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Eclipse
Topic Started: Jun 8 2016, 07:56 PM (1,762 Views)
+Aiko+
Roffel House!

Planets were special. Aside from their gravitational mass and raw resources, they were islands in a sea of nothingness, connected only by invisible matter and energy to their parent suns. With lifespans stretching into millions and even billions of years, they were stoic presences staving off the darkness, promising potential to the creative or hopeful.

In the age of space flight, it was so easy to forget how precious planets were. Planets were dust motes suspended on light beams, as inconsequential as they were immortal, significant yet insignificant, depending upon scale. To interstellar travelers, planets were mere skipping stones from destination to destination, places to refuel, both materially and mentally.

Planets were taken for granted, appreciated for what they were only when they were dead.

Black ash flew sideways across a rugged and charred landscape, driven not by wind, but by gravity. Air was a distant memory, evaporated in what had to be a sudden cataclysm. The dust stuck to everything, covering even bedrock with a sickly film of carbon, while a sick, red sun gleamed dully overhead. Rugged canyons stretched as far as the eye could see, the edges shimmering as dust dripped inside the fatal wounds. Steam rose from the gashes in steady columns, sucked straight into the vacuum’s hungry maw, as the planet’s last blood drained.

This planet had been alive once. Plants, animals, water, air… all had struggled under a weakening sun, but life existed. It had been a remote but occasionally used resupply world for smugglers in this sector, and Aiko knew it well. Biologically, it wasn’t unique. It wasn’t special. But its murder was a traumatic, soul-sucking feeling of despair, and even the SA-X wasn’t immune to the carnage.

Aiko turned away from the wasteland, climbing aboard the small, utilitarian shuttle stained black from death’s touch. She was deep in thought as she pulled her spacesuit’s helmet off and settled into the cockpit chair for the return trip to the Yukon. They wouldn’t be able to resupply here, but that was suddenly not important.

A planet killer was here.
Edited by Aiko, Jun 8 2016, 07:56 PM.
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Metroid Specialist

A sleek Nesasio class cruiser maintained standard orbit above the cloud covered rocky planet. Black with violet leading lines, its profile looking like an ancient stealth fighter the size of a Boeing 747 against the red hue of the planet. The vessel, named Yukon, had her tail facing the direction of orbital trajectory.

"Any word yet?" Ryan Connel, a human who stood five foot eleven with short combed red hair stared out the forward window next to the helmsman. The bridge was small, efficient, and various shades of steel grays. "I got a bad feeling."

"No word yet, Captain," replied the tactical officer who sat behind and to the right of the helm at her station. A tall, pink haired cyborg woman, no older than twenty-five, clad in yellow and black armor 'skin'.

"Scanners?"

"We're still blind," came the helmsman's reply. Another girl, petite, sky-blue wavy hair kept in a pony tail, wearing the uniform for the ship. "Message from engineering: Zed and his crew are still working on it."

"The slip to this instance," began a seven foot eight tall Sangheili clad in golden armor, "at least the damage was minimal. Certainly one of the rougher rides."

"Sorry, Commander Artam," Ryan apologized as he rubbed his temples with fingertips. "But aside from that and this splitting headache, what worries me most is, according to SAIA, we're still in the same dimension."

"How bad of a situation are we looking at?" inquired the cyborg tactical officer.

"Five hundred years in the past, bad." He leaned against the bulkhead next to the windshield and cradled his head in the crook of his elbow. With a lament, Ryan continued, "Just worry about getting the scanners online, and keep the radio comms open for when the Chancellor calls. I'll worry about how to handle our presence."
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Deadeye '17, eager to move on from the slow-motion train wreck that was last year.
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Somewhere in space...

It had been about... a little over nine to ten years since that terrible incident on Earth, and life was fairly good aboard the Thunderwolf and the Crosshairs Hunter Company. The organization had been established for quite awhile now, and was rapidly making a name for itself as a small operation spun off from the Bounty Hunters' Guild. In just eight years, it had gone from an unknown with a famous founder to a name that was mentioned if you wanted a bounty job done right.

Even more than a company, however, it was a family.

"Um... yes, hun, most of us are just going for a retreat at Carentan, but- yes, dear, I've been making sure that Troy's been in bed at reasonable hours. Although I can't vouch for the fact if he's pulling the night owl act on me... What? He's your kid, too. I think we both know where that comes from."

Travis Clark had been on the phone for about 45 minutes, and his loving wife wasn't letting up. In fact, as he yawned, casually scratched at his five o'clock shadow and fiddled with the wedding band on his right hand, he casually gazed at the clock from his business office aboard the ship. Normally, his wife would have joined him aboard their home away from home in the marvel that was the frigate, but it wasn't looking to be the case. He would have normally opted for a smaller vessel, but the majority of the company needed a vacation,and since things had proven particularly lucrative over the last few months, Travis was treating nearly the entire company to a 10-day, all-expenses-paid on the resort planet of Neo Aruba, in the coastal city of Carentan.

His lovely wife, however, had opted to stay behind due to a bit of personal business on Earth. Naturally, he was planning upon taking her on another 10-day vacation just for the two of them, but for Travis, he was looking forward to a chance to relax... and give his son the memory of a lifetime before sending him off to Kindergarten in September. Or Pre-K, he wasn't sure; they were still trying to find schools for him.

Of course, however, not all of the company's hunter operatives would be at play. Bisk would still be manning the bridge with two of the younger staff crew as he was allergic to most forms of fun, Michaels was getting the short end of the stick as the newest (and youngest) mechanic to the Thunderwolf and all her machinery, and Keller was the newest hunter operative and had volunteered to "take one for the team".

Well... all except for one.

A rapping of knuckles could be heard on the hatch to Travis' office, as if by clockwork.

"Travis! Hyc'teiro!" That distinctive, even flow and up-beat made the originating party easily identifiable; the sheened, blue head of Wungek Yuujaaf poked into the office as the hatch hissed open, the lizard-man staring at his friend with a sideways glance. "Oh! You are on the- I am sorry, I shall-"

Travis held up one finger as if to instruct Yuujaaf to wait before nodding to nearby stool. Given the nature of his tail, Yuujaaf obliged and quietly shuffled it in front of the desk.

"Dear, I'd like to continue this conversation later, but Yuuj just walked into my office and needs to talk to me. I'll talk to you later okay? I love you, dear. Bye!" Travis set the phone down as gently as he could, looking both sad and slightly relieved to be ending a conversation. with his wife. "Sorry about that, Yuuj... what can I do for you, my friend?"

"I want an assignment, please." Yuujaaf had by this point re-oriented his head correctly.

"Why? We're going to a tropical paradise," Travis turned around kicked his feet back along the wall, a habit from his bachelor days that he was finding hard to kick. "Yuuj, if anyone's earned a chance to relax here, bud, it's you. You've put in a lot of work to get Crosshairs operating as well as it is."

"You would believe so, but Sumuus give me wisdom... the scrolls of light vex me! So full of insanity and virile lust!"

"Vexing you...?" Travis turned around and met Yuujaaf's eyes directly. "What are you talking about, Yuuj?"

"Grrrrrah," Yuujaaf unconsciously let loose a low, almost predatory growl in frustration. "My mother does not stop spreading what she calls scrolls of my exploits among the empire! I recieve light scrolls, day after day after day..."

"Wait... don't tell me...you mean to tell me you want a mission to get away from... fan mail...?" Travis raised both brows, leaning forward; this would be an explanation for the ages. "You mean to say you want to pass out on Neo Aruba because people won't stop emailing you?"

"YES!" Yuujaaf roared in frustration. "It is so horrible, Travis... night and day, they won't cease in vexing me! My mother... 'Oh Wungek, come back to Hylanao and settle down! Complete the Rite of Hya'certaia with a nice Hya'certa!' 'Wungek! I want to hatch your clutch!' 'Mr. Yuujaaf, can I have one of your scales!' The prattle never ends!"

He's been listening to Bisk ranting on the bridge too much; he's starting to sound like he stumbled out of upper-crust London. Travis thought to himself.

"So... you didn't just turn your filter on?" Travis tilted his head to Yuujaaf, as if his advice was evident and obvious. "You could have blocked them."

"I have done all that I can! Blocked them, ignored them, changed my added dress.. not a thing works!"

"Hm... well... tell you what... I can have Constantine and NorthStarSec look into that for you, and while they do that, you can go on a mission if you truly want to. Who am I to deny you."

"I will do anything! How to say... I will bake a cake, clean up Snooble daabi, I will even try to sing the kerry oakie again for the crew!"

"Now, I wouldn't torment you with those, but I wouldn't mention them around my wife." Travis grinned. "I recieved this report, a small job going for about 40,000 credits from the Galactic Federation Ecological Survey. They want somebody to fly out to this 'dead planet' that used to be , perform aerial surveys in key locations, and take soil and stone samples in each one. Think you can manage that, big man? And I'll make the scary light scrolls go away for you, brother."

"OH THANK YOU! YABEEGAKA!" Yuujaaf cheered aloud. "I will leave right away and bring supplies and my armors with me. I shall give you regular reports as I am able! Thank you, Travis! It is good to see you still have my back even all these years later. Enjoy the time with your clutchling!"

And like that, he was gone. Travis sighed as he kicked back, this time placing his feet onto the desk. And this is why we need vacations. Don't know why you're doing this to yourself, Yuuj...

As Travis closed his eyes to think in the quiet of his office, the hatch hissed open once again. Travis opened his eys and began to speak. "Forget something, Yuuj? I thought you were l-"

"Daddy?" A small, little voice spoke from below the level of the desk. Travis had to voluntarily cane his neck further down to meet eyes with the small little figure calling so innocently to him. "Daddy, I had a bad dream."

"Troy?" Travis rose from his chair gently, his voice taking a immediate tender softness to it as he walked over and knelt to meet his young son eye-to-eye. "What are you doing up, buddy? It's 10 o'clock, you need be sleeping so we can enjoy the beach tomorrow, dude."

"I know, dad, but you still wake." Little Troy Clark was almost the spitting image of his father: dirty blonde hair, with some of his dad's chiseled features, but having a softness to his face and intense blue eyes unlike his father's grays; and wrapped in a small blue blanket, Troy clutched tightly to something in his arms: an orange and green DVD case; the text read "The Animated Adventures of Samus Aran, Bounty Hunter". "Can we watch cahtoons together til I go to sleep, dad? I'm Scared."

Travis rubbed his chin; for a moment, a small frown tugged at the back of his mouth as he read the name on the box before a grin crept across his face.

"Alright, let's go watch this together, bud, but only until you sleep. We don't want to make mommy mad, do we?"

"No." Troy grinned mischievously, letting out a giggle as he sprinted away. "Race you to the corters, daddy!"

"Hey, you little turd, that's no fair!" Travis found himself grinning as he chased after his giggling son. "Wait for me, Troy, you goofball!"
Edited by Deadly Aim, Jun 9 2016, 07:24 PM.
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Soul Eater
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Time is a funny thing. Most would say that time moves inexorably forward, while some say that you are moving forward through time. Some say time and space are two aspects of the same thing, that space is three dimensions, and time is a fourth.

Yet, in one reality, someone discovered that all kinds of interesting possibilities would happen if you moved just a little to the left through time, instead of forward.

And it was because of that discovery that an entire ship full of people were about to discover firsthand what would happen if you moved just a little to the right.

=====

"Prepare for translation."

The announcement was broadcast over the ship's internal communications system in Teolsekost, but the humans, Loquorans, and other aliens onboard heard it in their own languages through earpieces that automatically translated the message.

It was odd, he thought, for the announcement to be worded in such a way. Everyone on the ship had been doing precisely that. Well, as best as they could. The only thing to really do was drop whatever you were doing, if it was safe, and just... Wait. Even a prior experience in shifting between realities would not be enough to prepare someone for shifting to a new one. He was simply waiting in one of the viewing lounges, as his part of this whole expedition couldn't commence until later on, anyway.

He was sure that the crew in the ship's command hub would have their hands waiting at the controls, ready to engage the shields and activate the stealth field while the weapons were brought online. Over the ship's PA system, the voice from earlier began a countdown.

He didn't actually know the process behind a translation, though nobody on the ship could stop him from learning it if he wanted. They all knew he was there, and why. In fact, it was expeditions like these that he could operate without a cover.

The Vokrayan Collective, of which he was part, was divided into various Matrices. Matrices One and Two were the government, Matrix Three was the military. However, he was part of Matrix Zero, which didn't officially exist. Nobody had a name while they were categorized into Matrix Zero, and all of their memories were taken from them, returned only after trading the memories of an assignment. Nobody knew when or if they had ever been in Matrix Zero, except while they were in it. It was because of this that he, like every other active agent of Matrix Zero, used the name "Gauro," the Teolsekost word for anonym: They were all without names.

And for this assignment, everyone knew that there was, as humans said, no way in hell that there wouldn't be Matrix Zero operatives onboard. Not only that, but he knew for a fact that the Marrelkians and humans (and everyone else with an intelligence agency) had their own spies on the ship. Everyone wanted, needed to know what was going on in whatever universe awaited them.

"Translation complete."

That was it? Nothing was different, as far as he could tell. But it was time to go to work.

=====

In the command hub, everyone was following a carefully choreographed plan. First the stealth field went up, followed by the shield and the conversion field, as the passive sensors collected data.

"Captain, I've got a lot of activity on the passives. More spatial distortion than expected... And what looks like a ship. Unfamiliar configuration."

After a quick glance at her tactical display, the captain nodded to the sensor technician, then turned to her communications officer.

"Open a channel. We aren't here to shoot anybody. The sooner they know that, the less likely they'll be to change that."
Since my liver is larger than my heart, does that mean I'm designed to drink more and care less?
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+Aiko+
Roffel House!

The Yukon’s shuttle bay doors were open, airless and cold. A small but growing speck of light glistened in the near-distance as the Chancellor navigated the small parasite craft back to its berth.

Tiny vibrations traveled soundlessly through the bay’s floors as a claw tapped anxiously against the metal. A red-skinned succubus stood impatiently in the bay’s vacuum, the anoxic conditions of no concern, even if the cold was a temporary inconvenience. Black horns coiled from her forehead to the side of her head, which was wreathed in a mane of jet black hair. A sash of black fabric draped down her front and back, not leaving much of her feminine form to the imagination. A long, stout tail wrapped around her digitigrade feet, the tip tracing lines of worry around her ankle’s dewclaw. Her arms were crossed at her nippleless breasts, four fingers with long, black claws held still against her red flesh.

The shuttle eased expertly into the tight hangar, rotated sideways, and settled on the floor. Clamps reached and locked the ship into place as the hangar’s external doors closed. The slightest hint of a breeze began as air flooded the space, starting at the demon’s head and swirling lightly around her the dual talons of her feet, sounds whispering and slowly increasing in volume as molecules responded to their vibrations.

The shuttle’s engines idled, then died. A whistled alarm changed in pitch and finally steadied, then shut off as the atmosphere reached desired pressure. A hiss warned of the shuttle’s hatch opening, the back of the small craft splitting and lowering to the ground. Aiko walked out, clad in a black space suit, helmet clasped beneath her right elbow. Her expression was neutral as she looked up and noticed her observer.

“Is it as I feared?” the demoness asked, her voice thick and sensual, although coarse with concern.

Aiko nodded, then stopped in front of the red-and-black-skinned female, her short brown hair collecting in her suit’s neck. The height difference between them was significant, and Aiko had to look up to communicate effectively. “It’s dead. There’s nothing left. You were right, Tex, even if I hoped you weren’t.”

Tex’s thin, black lips straighted and her thick brow furrowed, even if she had no eyelids to close to express her grief. “What do you think happened?”

Aiko shook her head, her voice as neutral as her face. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen this before. There was no radiation, no sign of a bombardment. There’s just nothing left but dust and a hardening core. Did Zed get the sensors working?”

“Not yet. Soon, hopefully. Father is waiting for your report. I’ll walk with you.”

Aiko nodded, and the pair walked wordlessly together back to the bridge.
Edited by Aiko, Jun 9 2016, 07:06 PM.
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Clockwork Master

How I wish you were still alive to see me now. To see all of us now.

So much has changed since in the past tens years its hard to believe I'm the same woman I since we met. Hell, its hard to believe how much I've changed since starting my journey as a young hunter - and you know I don't mean that physiologically speaking. Of course,
you helped me overcome the last vestiges of self-loathing. Sure, I had learned to accept who I am long before we met, but you taught me how to embrace who and what I had become.

You taught me that what I am capable of is not because some disgusting virus that festered into within my blood. That how make my the weapons an extension of myself can, and now is, an expression. A very graceful, badass one. And that whatever new experience I encounter about myself, I have to learn to transcend it.

And I think I've been doing that pretty well, I think. I've been managing an interesting partnership with that 'crummy ship AI' you saved bac. He's certainly changed to. Plus, there's your son, who's grown so much, and seems to be making some actual friends. I still worry about his dreams, but that's a road we'll cross eventually. Meanwhile, Zephyr hopes to make some soft progress.

You took so much from me when you died, but then you added so much back. To think, the one person who trully understood the pain and turmoil I had felt had to leave me in such short order. It still hurts my heart to think about. But I always look at Ryan, and feel the joy of the future.


Jenosa Arma, long time hunter and freelancer, was trying to think of something else to add to her occaisonal journal when Zyphyr echo inside her ship's personal quarters.

“I thought you'd like to know we've begun to dock at the space port,” the GI announced.

Jenosa nodded, “Gotcha. I'll be one my way to the hanger shortly.”

“Affirmative.”

Standing up, her ship's quarters displaying not just a living function but a home itself, she briefly looked into the mirror. Indeed, so much has changed since then. Gone were the days when she just let her hair grow freely and lump into a ribbony pony tail. Her now had been cut short, made more functional but still stylish. Right now, her fiery red hair had mostly been braided into a low pony that barely reached her shoulder blades. And if one looked close enough, they could see tiny specks of cyan at the base.

But you wouldn't notice that from just a regular glance. What one would notice was how vivacious she still looked for a woman approaching her forties. Her green eyes still had this playful mirth in them, and this classic, mischevious smirk. But laced all over was a distinct sense of maturity.

Gone were the days of reckless abaondoned of being an adrenline junky just living it out from one random job to another. Now, she had something else entirely. She had a family.

Standing in the hanger birthing her ship and home, was a boy just about 10 years old – nine to be exact, but he was closely approaching his birthday. It was also vacation time.

“Mom!” he said, running to brace with absolute excitement of a kid who really missed her parent.

“Jenosa laughed in joy, and lifted him up in a strong, embracing hug, “Hahaha, how you doin' kiddo?”

“Fine...actually, greated,” he corrected, modestly, “I – I actually slept over at a friends. And – and it was actually fun.”

Jenosa laughed some more, setting her child down and rubbing his hair, “That great to hear. I keep telling you just gotta try more. Sometimes you are modest like you dad was. Now, are you ready to go on a wild vacation with me and Zephyr.”

This time, Ryanchez Arma's face did indeed break into a great, wide smile. “Yeah!”

“That's the spirit. Now hop on, and don''t expect me not to give you a little work out if I feel like it.”

“Daw,” he, but his enthusiasm wasn't broken the slightest.

“Oh, but first, I might end up giving my old friend Grace a visit,” she said wrly.

“Ah,” Ryan came, this time with a tinge of nervousness in his voice.

Visits like those usually had him at odds end. Especially if it came to girls his age.

(OOC: Hope you don't mind this last tidbit Jefe)
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The passage of time could be felt keenly by most; some felt the strength on their arm begin to wane, others the fading of youthful vigor and beauty. For some species, however, they had a looser grip on time, blinking away years with barely a thought or change in their minds or bodies. Longevity, as they said, was both a gift and a curse. The Chozo had always been long-lived before the advent of their Empire's significant advances in medicine and breeding, cultivating genes for to remove impurities and faults--though it was not an exceptionally common practice. As such, the species of yore could see more and more stars be given birth or fade away--but with their longevity came a kind of lax nature, spending their days on quiet contemplation and meditation, rather than on breeding or fighting.

But some fought. Some rebelled against the stilling of limbs and hearts with a blazing fire held within their breasts. He was one such warrior; he refused to delve deeply in the religious and spiritual regiments of his peers, swearing to grow stronger than any opposition that could ever exist--and yet, in his quest for strength, in his quest for glory and honor, he fell--often, repeatedly, blindly. The warrior on the quest for perfection was often blinded by their own ego, their own ambitions, corrupted by the very thing they sought to master.

It wasn't until several years ago that the Banished One had sought anything akin to redemption, forgiveness, atonement--how odd that it took his race's greatest achievement--and weapon--to show him the error of his ways. He had spent so long unleashing his fury and wrath upon others that he never realized it was his own self that his anger was truly focused upon. Like a tragic poem told around a campfire, his story could be told as a cautionary tale to those that would came afterwards--if there would be any to remember him.

Only recently did he start to contemplate his life, reflecting upon his failing and successes--But as the humans said, old dogs were slow to learn. He did not feel old exactly, but there was an inevitable reflection that one had to confront, a battle between the desire to understand and the fury of his chest to press forward, regardless of the consequences.

He curbed his immediate irritation as his ship's computer adjusted the ship's flight path, his course taking him on a return route towards Bryyo, his would-be home. It had been a long time since he could call anything other than his ship a home, the only place he could truly be at ease. It felt... strange, in a sense. To defend, rather than attack. To preserve, rather than destroy. And there was much on Bryyo that needed to be preserved, to cultivate, to guide. On Bryyo, he was heralded as a... god, of sorts. For them, the younglings, he was a figure straight from story and legend, the last visage of an era--an era fading from the memories of those who would remember it.

Tisiphone, he thought to himself as he looked over towards a small trinket, a single photograph he had printed from his suit's recordings. You feel it, can't you? Your young... they're learning more of themselves, growing in power every day. They yearn for culture, for purpose, for some ideal to strive for. Their competitive, working nature--souls of fire. And yet, what they need to do more than anything is just to live--to thrive and grow, to start a culture anew, to build the foundation of something great. I see so much of ourselves in them--their blazing souls must be tempered, but not diminished...

He shook his head before putting the photograph back upon its rightful place upon the control mantle, so in the darkest nights, he could remind himself of why he fought now. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything other than fate--between his trials beneath the planet of Tallon, the meeting with Omega-Alpha, the introduction of the Three Queens, the encounter with the Chosen One. This was his quest of pennance--to protect the last legacy of his now-dead people, even unto his dying breath. There was no finish line, no end to duty, no retirement. Even if his ancestors did not explicitely assign him this task, it was keen as the redness of flame that this was his duty, his destiny. Protect and Provide for the Queen that boiled his heart, for her young that were born in a world they did not understand, to keep them safe from a galaxy that would see them dead...

It was a task he took to great personal stakes now. It was not like before, when he just wandered from bounty to bounty, seeking to eradicate and slay any that got in his way. This task, this responsibility--it felt holy, sacred in a way. No... it felt more than just sacred. Necessary. These Queens and their offspring were the last essence of a race long dead, these would be the last species to know, learn, and remember what it was to be Chozo. And in the end... that which is remembered may never truly die.

A faint whine emitted from the controls, causing the armored Chozo to look in the direction of the alert. Sensor responses were nearby, closing in on a particular planet, probably a survey team to determine colonization or mining. Z'Gato pulled up the records on the planet in question and the ships of note, his eyes perusing the information in his native tongue, rather than in Galactic Basic. However, the information in his ship's databanks and the sensor scans were... completely different.

Was this what Tisiphone meant earlier... he could not recall exactly what she had said, but she had hinted at something foul and wrong. She did not elaborate further, for one reason or another--perhaps she assumed he was already aware of it. She had this habit of expecting the very best from him at all times.

Once again, he spoke in his native tongue, ordering the computer to change course for the desecrated planet of interest, his personal ship taking to the new instruction with a kind of hesitation or reservation to it--the AI was certainly not the best the galaxy had to offer, but it was the only one he could find these days that spoke Chozo fluently. Whatever was happening... he felt obligated to look into it.
Marching to the Black Gates...
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Captain's Log, Supplemental:

We have arrived at K-79b some four hours ago. According to familiar constellations the Chancellor recognized, she knew this would be a good destination to restock our supplies. However, our counselor had a bad feeling about the condition of the planet.

My feelings are worsening regarding our current predicament. Despite our scanners being offline, we managed to contact a system buoy to align our computer's chronometer, and download an up-to-date map of the region. It is confirmed that we are approximately five hundred years behind our previous position along this timeline.

No satellites. No vessels. No radio chatter. No nothing.


"There seems to be an incoming transmission," reported the officer at the scanning station. The only thing louder than silence, is the first thing to break the silence. Ryan kept his anxiety behind a visage of consideration.

"Audio only." There was a voice, but either the signal was having trouble being received or the universal translator was having linguistic recognition issues. "Try to clean that up. There's suddenly a ship out there, and we're still blind.

"Ensign Angerona," he addressed the helmsman calmly. "Roll ninety to port, minimum RCS. Flash the running lights. Hopefully, they'll take the hint that we can hear them." Connel also hoped that whoever was on the other end, they were friendly.

From the outside, the Yukon still had her tail pointed in the direction of orbital travel. She listed to the left rotating on her lateral axis. The tail and wing marker lights, as well as two forward facing landing lights flashed in a sequence - Morse Code for 'reading'.

In the meantime, Commander Orpo Artam heard the bridge door open. Chancellor Aiko and Councellor Texas had climbed up the steep steel stairwell, opened the hatch, and stepped into the command center of the vessel. He stalked over to meet the two next to the science station.

"What is it you have found on the surface," he stated keeping his voice low as his captain was busy assisting in getting the reception of the radio signal cleared up.
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Native Son

The Grey Fox gazed into the eyes of the adversary staring right back at her. She'd been in the game a long time, faced down a lot of nasty people. She'd fought the Italians and the Russians here at home in New York City. She'd tangled with cyborgs and genetically enhanced mutants out in space. She'd locked horns with Deadeye Clark more times than she could count. She'd seen a Metroid.

But as harrowing as all of those conflicts were, none of that could have prepared her for this.

"She said, and I quote," the principal said, "'Don't call my mom a whore, fuckface.'"

Grace looked at Elizabeth, sitting next to her across from Mr. Harrison's desk. She wasn't crying anymore, but her eyes were still red and she had that defeated look all over her face.

"Is that right?" Grace asked her daughter. Elizabeth looked up at her for a moment, then went back to staring at the floor.

"I'll take that as a yes."

It didn't surprise her, though. She knew from her own childhood experience that kids had pretty foul mouths, and Lizzie was certainly no exception. This wasn't the first time there had been complaints about her language. She was especially vulgar on the soccer field, slinging F-words and C-words all over the place, often drawing yellow cards.

And if it wasn't her mouth, it was her fists getting her in trouble. Today, it was both.

Lizzie had been sent to the principal's office for fighting. Again. She'd wailed on Peyton Walsh, whose mother Jennifer was actually a friend of hers. Apparently Peyton had been shooting his mouth off, insulting her, insulting her family. And as sweet as she could be, Lizzie had a red hot temper. It didn't take much to set her off to begin with. Talking about her parents was a guaranteed way to get a knuckle sandwich.

Not that he probably didn't deserve it. Jennifer was a good friend, but Peyton was a little shit.

"So, what are we looking at here?"

"Mrs. Vega, I've been an educator a long, long time. Kids fight. It happens. She's already spent plenty of time here in my office today, and we'll be sending her home for the rest of the day. At this age, however, I feel that discipline is best handled by the parents."

Grace nodded in agreement, although given the fact that she had a neck tattoo, in addition to all the others, she didn't exactly look like "discipline" was part of her vocabulary. No, she had "Cool Mom" written all over her.

"However..." Mr. Harrison said, turning to Lizzie, "she is on thin ice as is. This is already her second trip to my office this month. Once more incident, and I won't be so lenient. Not only will she face a suspension, but I will revoke her permission for the class field trip. Understood?"

Lizzie said nothing, in fact barely reacted. "We understand, Mr. Harrison," her mother said. "And I can assure you she'll be grounded for at least a week."

"Well then, hopefully we won't have to have another conversation like this." The adults shook hands, and Grace took her daughter by the hand and led her out of the office. Peyton was sitting outside the door, waiting his turn, though the two kids wouldn't even make eye contact with each other. Probably for the best anyway.

"Just so you know," Grace said as they walked down the hall, "you're being grounded for using the F-word, not for clobbering that snotty little punk."

Lizzie looked up at her mother, and for the first time all day, she smiled.

.....................

((This section has a soundtrack. You gotta play the song to get the full effect: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knVbGWMxLmc))

"Here I go, here I go, here I go again, girls what's my weakness? MEN!"

Grace and Lizzie rapped along to the lyrics in unision as they drove home, both of them in considerably higher spirits than they had been just a few minutes ago. It was their song, though not exactly a typical mother-daughter selection, it never failed to put them in a both in a good mood.

Life had been good these past few years. Quiet, boring, and hardly an interesting story to tell. Which suited Grace just fine. After a lifetime of being an outlaw, the life of a soccer mom was a nice respite. She'd never really had a normal life before. She and her mother had constantly been on the run, and as a child she largely lived in fear. The closest she'd ever come to being normal was living with Henry during her high school years, but even then she was not only surrounded by criminals, but being groomed by her adopted father to one day join their ranks. So after thirty years of mayhem and criminality, she welcomed a little boring.

Not that she'd let things get away from her. She knew just as a matter of survival that she'd have to keep her skills sharp. She and Jimmy both had their share of enemies, and every now and then one of them came calling. Thankfully, soccer mom or no, she was still the Grey Fox.

For his part, Jimmy had stepped away from the life as much as he could, focusing instead on his nightclub, the Mystic Lounge. He still dealt with his problems like a gangster, and he as well as his girlfriend had to deal with old familiar faces when they came out of the woodwork, but for the most part he was making an honest living. Shady, but honest.

They were a family now. Though she and Jimmy hadn't gotten around to getting hitched - although she used his name these days - at this point it would be a mere formality. Of course, Jimmy was still Jimmy. He had a wandering eye, that would never change. And she would always retaliate in kind. Things could definitely be rocky between them. And yet, as toxic as they often were, they were still drawn to each other. They would always come back to one another, no matter what. Nobody could explain it, least of all the two of them. As far as Grace was concerned, that was the surest sign that it was meant to be.

Yeah... life was good.
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+Aiko+
Roffel House!

The bridge was always a busy place and today was no exception. The motley assortment of species from various dimensions worked surprisingly as a cohesive unit, with very few meaningful squabbles. Each member had their own reasons for joining Ryan on his random ventures, which inevitably meant leaving everything familiar behind. For some, this was preferable, for others, it was more difficult. For Aiko, given her responsibilities, the random slipping was an extreme inconvenience at best, potentially catastrophic at worst. Politics had settled somewhat, but there were always brush fires that needed extinguishing, and she was perfectly suited for that job.

Aiko examined the bridge automatically before addressing the Sangheili. His bottom lower jaw was held tightly against what passed for his cheeks, and he only used his upper split jaw to communicate in the Sangheili equivalent of whispering. She shook her head at his question, the corner of her lips consciously tightening to convey human emotions she didn’t necessarily feel.

“Dirt and dust. Atmosphere is fully stripped, fissures everywhere,” Aiko replied.

Texas nodded. “I am not surprised, although I am saddened.”

“Had to check to be sure. Life can be hidden sometimes,” Aiko responded, but held up a hand to politely cut Texas’s reply off. “I’m not sure what happened. Could’ve been anything. Has Ryan figured out when or where we are yet?”
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