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| I was working in my lab, late one night... | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 3 2008, 04:29 PM (860 Views) | |
| Gordreg | Feb 10 2009, 09:41 PM Post #11 |
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Administrator
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Just over one and a half hours later, Octavia had finally been satisfied enough with continuing proceedings to head for the lifter. All of the projects to be completed in her absence had been freshly rescheduled to allow for the reduced number of staff, as many of her subordinates were headed for Yafutoma alongside her. And those subordinates left behind were mostly the worst trained, the most ignorant or the least competent amongst the engineers of the fleet. With the mission they were about to undertake, why would she have taken anyone but the best along? And those best were already aboard the misshapen ship that had acquired the nickname of ‘lifter’ for lack of an official designation, bunking themselves in, and setting up the very specific pieces of equipment that Castedrell’s plans had necessitated. Even those pieces that had yet to be emplaced could be done so during the duration of the voyage… the voyage would be long, after all, and it would keep her engineers busy. It would prevent them from growing lapse; for she needed their minds to be entirely focussed for when they reached Mt. Kanzei. And so she strode along the dimly-lit corridors of the Looper island base, a pair of armed and armoured soldiers of the fleet striding before her to keep her path clear. It was a courtesy she was unused to, and Octavia was relishing every moment through the half-smirk she wore. Behind her, Octavia wheeled her clattering travel case along; the insides fully packed with the few personal belongings she owned and a few special projects that she hadn’t been willing to let into the hands of anyone else. Albus strode alongside her, reminding Octavia of the correct route whenever they came to a junction. And at last, the Guards pushed open a door through which natural sunlight shone brightly, causing Octavia’ single eye to squint as she moved further into it. She strode out into the light, through the doorway onto the open surface of Looper Island. The project referred to by everyone in the know as ‘lifter’ had been too large to fit through the entrance into the hidden military harbour of the back fleet. Instead, the two large moonstone-tankers had been landed together on the island’s surface, and it had been there that the two huge ships had been conjoined into a single colossal vessel. Around the sides of the conjoined ship huge winch-towers had been erected, each sporting either a magnetic clamp or a large grappling claw. The control towers for both ships had been torn down and rebuilt into a single grand arch that stretched between both hulls with a bridge in place at the front, and the sterns of both had been similarly taken apart to be rebuilt into a grand engine bank. By contrast, the ship had no single prow – instead, both former prows tapered inward from the prow points themselves into a huge indentation. This cavity, lined with reinforced steel plating and surrounded by the winch-towers, was large enough to have landed a whole battle group of ships inside. But currently, the cavity was empty. The prize it had been built to contain had yet to be acquired… Octavia’s smirk softened into a smile at the sight of the mechanical behemoth. It was a grand thing indeed, no matter the humble origins of the tankers themselves. They had been transmuted into something far greater, far more intricate… she sighed gently, but continued to walk toward the flank of the ship. A boarding ladder was lowered, and Octavia climbed it briskly up onto the deck. Once there, she wasted no time in striding over at full pace to the nearest entrance to the archway, and climbed the stairwell inside to near the top. Stepping out onto the bridge, Octavia glanced quickly around, and then gave a quick nod to Albus as he stepped through after her. The crew were mostly people whom she didn’t recognise, the few engineers she’d seen before were standing by the massed bank of operational controls for the winch systems. “Successful tests are one thing, the first unsupported flight quite another.” Octavia muttered, stepping back over to Albus and staring the man square in his eyes. “But if there are further modifications needed then we’ll have to do them on the fly. Are all the supplies aboard?” she snapped, turning her head sharply about and directing the question to an unfortunate passing crewmember. “”Ye…urm, yes, Ma’am.” The Valuan stumbled, only then remembering to salute. “All fuel tanks have been filled, rations are all accounted for.” Octavia’s brow started narrowing, and the man hurriedly continued. “And, yes, all the components you requested were bought aboard as asked. Sir. We stowed them in the workshop.” Octavia’s scowl reversed itself into a joyous half-smile. “Then let’s get this thing skybourne. Start powering her up!” Albus walked over to the nearest communication tube and started relaying the orders, and all about the bridge the crew turned themselves to their gauges, busying themselves with procedural checks. The crewman she’d been talking to, however, gave a small cough. “Urm, Ma’am… what’s the name of this ship, again?” Octavia’s joyous mood evaporated, and with the half-scowl reappearing she turned toward the man again. Her eyes, both real and augmented, glowered at his nose. “This ship is ‘lifter’, as all documentation has referred to this project since inception shows.” Octavia scowled, her arms folding. “This has been the designation of the project since the moment the idea passed from Admiral Castedrell’s lips to my brain, and unless I’m very much mistaken he hasn’t amended those orders in the last ten minutes. And even if he had, I doubt he would bother to inform you until everyone who actually mattered already knew the full details.” The Valuan gave a sheepish smile, attempting to look nonchalant. “Ma’am, I didn’t mean the project designation; just the actual name. Can’t keep on calling the thing ‘lifter’ now that it’s skyboune, can we? It’s not a proper name, and it’s bad luck to fly in a ship without a name…” Octavia’s scowl deepened, the speed of her breathing increasing as she stared the man down. “The concept of ‘bad luck’ is a primitive superstition most often used by those without the brains or foresight to plan ahead for every eventuality” Octavia snapped “and the presence or absence of a name for this ship would have no more baring on any degree of success for this mission then the presence or absence of a brain inside that tiny little skull of yours. Nonetheless; since you seem to find flying in a ship with a name ‘lucky’, then you will be pleased to know I intend to increase your personal amount of luck exponentially.” Octavia smiled, rather evilly. “This ship will know be named Charybdis, just because you asked for a name. Isn’t that ‘lucky’?” Octavia sneered. “Why, you’re so ‘lucky’ that you get to be the bearer of this news!” Her eye narrowed. “You are to tell everyone aboard the ship about her new name, person by person. I want you syllable-perfect every single time, and if I catch so much as a single crewman not knowing this name or pronouncing the name wrong later then I’ll have you flogged for it.” Octavia glowered. “And once you’re done here, you’ll get to travel to every other ship in the fleet. And there, again, you will spread the word individually to every other crewman, person by person, from the Admiral himself right through to the lowliest sailor. And you won’t be allowed to go off duty until this task is finished entirely and the name ‘Charybdis’ is known by every single member of the fleet.” “There. Don’t you feel ‘lucky’ now?” Octavia smirked, then returned her gaze to the forward window as the unfortunate sailor scampered away to begin his thankless task. Already, the view in front of her was starting to change. With the engines humming with power and the rotor-banks starting to spin, the newly christened Charybdis was lifting upward, rising up from Looper Island to be ready for the Admiral’s mission. |
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| Ranger | Feb 24 2009, 02:55 PM Post #12 |
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Previously Nex Terren
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Castedrell strode forward, hands folded behind his back, and nose lifted a hair too high. It was a stance of searching, that. A stance of looking for any fault or error one might happen to make--however slight or correctable. It wasn't exactly the thing to make the bridge officers quake in fear, but it did stiffen their backs, and quicken their work. That was all it was really intended to do. If even they expected the Admiral to at any moment tongue-lash them for an improperly tuned instrument or a calibration a hair off, the most the gray-haired man was about to resort to was a reproachful sniff. The notion that they were more eager to please than he was to punish was one part that was a foundation of excellence in his opinion. It was not that Castedrell purposely avoided punishment, but when it was unnecessary that meant that men could be trusted to perform properly when a superior wasn't pacing behind them, hands folded, and nose lifted a hair too high. And besides, this allowed him to look at the control boards first hand. The captain's chair was technically placed so he could watch all of his bridge officers and their work, but he lacked the vision of the Kalloon hawk that perched on his shoulder. The creature eyed everything it saw, as though suspicious if it was foe, hopeful that it was prey. Castedrell turned a subdued smile towards the one-eyed-blinded bird as he made his way back towards his chair of command. 'If only that bird had the mind of a man... I can't imagine a world where I could not be more certain of my friend and foe...' He mused to himself. 'Of course, even I am only so certain of that. I pray Captain Vadik can find that man, whoever he is. I pray that he's not the man...' Castedrell realized with a sneer. "Navigator." The Admiral ordered, red velvet cushioned chair creaking softly under his weight. "Report." "Sir," The man called out, voice as loud as a shout, but as measured as that of conversation. What any Valuan officer ought expect from his bridge crew. Although the man's silver helm was hinged open, Castedrell still couldn't see the man's head, for the large armored piece still obscured it. "The winds and weather are favoring us, and the formation is proving to be very efficient, even with the moonstone tankers. We're making better time than we had calculated. If these conditions endure, I expect us to make it to the coordination point before eight days, Sir." "And what if they don't favor us? What if we see the conditions against us?" 'One must always plan for both extremes. What if Vadik doesn't find him? What if he is him?' "Sir? I..." The officer quickly attempted to grapple with calculations that lacked far too many constants. After a moment's hesitation, he decided it was best to error on the far end. "Well, perhaps fourteen days?" "Which would be too late." White Eye cocked its blind eye at Castedrell's quiet musings. "Too late! Too late!" The bird parroted. "Communications! Send the order out for everyone to ascend to high altitudes, above the upper cloud layer. As long as these conditions favor us, stick to any cloud cover. No use chancing being seen any more than we have to. Navigator. Report immediately any significant changes. As soon as those conditions abandon us, we'll make straight for the coordination point. Watch Officer? Any reports on ship activity in the area?" "No, Sir." A man, face etched with years of war service, turned about, and gave a shake of his head before continuing. "The lookouts are reporting no sighted activity, and communications have picked up no broadcast signal save our own." Not that the Admiral had expected anything besides that. After all, they had yet to leave Looper Ocean. "Very good. Communications? Has the order been relayed?" "Yes, sir." "Then send another order. Every ship is to lower broadcasting strength to low power, and then do likewise to our radio. I want radio silence as much as possible, not sacrificing any important ship or weather sightings." He looked down at his gold plated pocket watch, now drawn in gloved hand. Noting the time, he looked back up. "It is now thirty-seven after the hour. I want reports on all ship conditions every two hours after this point, on the dot. Engineering? I want the engine, every cannon, and maintenance supply, checked and rechecked--regardless of if they've already done so--and then they are to immediately announce any problems that were not spotted port side. Weapons? Organize the procedures of your systems, and I want a full report in three hours." A furry of quiet 'Yes, sir!'s echoed up from various places around the cabin, and a quiet hum of instructions poured forth from bridge officers to their intercoms. "Well, I suppose that's all." Castedrell nodded, slowly surveying his men's work. After a momment, he looked forward through the bridge's many lage windows, out towards the quiet, pleasant blue skies of Arcadia. Into that world of plesant breeze Arcadia's surviving most formidable fleet was sailing forth on the warpath. "Helmsman? Bring us up." The young sailor couldn't imagine how heavy the wax-sealed envelope must be, for it felt like a cannonball! Of course, his mouth felt like the great Nasr sands, and he could swear that the man's one emerald eye was watching him from the shadows behind him, so perhaps his senses couldn't be entirely trusted. Nevertheless, he anciously shifted the item to the other hand, and adjusted his stance. Why had he been given it? Him! Snapping back straight, and saluting the guard, the sailor presented the envelope. "Sir! Letter for Captian Vadik, Sir! I have been given strict orders that Captain Vadik, and Captain Vadik alone is to see this letter. I was to deliver it promptly after fleet accent." The guard eyed the envelope suspiciously, and looked nearly ready to snatch it from the youth, 'strict orders' or no. He steadied his hand, though, instead settling with an audible snort. His sword's sheith clicked against his armor as he released his hold on it. "From who were these orders given?" "Flagship Captain Blackman directly, sir!" The guard snorted again. "What is your name?" "Ensign Peter J. Thomson, Sir!" The guard looked the man up and down, and then shook his head. "If you speak truth, sailor," He spat out the description, "and say all that you were told, there's no need for you to see the Captain personally. I'll make sure that this letter reaches him unopened and unseen the moment I next see Captain Vadik. You are dismissed." Inside the envelope, behind the wax seal of a handsomely intricate wax seal of the letter "B", there was a single, small note. White sheet embossed in a border of off white scroll work held the work of a characteristically exact hand. In fact, if one wouldn't have known better, they might have mistaken them for being ink-pressed letters. Vadik, I know your task. Be forewarned that the greatest men provide the greatest threat. Do not look too closely to those who are but minor players. I pray to the moons for your success, for I hunt too. May your mind be quick, your eye sharp,and may you find them before they find you. ~ Blackman Moved to Yafutoma, The Battle of Bluheim. Edited by Ranger, Feb 24 2009, 04:40 PM.
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8:55 AM Jul 11