forgiving uniforms. Former Imperial, Republiv, Alliance, and Corporate dress. One in casual slacks. Zechs in a nice coat. Diversity brought forth a chaos he liked. For this. Out there in the cosmos, it made battlefields complicated. Here, it just let everyone be who they felt comfortable being. They weren’t bound by an banner. Why dress like they were all the same?
The waves crashed ever closer on the shore. Drinks came between them. Food the likes many hadn’t seen in a long time were carried in. Crackles from open pits popped in the distance. The gentle hum of progress silenced by nature’s call.
Captain Winters lead them all in a short toast to peace, progress, and prospects. His grey hair looked more colorful in the dying day light.
Fenring finally took a seat after she was assured by her squad the area was secure. Her helmet fell off, and she tamed her helmet hair. A late sip to the toast she offered as a polite yet almost stoic acknowledgement. A sip of water.
Zechs listened as they chatted. Some too blunt. Others too lax. It was great. It was calming. Everything out there better than bottled up.
Lt Cotto of Blue squadron, who was the one who refused to wear a uniform anymore, wanted to know more about what they had in mind for them to be doing. His counterpart Lt Zahn was far more willing to wait. More she rarely said, but Zechs could always tell the former Imperial turned Rebel turned Republic pilot’s attention never wavered from what mattered.
Talk. It was nice. Drinks made it easier. Good food easiest of all.
Above them progress was being made. Almost ready they said. By the end of the day they said, and they were right. This would be their last willy nilly meeting before good work began.
Zechs stood at the end of the meal and raised a glass. “To peace.”
The others joined in, but each knew they’d rarely know it. It wasn’t for them. It was for the rest. Better a few good men (and women) go to war than the masses dragged in. With any luck, they’d save a few of those from having to bear the brunt of Imperial aggression, Sith mockery, or straight up Alliance complicity. It was the dream. It was time to live it.
The other officers sat around the beachfront table in far more forgiving uniforms. Former Imperial, Republiv, Alliance, and Corporate dress. One in casual slacks. Zechs in a nice coat. Diversity brought forth a chaos he liked. For this. Out there in the cosmos, it made battlefields complicated. Here, it just let everyone be who they felt comfortable being. They weren’t bound by an banner. Why dress like they were all the same?
The waves crashed ever closer on the shore. Drinks came between them. Food the likes many hadn’t seen in a long time were carried in. Crackles from open pits popped in the distance. The gentle hum of progress silenced by nature’s call.
Captain Winters lead them all in a short toast to peace, progress, and prospects. His grey hair looked more colorful in the dying day light.
Fenring finally took a seat after she was assured by her squad the area was secure. Her helmet fell off, and she tamed her helmet hair. A late sip to the toast she offered as a polite yet almost stoic acknowledgement. A sip of water.
Zechs listened as they chatted. Some too blunt. Others too lax. It was great. It was calming. Everything out there better than bottled up.
Lt Cotto of Blue squadron, who was the one who refused to wear a uniform anymore, wanted to know more about what they had in mind for them to be doing. His counterpart Lt Zahn was far more willing to wait. More she rarely said, but Zechs could always tell the former Imperial turned Rebel turned Republic pilot’s attention never wavered from what mattered.
Talk. It was nice. Drinks made it easier. Good food easiest of all.
Above them progress was being made. Almost ready they said. By the end of the day they said, and they were right. This would be their last willy nilly meeting before good work began.
Zechs stood at the end of the meal and raised a glass. “To peace.”
The others joined in, but each knew they’d rarely know it. It wasn’t for them. It was for the rest. Better a few good men (and women) go to war than the masses dragged in. With any luck, they’d save a few of those from having to bear the brunt of Imperial aggression, Sith mockery, or straight up Alliance complicity. It was the dream. It was time to live it.