Author's Notes: I can't believe that others think I'm that good. My teacher, an excellent writer, at that, has read the stories I have submitted to him for assignments and projects, and he says that they need a lot more improvement. Why? I asked him, and he says that I missed the essence of the story—the characters' feelings, deeper detail, more consistency—and the likes of that. In any case, this will be mostly a POV type chapter, focused on one of my original characters (Just like everybody else, a character needs a background, well, this is it!), although there will be active scenes here. Oh, yeah, and I might give a rather short sneak peek showing how exactly Gascogne turned that shutdown mother ship into an RC spacecraft. (Nobody has ever seen her work on it, so I might as well give a guess on how that was done!) Oh yeah. Thanks again to SMAC (Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri) for inspiration and quotes! One more thing: The only things I got from SMAC, though were some quotes, and some tech inspiration. The details on how the techs work, like the physical manifestations of the singularity gun, are my imagination put to work!!!
Disclaimer: I don't own Vandread, so don't sue me, cause I'm just a kid! No lawyer, no bank account, no nothing! I don't even own any of the characters here except my originals!
Chapter 4: Reflections in the Mirror
Crusader Unit 8, Defense Line 13, Romano Daylight Zone, Near Arcadia Romano
Friday, 1535 hours, AST…
Captain Jason Dolmer cringed at the damage the Earth's forces had inflicted on his Crusader Battle Suit. He was a pilot, one of the best of his generation, which is why he was placed on Sarkaeder Battle Group Thanatos' list of Crusader pilots. The damage was heavy, a pod's main gun had blown off his right arm, and a cube fighter (a not so smart one at that) had collided into his left leg, rendering it practically useless.
He saw seven Mother Ships approaching his position. Almost all of the Battle Cruisers situated within the immediate area have already been destroyed, but not before becoming responsible for the destruction of at least thirty of the purple vessels.
He strained at the psycho-sensitive control orbs that he held in his hands. They were simple enough to manipulate, all that the pilot really needed was enough willpower, and the mech's maneuver was limited to his imagination. The heavily armored machine responded, and grasped an oncoming cube, doing a 360-degree spin before hurling the said offender at a nearby pod, destroying both.
"Switch to left shoulder's Rail Gun, Isis." Although the moves were solely the pilots', it did not hurt to have an AI super computer installed to auto-control for those who had poor focus, or were just slow thinkers.
"Okey-dokey, Captain." Isis, the AI installed in his system, was Dolmer's weapons manager. Switching weapons was his weak point, and Isis was his reinforcement beam. The schematic of the weapon he was using, a Level 3 Plasma Blade, went out of focus and were replaced by the prints of a heavy-looking projectile weapon: the Rail Gun.
The azure energy blade receded into its generator, situated on the wrist of the battle suit's remaining arm. They were equipped with two, but a good pilot had to adjust to sudden changes such as this one.
Almost immediately after that, the left side of the mech's back opened, and out slid a physical manifestation of what showed on Dolmer's weapon screen. This in turn, slid up to shoulder level, and tilted itself horizontally until it rested on the robot's shoulder, its barrel crackling to life with blue energies as the target came into view… one whole mother ship.
An Arcadian Rail Gun used a nuclear powered electromagnet as an ignition device, charging the 180-centimeter long piercing round with enough momentum to hurl it at velocities well passing the speed of sound. It was usually more than enough to destroy a harvest mother ship, and was very effective. That was the case of course, if the projectile hit the enemy's reactor, causing a leak that would destroy the whole damn thing all together.
He grinned, his face bloodied by the battering he received. If he were going down, at least he would take another one of these bastards to hell with him. He willed his command into the controls, the crosshairs lining up facing the enemy's main gun dead center.
He couldn't help but shout, "Fire!" out loud as the now crackling blue opening to his weapon unleashed a massive energy surge in wake of the projectile, sending it for a bull's eye hit of the mother ship.
His grin widened even more as he saw the shot penetrate the enemy's hull, pass out through the rear, and blow a hole through another one in line, before detonating. He checked on his teammates' statuses, they were grouped well and in peak fighting shape. Not like him, though. He was assigned to go into a hot spot, and ended up with a bad bust.
His sensors continued to flare nearly 20 Gauss Rifles roaring on, scattering thousands of depleted uranium shells all over the already war-torn sector. Rail Guns unleashed their massive bullets, desecrating pods and cubes, some accurate enough to blow a hole through the side of a Harvest Mother Ship, though not enough to destroy it. Plasma cannons seared through countless harvest small fry, whilst their sword-like counterparts were used to slash through pods. Multi-missile sets were launched into the fray, each one separating into dozens of warheads that wreaked massive damage on the enemy's fighters and pods.
Even through all of their losses, though, the harvest fleet pushed on, seemingly replacing each fallen pod with half a dozen more. The Crusaders were greatly outnumbered. So were their Hammer headed Battle Cruisers, 2:1. A crusader managed to get two Rail Gun (Note that crusaders have a Rail Gun per shoulder) shots to destroy one of the last two mother ships before the other's main gun caught it off-guard and destroyed it.
Dolmer's long standing smile, however, when he decoded an encrypted message sent to his team—Defense Post has been overrun; nearly entire sub-group destroyed; pull back to safe zone—by the ACS Fiery, apparently the last standing Battle Cruiser within the immediate vicinity.
Seeing as to the fact that there was still one mother ship headed in their direction, he decided to make his impeding death a worthwhile one, "Isis, set the Quantum Reactor and all weapon systems on overload, and set a collision course with that mother ship."
"Captain," the AI replied, "You know very well that I cannot permit that since this goes beyond safety regulation code 4506-EMPORIUM."
"Why do you think I'm giving you the override codes?" he had switched back to his plasma blade and was now hacking expertly through hordes of cubes, getting ever closer to his goal, "Regulation code 4506-EMPORIUM override command code J-13-MAYDAY-Clockwork."
"Override command accepted. Overloading Quantum Reactor and weapon systems. Course set. Shall I place the Battle Suit on auto-evade?"
"Do so, please." He felt a twinge of guilt at leaving his wife and daughter by themselves, but this was for their future after all. Every mother ship destroyed meant another brighter day for the newborn members of the Delta generation, such as his daughter, Charlotte. A voice in his head bit back at what he idealized, Don't be so foolish and make that ideal an excuse for taking your own life, Jason! I know you just want to run away from it all—the hardships, the pain, your past, your hatred—you are forgetting that you and I are the same.
"Heh, I don't need to be taking orders from no conscience of mine anymore, buddy." He answered, "This is my life, and I'll end it my way."
"Pardon me, Captain, but who are you talking to?" piped Isis as she continued to monitor the machine's every movement as it headed for the target.
"Myself."
"Sure…"
His field of vision was blocked as the visage of
Major Derrick Chalister popped up on screen, "Dolmer! Where the hell are you
going!? We've been given orders to pull back, and you're going in the opposite
direction!"
"It's for the kids, Major, for the kids."
"What!? Dolmer, you don't have to go on with this foolishness! You can always run away now to fight another day!"
"Sorry, no can do, Major. You can say all you want to say, do all you want to do, but you can't stop me. Sure, my conscience might be right, I could be running away from it all, but I just can't take it anymore!"
The older man became silent as what Dolmer had said began to sink in—'But you can't stop me', 'I could be running away from it all', He really is going to kill himself! He thought—although his physical reflexes to the battle did not change. Chalister had this strange ability to focus on two things at the same time, and that got him to the top of the Crusader food chain. "I understand, Jason, 'My Life, My Death' philosophy, eh?"
"You can say that…" he turned his focus back to getting to the last damned mother ship, but shot a glance back at his commanding officer, saying, "Tell my wife Lola, that I'm sorry for everything I said and that I'm asking for forgiveness; hers and Charlotte's."
Solemnly, Chalister nodded as the Captain closed the channel. "Sergeant," he contacted another Crusader pilot, "You have your orders, fall back to the Fiery." He watched as the other 18 Crusaders that remained out of 50 no more than 30 minutes ago turned tails and set their main trajectory to the Fiery's Battle Suit Hangars. His heat sensors went up just then, and he turned just in time to see a fiery ball, once a battered Crusader Mech, consume the front half of the harvest vessel.
Dolmer was always good at estimations. He was thinking of when he had his reactor and weapon systems set to overload, this estimate: Quantum Rectors of the Micro Cass that regular Arcadian vehicles used were powerful enough to destroy anything within a 500-meter radius when overloaded, whilst Quantum Reactors of the Mega Class used in Battle Cruisers enough to blow off half a planet. Therefore, a Macro Class reactor such as those used by Strike Fighters and Crusaders would be sufficient to destroy a harvest ship.
Hesitantly, Chalister changed his direction as well, headed to the Fiery, but not before firing the worth of his Rail Gun's entire capacity (Which is 25 180cm bullets, by the way) at the semi-organic remains of the harvest craft…
Admiral of the Fleet's Log, ACS Demeter, Ceres Battle Group Flagship, Defense Line 16 of Arcadia Romano's Daylight Zone
Friday, 1540 hours, AST…
The sliding door shut behind me as I entered my private quarters. "Nick," I called on my Personal Digital Adjutant, PDA, who was in complete control of the room, "Lock entrance with password protection. Set password: Monotony."
"Password has been set," the synthesized voice replied, "Shall I set the temperature to your preferences as well, Admiral?"
"Please do." I sat down on my couch and stole a glance outside. All of the PSGs focused their power into enveloping Arcadia Romano in a protective sheath of deflective energy that should keep the Earth's forces away. They haven't arrived yet, although a few yellow-orange spheres that signaled explosions were already in sight. Turning to face the mirror involuntarily, I examined myself; young, attractive, intelligent.
Although at 21, I was in a position as high as the fleet gets. This rank was usually saved for the older men of Beta Generation. How far have I gone? I asked myself as I began to muse with the events in my life, what brought me to reach this level of power that I now possessed.
I blinked, and was surprised to see in my place, a young girl, no older than five, wearing denim jumpers that protected her pink shirt. She was smiling cheerfully as her right hand was posed in front in a victory sign.
The small, blue-haired girl moved over to her father's couch as he read the data-links' information that was brought to him that day. I smiled as I saw myself in that manner, so small and innocent. She kissed him on the cheek in greetings, "Daddy! Daddy! I want to tell you something!"
The aging man of 48 fixed his reading glasses as he turned to face her, "What is it, honey?" he asked the child.
"I want to become a soldier!"
This statement raised the man's eyebrow. Surely, this was just another childish fantasy of hers. Why in the hell would somebody like her want to join the military? He took it as an understanding parent and inquired of her, "Why is that?"
"Those other kids at school tease me!" she replied, "When I try to help them in lifting heavy things, they say that I can't do that since being a girl, I'm weak! I want to show them that they're wrong!"
He smiled at little Elena Durleinon, patting her on the head, "Well, there are other ways to show them that you're strong besides becoming a soldier, like striving to become an honor student for example."
"I don't want to show them that I'm smart, Daddy." She answered, "I want to show them that I'm strong enough to beat the enemy without their help!"
She was so sincere in saying this, that he finally realized that she indeed wanted to join the army. He thought for a while, thinking that if she did become a soldier, she would grow up through a hard life of pains. How was he going to handle this problem? She looks like she really wants to join the military… "Alright, then. You just go back to your playing, while I decide." She smiled at him in gratitude as she turned around and went back to her little preoccupations.
Yep. That's where it all began… that fateful day I made that decision… I stare in the mirror once again to see an adolescent, in a muddy white shirt, tucked into her black pants, her attire completed by the combat issue boots that protected her military sock-covered feet.
It was a gloomy, foggy morning. The dirt roads just a few miles away from the training camp were now slippery and wet, a platoon in formation marching their routine. The drill sergeant remained in the lead, his green uniform intimidating to those who were following. The 20-mile jog was scheduled to end in less than five hours, after which they would return to camp for a brief lunch.
They were nearing the camp, three miles wasn't too far at all, if you spent the last three and a half hours going 17 miles non-stop, when it happened. Her mind froze. She lost control of herself almost immediately after she sensed stepping onto something that could kill her balance. The rain continued to pour hard when she slipped and fell face-first onto the muddy surface.
The drill sergeant, seeing that she was down, gave the rest of the company orders to move on while he handled the situation, and approached her, saying, "Durleinon! Hurry up! We still have a ways to go before this day is done, and I want you up in three!"
She struggled to rise up, slowly, but steadily.
"Two!"
She was at her knees, already standing up.
"One!" at that she continued on the jog as the sergeant moved onwards, observing her successful get-up.
I saw a blur of sights pass through the portal that was the mirror, and now I saw her yet again, soaking wet in the obstacle course as she persisted to climb a 10-foot-wall, that apparently, she had no success in doing.
The downpour intensified when she lost her grip on the rope and fell backwards, landing hard in the two-inch-deep mud that was accumulating. She was now the last in line for the cadets who were going through the drill. As far as Elena Durleinon, now 11, was concerned, it was impossible to get through this.
"Durleinon!" the drill sergeant had approached her, noting her lack of progress, "Get up and move now!"
She continued to lie, there, unmoving, contrary to the sergeant's orders.
He spat out on the muddy course, fixing a piercing glare at the blue-haired troublemaker that lay in front of him saying, "Spoiled 'Rich Kid' types like you make me sick. Think you're strong enough to play army? Well think again!"
She continued to listen to him preach, remaining motionless, "I'll tell ya again, get up and move! You told me you joined this unit to prove your strength, right? You didn't want to be called a weakling, right? Well then get up and MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!"
I'm not a weakling! I will become strong and show them I can beat the enemy on my own! This sparked up a flame inside her, somewhere. She just didn't know where. Wherever it came from, though, she was grateful that it came, as to the fact that she got up, every lost wave of determination returned to her in tenfold numbers. With this new-found strength, she scaled the wall, slipping at some points but maintaining her grasp until she reached the top.
Sure, I was the last to finish the obstacle course, that day, but I learned a very valuable lesson that came with the experience… never surrender until you're finished.
Another peek at the window to the past, and I saw a smart looking young woman in navy blue fleet uniform, 15 at the least, snapped into a salute, smiling of her achievements.
She had joined the fleet academy, having enough of the rigors of the armed forces, and graduated at rank Colonel, one that was hard to achieve by anybody's standards. Her proof of this was her first Battle Cruiser, a Patrol Class vessel, the ACS Heart of Ice, assigned under the 53rd Battalion of the Regular Division.
The Arcadian Navy was separated into two Divisions: The Sarkaeder Division, and Regular Division. The Sarkaeder's Five Battle Groups were comprised as follows: Sparta Battle Group: 1800 Battle Cruisers designed to be ten times better at everything than those in the Regular Navy, along with countless Omni-Class Strike Fighters that had tasted thousands of tiny upgrades to be proven better than regulars.
Ceres Battle Group: 1200 Battle Cruisers with much heavier armor than the rest, even to those from Sparta, thousands of Garrison-Class Strike Fighters with much better armor and shields, and PSGs to protect planets during times of crisis.
Goliath Battle Group: a thousand Battle Cruisers designed to carry megatons worth of weapons more than anybody else (Which was more than enough firepower to reduce a planet into nothing more than space dust), and a throng of Siege-Class Strike Fighters, which had much more firepower than regulars.
Thanatos Battle Group: the only thousand Battle Cruisers that had their own Stealth Generators in the entire fleet, a hundred thousand Crusaders for planet-surface campaigns, countless transports for them, and a lot of Stalker-Class Strike Fighters that not only had Cloaking Devices, but Atmospheric Penetration Gear as well.
Regent Battle Group: 1000 Battle Cruisers that used Mimic Camouflage Systems to fool the enemy into thinking them as friendly, tons of intelligence-gathering equipment, and Copycat-Class Strike Fighters equipped with MCS (Mimic Camouflage Systems).
Each Battle Group was unique in itself, but for the 100 Battalions of the Regular Navy, they simply had 100 regular Battle Cruisers per Battalion. All in all, the Arcadian Navy was comprised of 16000 Battle Cruisers, six thousand of which were classified under Sarkaeder. Each of the 13 Arcadian worlds was protected by roughly 769 Battle Cruisers of all Classes, from Patrol Class, to Dreadnaught Class.
She had been assigned to patrol Sector Theta-19 of the Nessis Sub-system, the asteroid ring that surrounded the Arcadian Border Ice Clouds that enveloped their entire system. The smallest of Nessis Sub-system's countless asteroids measured at least five kilometers in diameter, housing great amounts of natural resources ideal for mining. The great distance between the asteroid belt and the nearest Arcadian Border World forced the development of a giant leap in warp-transportation technology: The Bulk Matter Transmission Device, or just the Transmitter for short.
It disassembled those passing through to molecular level and transmitted the particles at light speed to another transmitter located in orbit of Arcadia Madagascar, the system's original mining world, along with blueprints of the particles' original form. The transmitter on that side then reassembled the particles according to the blueprints, thus allowing near immediate processing. Several transmitters were set up at multiple mining points on the belt to ensure a steady industrial income.
She stood on the main deck, observing the bits of ice and stone that broke off from the belt floating away. Several crewmembers monitored all statues of the ship, shield levels, engine status, long-range radar, and others. She had graduated at the top of her class, putting every bit of sweat and blood she had left into doing so.
She had treated every strategic simulation as a real battle, utilizing every single Strike Fighter and Singularity Interceptor in inventory, every Multi-Missile set, every available Plasma Cannon, Rail Gun, and Singularity Laser. Nothing was put to waste. The same resourcefulness was used to destroy every single virtual Terran vessel that passed her Cruiser's scanners… with extreme prejudice.
She was very confident to fight against any of the opposition, be it a pod, or Mother Ship, or Planet Destroyer, or whatever. She could take whatever the Earth could throw at her. I sighed. That was me back then, arrogant, inexperienced, naïve. I was never prepared for what happened next… never.
Alarms went berserk at the exact moment when they were just about to call it a day and turn in. "Terran forces detected coming in from 10, 12, and 2 O'clock directions! We're surrounded! What should we do, Colonel?"
"Send a distress signal to all nearby Patrol Groups."
"Yes ma'am."
She thought for a moment, scanning the memories of her training for a three-to-one situation, and found none… She decided to distribute the firepower evenly, "Ensign, order all Strike Fighters and Singularity Interceptors for launch. Send them an encrypted message containing the orders to engage in Battle Strategy Beagle-Roswell-45: Three Part Fork."
"Aye, Colonel."
She watched the three purple ships approach their position, each one intimidating to them, their own Strike Fighters storming out of the Heart of Ice's hangars. "Arm the reflector shields and Hyper Regeneration Systems! Prepare for impact."
"Colonel! Enemies' main guns are powering up! Reflectors won't be up in time to disperse impact—they could deal massive damage to us—maybe even destroy us!" this crewman sounded worried and had the right to be so. Reflector shields could only redirect impact from enemy fire when at maximum power, whilst the effectiveness of the Hyper Regeneration Systems (HRS) depended on the condition of the main Quantum reactor.
"Then we'll just have to rely on the HRS, then…"
"I understand."
Three surges of energy were detected from their corresponding mother ships' directions—bad news for the cruiser—as Strike Fighters and Singularity Interceptors fought and fell due to outnumbering. It was a losing battle.
They could only watch and wait for the outcome of events, with their forces losing, and the enemy preparing to destroy them, there was barely enough hope left to spare for the crew of the bridge alone. Multi-Missile sets continued to spew forth from turrets, Plasma cannons continuing to discharge, Rail Guns expending their ammunition. None of the projectiles, however, even came close to touching the enemy's mother ships.
Her sky-blue eyebrow began to twitch, a sign of her frustration at the products of theirs and the enemy's actions. This wasn't going to end well… not at all. She braced herself for the worst. She noted the enemy's tactics… three main guns pointed at the same target… at a certain angle. She realized that they could be countered after all, "Ensign, set the shield's frequency from reflection to refraction, now!"
Apparently, the officer had seen the same possibility. When at such an angle, three concentrated energy beams hitting the same prism would cause a switcheroo effect that would just interchange their positions whilst redirecting the directions to an angular target source. With renewed enthusiasm, he replied, "Roger!"
The reactor buzzed at the work being done, the shield's frequency changing just in time to be intercepted by the discharges of the enemy's main guns. The energy shots were refracted and in the blink of an eye, the mother ships' sensors picked up high-energy beams headed back in their directions. A trio of explosions occurred after that, followed by a Singularity Interceptor flying for each direction with orders to zap anything that remained with the power of a black hole.
As Colonel Elena Durleinon, 15 years old, expected, something was left from the blast. The SIs made quick work of the remaining halves of the once powerful ships. No sooner than that did she get a transmission from Ceres Battle Group's Flagship, the Demeter. It was from Fleet Admiral Dwight Winfield, the current Commanding officer of Ceres Battle Group. He had witnessed her escapade, and saw the potential that deserved reassignment to the Sarkaeder Division.
Credentials were submitted, strings were pulled, and in a few months' time, I was one of the aging commander's most trusted subordinates. By the time I was 18, I was Admiral of the second division, matured with experience… then came that fateful day a year later.
He was diagnosed with Prometheus' Disease… currently having no cure at all. It was caused by the Prometheus Virus; non-contaminating, it was, yes, but… there was no hope for him anymore. Sooner or later, he was going to croak, and his aging didn't help at all, but to make his condition worse. One of the older men from the Beta Generation, and at age 67, he was practically done for with this disease.
His right hand Vice-Admiral had died in an accident a week before, and it all happened so fast I could hardly believe what was going on. "Sir…" said the young Admiral as she stood by the side of his bed.
"Durleinon," he coughed before finishing his statement, "I have been meaning to tell you this ever since your rank began to heighten rapidly… your potential the first time I saw you fight was great. I know that I'm going to die very soon," he wheezed.
"Sir, please," she begged, "Don't talk too much. It'll just make your condition worse."
"It doesn't really matter now, does it? So far, you are the only person who by my standards has qualified to succeed me." he began to cough again, "Take care of her for me… take care of the Demeter, and of the rest of Ceres."
"Wh-what are you saying, sir?" she replied, a both worried and surprised expression on her face.
He grasped her hand with his own old, worn down reach and held it tight to his blanketed form, "Promise me, now, Durleinon. Promise me!"
She had made up her mind then. She was going to be this great man's successor, and as such do everything in her power to make sure he became proud of her. Nothing was getting in her way. Nothing at all, "Yes, sir. I promise."
"Elena… you've always been like a daughter to me, and I know that you're strong enough to survive the rigors of being responsible for the lives of so many." He wheezed yet again saying, "Congratulations on your promotion… Fleet Admiral Durleinon." A moment of spastic coughing later, and he breathed his last, shutting his eyes forever as his hands limped from their once firm grip on hers and fell to his sides, the cardiograph reading zero…
I called for the doctor frantically, the medic arriving far too late to do anything about the man who did everything in his power to protect the Confederacy. For some strange reason, my only regret from his death was that I failed to learn more about him, the many things he could've taught me, gone out into space with his casket, cadaver inside.
I ogle at the reflection once again, seeing myself as I am now. Three years I have spent as the head of this Battle Group, things getting worse with every meeting. I pity the one who would succeed me when unprepared… but then again, that was still a long ways away; and I also know for a fact that Gisborn is more than capable of doing so.
"Admiral, an incoming transmission from the bridge. It's Vice-Admiral Gisborn." Nick announced.
"Patch it through."
Charles Gisborn's face appeared on main screen, an urgent message in mind, "Elle, we've found the ACS McDread. It's at defense line 15, although they are already under attack. Orders?"
"Send reinforcements to the area. If you can't save it, then salvage the Pirate Ship at least." I replied.
"Understood. We've already hailed them, and their commanding officer, Colonel Roy Flint, has agreed to turn the Pirate Ship's captivity over to us." He removed his Navy hat shortly and raked through his brown locks with his fingers.
"Good. Make sure to bring that ship and its contents here safely."
"Right." He ended the transmission, the screen blacking out.
I take one last look at the mirror and smile. My life was, and still is, full of hardships. This is the life of a soldier. I will fulfill my promise to myself. I will show them that I can beat the enemy on my own—with my own strategy at least. I will keep me oath to you, my Good Admiral Winfield. Ceres Battle Group will win this round. This is Fleet Admiral Elena Durleinon signing off… I'll be at the bridge if anyone needs me.
Bridge, Abandoned Mother Ship, Unknown Space…
Friday, 1738 hours, NST…
"Well, let's see…" Gascogne Rheingau pried the semi-organic panel off the surface, revealing the Earth Vessel's complex circuitry. "A remote control transponder would fit these ports perfectly." She said, her clenched teeth keeping her signature wire in its place while she stared down at the mechanism.
Good thing she was able to snatch a spacesuit just in time to bail out of the Delivery Ship. And I really liked that ship too! Her head screamed. "Okay, let's get to work. She had awoken from the blast in time to see Nirvana sail away from the dilapidated Harvest toy at full speed. She might as well have done something to catch up.
Salvaging supplies from the remains of her ship was the hard part. Having to maneuver through a genuine maze of shrapnel and debris could tire a person out a lot… not her, though. Her search was rewarded with an intact crate full of enough crab to last several weeks. "Talk about luck." She mumbled as she plugged a red plug into the rainbow-colored socket.
She had been working on restoring the auto repair systems for the past few hours, but nothing seemed to be working. That was when she stumbled on the little present Pyoro had left behind… the Pexis Virus that came with Misty in her pod. "Oh, here's the problem." She fished her ever-reliable incision tool from a compartment in her spacesuit.
It took some time to remove that, but when it was done, and with the reprogramming disc in place, all she had to do was wait for the device to take effect. Once that happened, she would be able to catch up with them. The question was… when was it going to take effect, and how long was it going to take?
End of Chap4QUOTE OF THE DAY—TOPIC: THE HUMAN GENOME PROJECT
"To map the very stuff of life; to look into the genetic mirror and watch a million generations march past. That, friends, is both our curse and our proudest achievement. For it is in reaching to our beginnings that we begin to learn who we truly are."
--Academician Prokhor Zakharov
'Address to the Faculty', Alpha Centauri
Author's Notes: Yeah, I've got writer's block right now. That sneak peek was too short… I guess that comes with age, eh? Hope this will make good.