Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Dear hero imprisoned
With all the new crimes that you are perfecting
Oh, I cant help quoting you
Because everything that you said rings true
And now in my cell
(well, I followed you)
And heres a list of who I slew
Reggie kray - do you know my name ?
Oh, dont say you dont
Please say you do, (oh) I am :
The last of the famous
International playboys
The last of the famous
International playboys
And in my cell
(well, I loved you)
And every man with a job to do
Ronnie kray - do you know my face ?
Oh, dont say you dont
Please say you do, (oh) I am :
The last of the famous
International playboys
The last of the famous
International playboys
In our lifetime those who kill
The newsworld hands them stardom
And these are the ways
On which I was raised
These are the ways
On which I was raised
I never wanted to kill
I am not naturally evil
Such things I do
Just to make myself
More attractive to you
Have I failed ?
Oh...
Oh, the last of the famous
International playboys
The last of the famous
The Last of the Famous International Playboys - Morrissey
With all the new crimes that you are perfecting
Oh, I cant help quoting you
Because everything that you said rings true
And now in my cell
(well, I followed you)
And heres a list of who I slew
Reggie kray - do you know my name ?
Oh, dont say you dont
Please say you do, (oh) I am :
The last of the famous
International playboys
The last of the famous
International playboys
And in my cell
(well, I loved you)
And every man with a job to do
Ronnie kray - do you know my face ?
Oh, dont say you dont
Please say you do, (oh) I am :
The last of the famous
International playboys
The last of the famous
International playboys
In our lifetime those who kill
The newsworld hands them stardom
And these are the ways
On which I was raised
These are the ways
On which I was raised
I never wanted to kill
I am not naturally evil
Such things I do
Just to make myself
More attractive to you
Have I failed ?
Oh...
Oh, the last of the famous
International playboys
The last of the famous
The Last of the Famous International Playboys - Morrissey
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
“Goddamn fucking WINGS!”
The group of heroes turned at the outburst. There weren’t that many heroes left, which was the purpose of this meeting today.
Sonic Butterfly stomped into the room, his hobnailed boots crashing on the tile floor. He glared around at them, assessing the small group. Frozen Decibel, a white-haired, blue-skinned young man lounged on the leather couch. Powerhouse Jack sat next to him, his eyes burning with white Kheldian fire. The cyborg-ish man known as Red Psi-Ops sat in one chair, while a Suicidal Wombat stood off to the side of the bar. Butterfly nodded to Idaho.
“Well, we’re all here,” said Wombat.
“Sad, isn’t it?” said Idaho. The rest of the heroes nodded slowly.
Wombat started ticking off names. “Grim went off to the Isles, so I hear. Lady Providence headed back to Florida. Trip went back to her own time. Masonry’s dead. Frost is MIA.”
“There weren’t too many of us to begin with,” said Jack.
“So what’re we gonna do now? This base is too big for us to keep up.”
The heroes swiveled their heads to stare at Wombat. “You mean close the base?” uttered Jack.
“That is what I mean.”
“Disband?” commented Red, “After all we’ve been through?”
“After what who’s been through?” demanded Butterfly. “You’re new here. And all that frozen boy’s been doing is suckin’ up the security levels at AE.”
“Right,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat at Butterfly.
Wombat continued, “There are plenty other supergroups that would want our services.”
“Listen,” said Jack, standing up. “We’re not all at a high enough security level to strike out on our own. How about you keep the base open until we all reach that at least?”
“We can recruit new members,” said Idaho. “I see it done all the time.”
“And they sound like they’re begging,” Wombat snapped. “No, we’re not doing that. Okay, Jack, I can see your point. Red will be the last ‘graduate’ so to speak.”
Red asked, “What about Blade-something?”
“Who?” asked Wombat.
“Blade-something. Blade-link or…Bladeless.”
“Don’t know him. Anybody recruit him?” Everyone shrugged and shook their heads. “Maybe Trip let him in, who knows.”
Butterfly turned on his boots and made himself hover a foot off the ground. “Can I go now? I got a beer with my name on it at College Hill.”
“All right, then, we don’t close the base until everyone is at the top security level and can go off on their own.”
“You never know,” said Jack with a smile, “There might be more people coming in.”
The group of heroes turned at the outburst. There weren’t that many heroes left, which was the purpose of this meeting today.
Sonic Butterfly stomped into the room, his hobnailed boots crashing on the tile floor. He glared around at them, assessing the small group. Frozen Decibel, a white-haired, blue-skinned young man lounged on the leather couch. Powerhouse Jack sat next to him, his eyes burning with white Kheldian fire. The cyborg-ish man known as Red Psi-Ops sat in one chair, while a Suicidal Wombat stood off to the side of the bar. Butterfly nodded to Idaho.
“Well, we’re all here,” said Wombat.
“Sad, isn’t it?” said Idaho. The rest of the heroes nodded slowly.
Wombat started ticking off names. “Grim went off to the Isles, so I hear. Lady Providence headed back to Florida. Trip went back to her own time. Masonry’s dead. Frost is MIA.”
“There weren’t too many of us to begin with,” said Jack.
“So what’re we gonna do now? This base is too big for us to keep up.”
The heroes swiveled their heads to stare at Wombat. “You mean close the base?” uttered Jack.
“That is what I mean.”
“Disband?” commented Red, “After all we’ve been through?”
“After what who’s been through?” demanded Butterfly. “You’re new here. And all that frozen boy’s been doing is suckin’ up the security levels at AE.”
“Right,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat at Butterfly.
Wombat continued, “There are plenty other supergroups that would want our services.”
“Listen,” said Jack, standing up. “We’re not all at a high enough security level to strike out on our own. How about you keep the base open until we all reach that at least?”
“We can recruit new members,” said Idaho. “I see it done all the time.”
“And they sound like they’re begging,” Wombat snapped. “No, we’re not doing that. Okay, Jack, I can see your point. Red will be the last ‘graduate’ so to speak.”
Red asked, “What about Blade-something?”
“Who?” asked Wombat.
“Blade-something. Blade-link or…Bladeless.”
“Don’t know him. Anybody recruit him?” Everyone shrugged and shook their heads. “Maybe Trip let him in, who knows.”
Butterfly turned on his boots and made himself hover a foot off the ground. “Can I go now? I got a beer with my name on it at College Hill.”
“All right, then, we don’t close the base until everyone is at the top security level and can go off on their own.”
“You never know,” said Jack with a smile, “There might be more people coming in.”
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Jane Hudson studied the man across from her. He was physically fit, though not perfect, and, according to the tests, mentally stable. He was single, with a mother and a sister still alive, no girlfriends.
She offered an empty smile at him, and the man smiled back. Not ugly, but not overly handsome either. That was okay; his face would be covered by a mask anyway.
"Mr. Mathias," she began, "it seems you've passed the tests, and now we're in the final leg of admission into the program."
"I'm ready," he said and nodded once. So serious, she thought. There was more than just the "I want to help people" answer that he gave in all the answers to the Why questions.
She put aside his folder, folded her hands up and rested her chin on them. "What's the real reason for joining up?"
"I want to help people," he replied, as if by rote.
"I know that." She glanced at the folder. "You've given us all the right answers. But they're thinking of rejecting you because of one thing."
His blue eyes flashed.
She pulled down her hands and leaned back in her chair. "You have no passion."
He looked at his folder, then back to her.
"You took all the tests, you answered all the questions. You didn't get angry, frustrated, or even dismayed. You weren't happy over your successes, proud of your achievements. You plodded through. You did have one thing, determination, and if it was me, I'd take bring you in the other room and get you started right now. But we have the FBSA and our sponsors to deal with. They'll look at you and say you're a good worker, but you're not a hero."
"Then what makes a hero is passion?"
"That's part of it. Love for his fellow man. Trust and belief that people need protecting and assistance, even when they turn their backs on you. Humility, kindness, justice. And always going out there, putting your life on the line every day to help some poor bum who would probably be back out on the streets in half an hour doing the same thing he was doing when you found him. Ingrates, insufferable citizens who do the same stupid things over and over. Criminals who get off scot-free because of good lawyers. People playing with magic, not knowing what they're getting themselves into. It takes a special kind of person, a person who cares. Do you care?"
Jack swallowed. "Yes."
She turned, dragged the folder over to her and flipped it open. "Chris. Does that name ring a bell?"
"Yes," he replied in a strong voice.
"Why haven't you mentioned your brother who died in the Isles three months ago?"
"You didn't ask."
Again, that empty smile. "It's true we did not ask about deceased relatives. They haven't found his killer yet, have they?"
"No." He kept his eyes on her, not wavering.
"According to the reports we have, they believe he's one of the super powered villains from the Isles."
"Yes."
She closed the folder, studied him again. "You want to give me all the right answers to get into this program? Tell me that you want vengeance for your brother."
He watched her, and the two sat across from each other. Another person would think they were having a battle of wills against each other, but Jane knew that he was having a battle within himself, that she had touched upon the real reason.
"Well?"
"It might have something to do with it."
She got up. "Maybe after you succeed here you can join up with Longbow. They have outposts on the Isles."
He followed her motion. "When do I start?"
"Follow me, please."
He smiled and walked around the table to her side. She opened the door and held it open for him.
"We have something outfitted for you, it's a special suit. It will generate a psychic ability so that you can subdue your enemies. That's your job, Mr. Mathias, to subdue them. You understand that part, don't you?"
She kept on walking, as he looked around white corridor. There were no windows, just doors, and he could hear hums beyond each of the doors. She didn't stop at any of the doors; in fact, continued on down the hall to the end, to a set of stairs. She parted that door, waiting for him to catch up.
"What's your favorite color, by the way," she asked, as she started up the stairs.
"Red, why do you ask?"
"A small bit of personalization, Mr. Mathias."
"Look, if we're going to work together, you can call me Jack."
She stopped at the stairs. "Mr. Mathias, you are a subject of an experiment. I will call you Mr. Mathias, and you will call me Dr. Hudson. Is that clear?"
He swallowed. "Clear, Dr. Hudson."
She opened the next set of doors, and didn't wait for him to catch up.
She offered an empty smile at him, and the man smiled back. Not ugly, but not overly handsome either. That was okay; his face would be covered by a mask anyway.
"Mr. Mathias," she began, "it seems you've passed the tests, and now we're in the final leg of admission into the program."
"I'm ready," he said and nodded once. So serious, she thought. There was more than just the "I want to help people" answer that he gave in all the answers to the Why questions.
She put aside his folder, folded her hands up and rested her chin on them. "What's the real reason for joining up?"
"I want to help people," he replied, as if by rote.
"I know that." She glanced at the folder. "You've given us all the right answers. But they're thinking of rejecting you because of one thing."
His blue eyes flashed.
She pulled down her hands and leaned back in her chair. "You have no passion."
He looked at his folder, then back to her.
"You took all the tests, you answered all the questions. You didn't get angry, frustrated, or even dismayed. You weren't happy over your successes, proud of your achievements. You plodded through. You did have one thing, determination, and if it was me, I'd take bring you in the other room and get you started right now. But we have the FBSA and our sponsors to deal with. They'll look at you and say you're a good worker, but you're not a hero."
"Then what makes a hero is passion?"
"That's part of it. Love for his fellow man. Trust and belief that people need protecting and assistance, even when they turn their backs on you. Humility, kindness, justice. And always going out there, putting your life on the line every day to help some poor bum who would probably be back out on the streets in half an hour doing the same thing he was doing when you found him. Ingrates, insufferable citizens who do the same stupid things over and over. Criminals who get off scot-free because of good lawyers. People playing with magic, not knowing what they're getting themselves into. It takes a special kind of person, a person who cares. Do you care?"
Jack swallowed. "Yes."
She turned, dragged the folder over to her and flipped it open. "Chris. Does that name ring a bell?"
"Yes," he replied in a strong voice.
"Why haven't you mentioned your brother who died in the Isles three months ago?"
"You didn't ask."
Again, that empty smile. "It's true we did not ask about deceased relatives. They haven't found his killer yet, have they?"
"No." He kept his eyes on her, not wavering.
"According to the reports we have, they believe he's one of the super powered villains from the Isles."
"Yes."
She closed the folder, studied him again. "You want to give me all the right answers to get into this program? Tell me that you want vengeance for your brother."
He watched her, and the two sat across from each other. Another person would think they were having a battle of wills against each other, but Jane knew that he was having a battle within himself, that she had touched upon the real reason.
"Well?"
"It might have something to do with it."
She got up. "Maybe after you succeed here you can join up with Longbow. They have outposts on the Isles."
He followed her motion. "When do I start?"
"Follow me, please."
He smiled and walked around the table to her side. She opened the door and held it open for him.
"We have something outfitted for you, it's a special suit. It will generate a psychic ability so that you can subdue your enemies. That's your job, Mr. Mathias, to subdue them. You understand that part, don't you?"
She kept on walking, as he looked around white corridor. There were no windows, just doors, and he could hear hums beyond each of the doors. She didn't stop at any of the doors; in fact, continued on down the hall to the end, to a set of stairs. She parted that door, waiting for him to catch up.
"What's your favorite color, by the way," she asked, as she started up the stairs.
"Red, why do you ask?"
"A small bit of personalization, Mr. Mathias."
"Look, if we're going to work together, you can call me Jack."
She stopped at the stairs. "Mr. Mathias, you are a subject of an experiment. I will call you Mr. Mathias, and you will call me Dr. Hudson. Is that clear?"
He swallowed. "Clear, Dr. Hudson."
She opened the next set of doors, and didn't wait for him to catch up.
Monday, January 12, 2009
“My baby, my baby...!”
Jack Mathias watched his mother rock back and forth in anguish, clutching her chest, her head down, almost burrowing into her arms, as she cried and wailed, “My baby, my baby…”
He kept his hand on her shoulder as he looked up from her. The PPD suit watched her impassively, then caught Jack’s eye. “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” he said, but looked at Jack. “We are trying to recover his remains, but…”
Jack sighed, glanced at his sister Laura, who nodded and knelt down beside their mother. “Mom, mom…”
He stepped away, his hand lingering on his mother’s shoulder, as his sister’s arm replaced it. He nodded to the other side of the room, and the cop followed him.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man said automatically.
Jack nodded once. He had gone through the death of his father, just four years before. Although it had been a long time since, the wound would never heal.
“We’re having a hard time recovering his remains. They feel once you’re a resident of the Isles, you’re automatically a citizen…”
“Who do we petition, what can we do?”
“We’re doing the best that we can right now through diplomatic channels, Mr. Mathias. But sometimes they hold the body for ransom.”
“Ransom? We don’t have any money or anything.”
“Or sometimes they hold it just because they can. They have a whole different way of thinking, sir, pure anarchy.”
“How do we know he’s…he’s…”
“We have photographs, sir, and his ID. Whoever found the body already scavenged anything worth value that might have been on him.”
“I’d…I want to see those photographs.”
The man looked up at him. “If you’d like to step outside…”
Jack glanced back at his sister, who was busy consoling their mother. “I’m going to call Riley,” Jack said. “I’ll be right back.”
They went outside to an unmarked car. Two uniformed policemen were leaning up against a cruiser. The man motioned to them, they nodded, got into their car. Jack didn’t pay attention to them after that, his eyes entirely on a manila envelope on the front seat of the car.
“This isn’t pretty, Mr. Mathias.”
“You said he was shot.”
“He was shot through the head, sir. From behind.”
Jack instinctively gulped. “I still think…I should.”
The man reached down and pulled out the manila envelope. Jack looked up to see the police cruiser now gone. The man slipped out some photographs, and all Jack could see at first were black splotches. Handing the photographs to Jack, the man leaned back against the car.
“They sometimes like to send us the gory ones,” said the suit, “the ones direct from the crime scene. And they really amplify the colors.”
“I can’t tell if it’s him or not,” Jack said. “His face…” He glanced up at the cop. “He has no face.”
“It’s him. We had something of his that proved it.”
“What?”
“Jack!” Laura called from the doorway of the house, “Mom’s asking after you.”
Jack handed the photographs back to the suit. “Do they have any idea..?”
“We only know it was a Destined One. That’s what Recluse calls those super-powered rogues who want to work for Arachnos.” The man dropped the photographs onto the front seat. “We’ll contact you when we get anything.”
Jack said nothing as he headed up the walkway to where Laura stood, holding open the screen door. “How is she doing?”
She asked at the same time, “What did he tell you?”
“He told me we might not have a body to bury.”
Jack Mathias watched his mother rock back and forth in anguish, clutching her chest, her head down, almost burrowing into her arms, as she cried and wailed, “My baby, my baby…”
He kept his hand on her shoulder as he looked up from her. The PPD suit watched her impassively, then caught Jack’s eye. “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” he said, but looked at Jack. “We are trying to recover his remains, but…”
Jack sighed, glanced at his sister Laura, who nodded and knelt down beside their mother. “Mom, mom…”
He stepped away, his hand lingering on his mother’s shoulder, as his sister’s arm replaced it. He nodded to the other side of the room, and the cop followed him.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man said automatically.
Jack nodded once. He had gone through the death of his father, just four years before. Although it had been a long time since, the wound would never heal.
“We’re having a hard time recovering his remains. They feel once you’re a resident of the Isles, you’re automatically a citizen…”
“Who do we petition, what can we do?”
“We’re doing the best that we can right now through diplomatic channels, Mr. Mathias. But sometimes they hold the body for ransom.”
“Ransom? We don’t have any money or anything.”
“Or sometimes they hold it just because they can. They have a whole different way of thinking, sir, pure anarchy.”
“How do we know he’s…he’s…”
“We have photographs, sir, and his ID. Whoever found the body already scavenged anything worth value that might have been on him.”
“I’d…I want to see those photographs.”
The man looked up at him. “If you’d like to step outside…”
Jack glanced back at his sister, who was busy consoling their mother. “I’m going to call Riley,” Jack said. “I’ll be right back.”
They went outside to an unmarked car. Two uniformed policemen were leaning up against a cruiser. The man motioned to them, they nodded, got into their car. Jack didn’t pay attention to them after that, his eyes entirely on a manila envelope on the front seat of the car.
“This isn’t pretty, Mr. Mathias.”
“You said he was shot.”
“He was shot through the head, sir. From behind.”
Jack instinctively gulped. “I still think…I should.”
The man reached down and pulled out the manila envelope. Jack looked up to see the police cruiser now gone. The man slipped out some photographs, and all Jack could see at first were black splotches. Handing the photographs to Jack, the man leaned back against the car.
“They sometimes like to send us the gory ones,” said the suit, “the ones direct from the crime scene. And they really amplify the colors.”
“I can’t tell if it’s him or not,” Jack said. “His face…” He glanced up at the cop. “He has no face.”
“It’s him. We had something of his that proved it.”
“What?”
“Jack!” Laura called from the doorway of the house, “Mom’s asking after you.”
Jack handed the photographs back to the suit. “Do they have any idea..?”
“We only know it was a Destined One. That’s what Recluse calls those super-powered rogues who want to work for Arachnos.” The man dropped the photographs onto the front seat. “We’ll contact you when we get anything.”
Jack said nothing as he headed up the walkway to where Laura stood, holding open the screen door. “How is she doing?”
She asked at the same time, “What did he tell you?”
“He told me we might not have a body to bury.”
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Captain Grey regarded the young woman. "I don't know about you, but I'm not about to risk my life or those of my companions just to 'investigate'."
Devereaux replied, "It's probably the only way we'd find out what's going on."
"Why don't you send a droid?" Chen asked. "Give me a little while and I can reprogram one of these to go in--"
"We possibly don't have time for that," Devereaux stated.
Rusty stood straight. "I'll show you where it is."
Devereaux appraised Rusty, while Moreau snapped, "Think about what you're doing, boy!"
"I know what I'm doing!"
Captain Grey sighed, "Of course he knows what he's doing. His hormones speak louder than his words. If you go down there, Rayna," the captain addressed him, "and you get in trouble, don't come to me for help. I don't have the time or money to babysit you."
"I'll be fine," Rusty said.
Devereaux said, "I can't guarantee that."
Rusty raised an eyebrow, while inside he was bruised. How could she say that? Even though his "visions" couldn't see that far ahead, he had the feeling that things were going to be all right. All he was going to do was take her down to the area he had seen the klaxon go off in, he wasn't going to do any sort of fighting, at least he wasn't planning on it.
Devereaux replied, "It's probably the only way we'd find out what's going on."
"Why don't you send a droid?" Chen asked. "Give me a little while and I can reprogram one of these to go in--"
"We possibly don't have time for that," Devereaux stated.
Rusty stood straight. "I'll show you where it is."
Devereaux appraised Rusty, while Moreau snapped, "Think about what you're doing, boy!"
"I know what I'm doing!"
Captain Grey sighed, "Of course he knows what he's doing. His hormones speak louder than his words. If you go down there, Rayna," the captain addressed him, "and you get in trouble, don't come to me for help. I don't have the time or money to babysit you."
"I'll be fine," Rusty said.
Devereaux said, "I can't guarantee that."
Rusty raised an eyebrow, while inside he was bruised. How could she say that? Even though his "visions" couldn't see that far ahead, he had the feeling that things were going to be all right. All he was going to do was take her down to the area he had seen the klaxon go off in, he wasn't going to do any sort of fighting, at least he wasn't planning on it.
Rusty checked the communications array while the two men returned and reported nothing was amiss. No one seemed to be answering anywhere. "Do you want me shut off the distress signal?" he asked, and walked away from the console as the captain replied, "No, just in case the Fleet is on its--" He stared at Rusty for a moment, and Rusty gave him a slight smile. "Sometimes I'm psychic, Captain."
Grey humphed and turned back to Chen and Moreau. "I'm not prepared to fan out into the city to find out what's going on," Grey said. "We stay here and wait for Fleet to arrive."
"Should we stay here, Captain?" asked Moreau. "They might think we had a hand in this."
"Fleet's not that stupid," said Chen.
"I already told them we're here," Grey said. Rusty turned back to the console just as a klaxon went off for a moment, then stopped abruptly. Grey watched Rusty, asking, "Any idea where that--"
"It came from within the building, three flights down."
Grey shook his head. "Let's wait for Fleet. I'm not going down there."
"I'm looking around," said Moreau.
"Don't poke around too much," Rusty cautioned. "Like you said, they might think we had something to do with this."
Rusty glanced outside the viewport to watch the robot drones carry on their programmed work. Just more than an hour had passed when the communications signal went off. "Indiana II, this is the Hefferen. Can you receive us?"
Grey walked over to the comm and pressed a button, "Hefferen, this is Captain Grey of the Irving. We just got here a little while ago and there's no one in the main hangar bay."
"We are sending a landing party. Hefferen out."
The four men took the 'vator back down to the bay to wait for the arrival of the Fleet shuttle. It took about another two hours before the bay doors opened to allow another shuttle into the dome.
Rusty stared at the sleek shuttle. It looked like a typical single-seater, but it probably held at least a three-man crew. He was surprised to see the shuttle doors open and a woman stood at the hatchway, flanked by two young men carrying photon laser pistols.
"Women," Grey spat. "Worst thing they ever did."
Rusty watched the woman step lightly down the ramp. "I am Lieutenant Christine Devereaux of Fleet Command. These are my assistants Ensigns Urla Carpenter and Michel Caron."
"I'm Captain Grey," the captain said gruffly. "This is Chen, Moreau, and Rusty."
She nodded to the men, though Rusty thought she might have lingered on him a moment too long. He preened.
"What have you found out so far, Captain?" she asked him.
"The place is deserted, at least here, though an emergency alarm went off - where did you say, Rusty?"
Rusty tore his eyes away from the woman and looked up at the captain in a deer-caught-in-headlights look. "Sir?"
"The emergency alarm went off," he repeated patiently. "Where was it?"
Devereaux did not smile at him, though Rusty thought she was just inches away from doing so. Rusty stared for a moment at the captain, and ducked, just as Moreau went to slap him on the back of his head. He still caught a glancing part of the blow, but it would have hurt if he stayed still.
"Hey!" Rusty said, and looked at Devereaux. He smiled. She watched him patiently. "Huh, yeah, right. The signal. Right, it came from three flights below this one."
"We should investigate," Devereaux stated flatly.
Grey humphed and turned back to Chen and Moreau. "I'm not prepared to fan out into the city to find out what's going on," Grey said. "We stay here and wait for Fleet to arrive."
"Should we stay here, Captain?" asked Moreau. "They might think we had a hand in this."
"Fleet's not that stupid," said Chen.
"I already told them we're here," Grey said. Rusty turned back to the console just as a klaxon went off for a moment, then stopped abruptly. Grey watched Rusty, asking, "Any idea where that--"
"It came from within the building, three flights down."
Grey shook his head. "Let's wait for Fleet. I'm not going down there."
"I'm looking around," said Moreau.
"Don't poke around too much," Rusty cautioned. "Like you said, they might think we had something to do with this."
Rusty glanced outside the viewport to watch the robot drones carry on their programmed work. Just more than an hour had passed when the communications signal went off. "Indiana II, this is the Hefferen. Can you receive us?"
Grey walked over to the comm and pressed a button, "Hefferen, this is Captain Grey of the Irving. We just got here a little while ago and there's no one in the main hangar bay."
"We are sending a landing party. Hefferen out."
The four men took the 'vator back down to the bay to wait for the arrival of the Fleet shuttle. It took about another two hours before the bay doors opened to allow another shuttle into the dome.
Rusty stared at the sleek shuttle. It looked like a typical single-seater, but it probably held at least a three-man crew. He was surprised to see the shuttle doors open and a woman stood at the hatchway, flanked by two young men carrying photon laser pistols.
"Women," Grey spat. "Worst thing they ever did."
Rusty watched the woman step lightly down the ramp. "I am Lieutenant Christine Devereaux of Fleet Command. These are my assistants Ensigns Urla Carpenter and Michel Caron."
"I'm Captain Grey," the captain said gruffly. "This is Chen, Moreau, and Rusty."
She nodded to the men, though Rusty thought she might have lingered on him a moment too long. He preened.
"What have you found out so far, Captain?" she asked him.
"The place is deserted, at least here, though an emergency alarm went off - where did you say, Rusty?"
Rusty tore his eyes away from the woman and looked up at the captain in a deer-caught-in-headlights look. "Sir?"
"The emergency alarm went off," he repeated patiently. "Where was it?"
Devereaux did not smile at him, though Rusty thought she was just inches away from doing so. Rusty stared for a moment at the captain, and ducked, just as Moreau went to slap him on the back of his head. He still caught a glancing part of the blow, but it would have hurt if he stayed still.
"Hey!" Rusty said, and looked at Devereaux. He smiled. She watched him patiently. "Huh, yeah, right. The signal. Right, it came from three flights below this one."
"We should investigate," Devereaux stated flatly.
Grey started moving toward the pneumatic freight elevators, while Rusty and Moreau kept an eye out for any odd movements other than droids. The four men boarded the elevator to the command center, and in seconds - not without a gravitational jolt that sent Rusty's stomach to the floor - they arrived at the command center above the bay's busy floor.
All four men had their hand weapons out as they approached the door to the command center. The door was locked. Grey turned to Chen, who pulled out a small square box. "I'll have it open in less than - "
The doors hissed open. Both men turned to each other, and Chen shrugged. "That's why you brought me along, Captain."
"Almighty droid master," the captain murmured as they stepped into the command center. It was also too quiet, as no one answered the captain's calls.
Rusty went to the command center control panel. "The distress signal's on auto," he stated.
"See if you can contact any other command centers on the planet. Chen, Moreau, take a look around here a little more, see if anyone's hiding in the closet."
The two men nodded and fanned out.
All four men had their hand weapons out as they approached the door to the command center. The door was locked. Grey turned to Chen, who pulled out a small square box. "I'll have it open in less than - "
The doors hissed open. Both men turned to each other, and Chen shrugged. "That's why you brought me along, Captain."
"Almighty droid master," the captain murmured as they stepped into the command center. It was also too quiet, as no one answered the captain's calls.
Rusty went to the command center control panel. "The distress signal's on auto," he stated.
"See if you can contact any other command centers on the planet. Chen, Moreau, take a look around here a little more, see if anyone's hiding in the closet."
The two men nodded and fanned out.