Intermission story for who made who. Don't plan on this being too long, but we'll see how it goes.

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Who Made Who?

Intermission: Prayer Of The Refugee

Prologue

"Warm yourself by the fire, son
And the morning will come soon
I'll tell you stories of a better time
In a place that we once knew

Before we packed our bags
And left all this behind us in the dust
We had a place that we could call home
And a life no one could touch"

- Rise Against


Stepping from the ship hangar, the officer looked over the wasteland that sprawled before him. Blowing into his hands, he quickly rubbed them together before sliding on his gloves. Now looking to the hastily assembled watchtower, he did his best to judge it's distance. The hangar being the length of three football fields wide, whatever those were, he assumed it wasn't much farther than that.

Realizing that the longer he dawdled outside, the longer he'd have to face the harsh cold that had begun to set in.

As he started across the runway, a spot light from the tower began turning in his direction in a slow winding arc. It wasn't long before he was in the center of it, shielding his eyes with a raised hand while his communicator chirped to life.

"Halt, who goes there?" the voice asked mockingly.

Giving a quick chuckle before clearing his voice to a harsh sternness, "The first signature on your court martial if you don't get that damn light off me."

The light began spinning back the way it came, settling once again on the desolate land it had guarded for the past week.

He continued his trek, keeping a steady enough pace to prevent freezing while preserving the energy he'd need. Several minutes passed before the exterior lights on the tower flashed to life, showing two silhouetted figures walking down the embankment to where the transport vessels were stationed.

'Three minutes to reach the ship,' he thought, 'Another two for the engines to fully ignite in this weather.'

As predicted, it was five minutes before the whir of the engines reached him. Judging his progress, he realized he had only made it two hundred feet at most. Resigning to wait for the ship to reach him, he looked up into the sky.

It was easily visible from here. The blackened crater where Delta once resided was visible to almost every new moon in this quadrant, serving as a grim reminder that no place in their empire was safe. If they could strike that close to home, they could be among them already.

That's why he was here. The last officer inside the exclusion zone, watching over this pitiful moon that was only half finished when the order to evacuate was given. Several thousand bases were already burned, destroyed beyond repair, not by enemy, but by order. No vacant base could be left intact for fear of someone, or something, else moving in like inter-planetary hermit crabs.

The ship was upon him now, it's large form moving slowly but swiftly across the runway. Despite it's size it was only a mid-class transport vessel, not built for altitude above a few hundred feet, but armored enough to sustain a large explosion. Greatly antiquated, but useful nonetheless.

Roughly ten feet away, the ship lumbered to a stop, it's twin engines rumbling to a low idle as the hover platforms whirred to life, allowing it to slowly fall to the ground.

A side panel slid away and a dented and scratched metal ramp slid to the ground. A soldier peeked his head out the side and looked to the officer.

"Tower or bust," he said, extending a hand which the officer quickly grabbed.

"I believe this is a gross misuse of waning fuel supplies," he said as he was pulled inside, feet slipping on the snow slicked ramp, "But I think I can look the other way on the offence.

Shrugging, the soldier gestured to the fuel tanks, "We've got plenty to last the week."

As he moved to the cockpit, the officer followed, holding onto a strap bolted above the bulkhead.

"Take'er home, Tom."

Nodding, the pilot increased power on the hovers and the ship rose into the air, double the speed it had upon leaving.

"Transport ship Hopper 1 returning to tower," he said into the microphone attached to his helmet.

A sharp crackle echoed through a speaker, "Roger."

The soldier sighed, "Man, I can't wait until we get to Solid State."

"Not enjoying ur vacation?" the officer asked with a laugh.

"Look what they have us using," he said, motioning around the ship, "Our last ships were so much better. Even these uniforms are old."

The officer looked over the soldier and agreed. The green camo pattern was outdated, much the same as the ship. But they were lucky to have them, everything of value already being taken off planet. Were it not for the outdated supplies, they'd be nothing more than frozen and snow covered statues among a greying atmosphere.

"On final approach," the pilot said, lowering the throttle and swinging in a long arc toward the landing zone.

"Roger, Hopper 2 is cleared to land first."

Slowing slightly more, the perplexed pilot looked to the soldier beside him, receiving a shrug.

"Uh Tower, Hopper 1 is the only ship active currently."

Static crackled for a moment, then the voice returned, "Hopper 1 are you positive?"

Leaning forward in his seat, the soldier flipped a switch for the exterior flood lights.

"Yes, Tower, we have visual on Hopper 2, it's on Landing Pad 2."

Static, then another reply, "Hopper 1, we believe our scanners are malfunctioning. You are cleared to land."

Increasing speed to cover the remaining distance to the landing area, he adjusted the entry angle and prepared to land, switching off the flood lights to view the landing beacons clearly.

Seconds away from dropping onto the ground, the tower erupted in flame as the shockwave of an explosion rocked Hopper 1 back into the air.

"Shit!" the soldier shouted, falling out of his chair while the officer tumbled backwards into the rear bulkhead.

Instinctively increasing the engines to full, the ship skirted over the wreckage that was twisting and breaking mere feet below. Pulling away, he increased altitude and they all looked in disbelief at the carnage. The skeletal remains of the metal tower were swaying as several more explosions were spreading. That was when they saw it.

It shouldn't have been possible, yet they were seeing it. A ship the size and shape of Hopper 1 was hovering near the tower.

"How," the soldier asked, "How is a transport ship capable of this. Everyone in the tower…"

The officer moved his mouth to speak, but lost the ability to do so.

Missiles began spewing from the ship and more explosions rocked them gently, almost soothingly.

'They don't see us,' the officer realized, dashing forward and hitting a series of switches, causing the ships lights to dim.

Snapping to their senses, the pilot pulled the idle lever down while the soldier shut off the lights on the control board.

"What do we do?" the trembling voice of the pilot asked.

"There's no one inside, right?"

The officer nodded, looking down at the tower, "We're all that's left."

Springing forward, the pilot began turning a knob in front of him, shortly after a feminine voice broke through the intercom.

"Ok, that's enough."

The ship ceased firing and now held its position.

"Return to base," the voice demanded, "H-Class is inbound to finish the hangar."

A much more unamused voice replied as the ship spun around, "Roger, Slither-45 returning to base."

They watched for a moment as the ship slowly slunk back into the darkness from which they emerged. Still in awe of the suddenness and might of the power they witnessed.

They had to react fast if there was any hope of answers.

"Drop down beside Hopper 2," the officer shouted, hoping his eyes were correct in seeing that it was intact.

Nodding, the pilot obeyed, avoiding the flames and debris while doing so.

Now at a safe distance above, the officer spun the crank on the loading door, a swirl of snow rushing in with the heat of the flames.

"I'm gonna try to get Hopper 2 airborn!" he shouted to be heard, "You two follow that ship and stay hidden!"

"There's H-Class ships incoming!" the soldier shouted back

"Stay hidden, if I can't get it airborne I'll run into Sector-3!"

Thinking for a moment, the soldier eventually nodded, pulling the door closed as the form of the officer disappeared from the opening.

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He stood in the middle of his room for several minutes, the reality of the day slowly setting in as he stared blankly at his possessions.

The blue of the carpet, the dark green of the walls, the obviously pre-owned computer desk and dresser. The things he took advantage of in life, he was just now seeing clearly for the first and last time.

The faint beeping of his watch snapped him back into focus and he crossed to the bed. Quickly diving to the floor, he began tossing shoeboxes into the center of the room, crawling out upon finding a tattered duffel bag.

Tearing open the nearest shoebox, he spilt its contents onto the bed next to the bag. One small drawstring pouch, several stacks of crisp and clean twenty-dollar bills, and a small caliber revolver with several boxes of ammunition.

Opening the pouch, he cupped his hand and tipped it over, causing nearly a dozen, brilliantly colored jewels to reveal themselves.

Satisfied with the count, he returned them and dropped the pouch into the bag. Turning his sights onto the bills, he thumbed three of the stacks to get a quick count, then set them aside. The remaining two he put with the jewels.

Picking up the revolver, he turned it over in his hands. Being an older model, it lacked a thumb release for the cylinder. Pulling the hammer back slightly, he pointed the barrel upward and spun the cylinder, resulting in the bullets dropping one by one from the loading port and into his hand.

Tossing them in the air slightly, he quickly returned them, giving the cylinder a final spin before dropping it into the bag.

"You shouldn't need anything," the voice echoed inside his head, "But it's better to lose what you bring than to need what you don't. And it's a long drive, never know what can happen on the way."

Turning his sights onto his dresser, he began emptying it of his favorite clothes first, then taking what was left.

He tucked three t-shirts under the bag of jewels, placed 2 more on top. Moving the revolver and cash to the top of the pile, he carefully placed several pairs of socks and boxers on top, then pairs of shorts and jeans along the sides. Without looking, he pulled a black hoodie and a dark green zip up jacket from the rack beside his bed, and folded everything around them. He quickly mimicked a security guard and sorted through the pile, not impressed with how well he had hidden them.

Resigning to lose the contents, he zipped the bag and tossed it onto the floor.

Opening his closet, he pulled a backpack from a hanger above a large metal cabinet and unzipped all the compartments. Hands trembling slightly, he fished a ring of keys from his pocket and removed a large lock from one side and turned to the next until five heavy locks clattered to the floor.

Swinging open the large metal door of the cabinet, he examined the items already in the backpack. A large first aid kit, two more small bundles of bandages, a large hunting knife in a pouch with a small hatchet, a compact polymer pistol with built in flashlight and laser sight, 5 boxes of ammunition, and a set of clothes.

Happy with the remaining space, he grabbed three more stacks of cash from the cabinet along with a handful of pill bottles on top of a stack of papers. Checking the dates on the label, he tossed them in under the clothes and kept the forged prescription forms on top so they would be the first thing anyone searching the bag would see.

"You're leaving again."

Hand darting out to a shotgun hanging to the side of the closet, he spun around his brother in the doorway, disheveled hair and sleepy eyes showing he was just now waking up.

"Hey, Brent," he said after a deep breath to hide any shaking in his voice, "Why aren't you in school?"

"Suspended," he answered firmly, eyes leveled on his brother.

Swinging the cabinet door closed and snapping the locks on, he laughed, "Come on, man, you said mom didn't need more troublemakers in the family."

"You're leaving again."

Nodding, he zipped up the openings in the backpack, "Yeah, a lot longer this time."

Grabbing a mask from the shelf beside the cabinet, he quickly stuffed it inside before zipping the last compartment.

"How long?"

Shrugging, he shook his head, "I don't know. It's not exactly a short trip where I'm heading."

"Where?"

Another short laugh, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Brent sighed and turned to walk away.

"Hang on," he said, causing him to turn back around, "Remember this?"

Brent watched as he pull a shotgun down from the shelf, "That's the one me, you, and dad took to the range before he died."

"Yeah," he said while turning it over in his hands and checking to see if it was loaded, "I remember too."

Stretching out his arms, he offered it to Brent who took it hesitantly, then turning it over in his own hands.

"It's not a toy, so don't be an idiot with it. Keep it in here where mom won't find it. You're gonna look after the place, right?"

Brent nodded, pumping the action while checking the breech, "Right."

He smiled as he grabbed his bags and ruffled his brother's hair, "I'll be in touch through Rodney, when I can. Don't listen to anyone else."

As he started down the hallway, Brent turned, "You'll come back again, Johnny?"

Johnny stopped, hesitating to turn around and show his unsure expression. Forcing his best smile, he looked back and nodded.

"You bet."

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"I think it's kinda sexy," she said, lying sprawled out on the oversized bed, scrolling through a hologram encircling her wrist, "Better than my plain ol' jumpsuit."

Looking at her reflection in a tall mirror across the room, she turned back and forth, "I don't really like the color."

The uniform she was remarking on was, as the designers explained, 'Form fitting for optimal protection,' which she reasoned was the polite way of saying she was nothing more than eye candy for the incoming 'Intellectual Ambassadors of Planet Earth.'

The colors were a base of red with black adornments acting as armor plating over the chest, back, and extremities, a color deeply contrasting her domicile's rose gold plated walls and silver nylon carpeting.

"It's fine," came an assurance from the bed, "Just be glad you made it in. Lead Protector of Visiting Humans is a great appointance."

"More like babysitting."

"While you're up here in your comfy quarters, eating your favorite meals, living out your daily functions, I'll be stuck on Caladonia, guarding politicians and attending the most extravagantly boring events."

Allowing a sigh to escape, she looks away from the mirror and turns her attention on the blank wall to her left. Walking across the small room, she pushes a green button on a nearby keypad, causing the once blank wall to slowly retract, showing a much more beautiful image.

The brown eye of Jupiter stared back among the starscape enfolding itself around the Solid State space station. From their current orbit, Io and Europa were barely visible from the distance they were to Callisto, close enough to allow communications from Deva Base but far enough to avoid crossing into the orbit path.

"There's Ganymede," a voice said over her shoulder, "You can just barely see it."

Not satisfied with the nod in reply, she slid from the bed and joined her friend at the window.

"It's gonna be alright, Cirise. Just one more year and you can join. You're a Starborn, when you come of age, no one can tell you what you can and can't do. Think of it like a vacation. Guarding humans might be the last break you get."

Cirise nods again, slower but more focused on the slowly rotating moons, "I know."

"Now, come on," she said pulling her away from the window, "I leave tomorrow, so let's stop moping and have a night to remember."

Cirise allowed a thin smile to appear, knowing full well how the following night will end.


End of the prologue. Have a lot of ideas planned for this, but will see how it goes. Could be short, could be longer, could be a every few chapters story.

Thanks for reading.