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Fugitive


Põdi
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OK, this is the introduction to my character. Hope you like it, critique welcome. It's my firsta ttempt at fiction, so be gentle. I'm intending on doing it as a single character thread, I'm not to familiar with true role play, but let's see how it goes:

/RP

March 21st, 3012 AD

Day 196

After nearly 200 days in this stinking shithole, I think I?m getting used to the routine. If you can call it a routine that is; lights on 0600, doors open 0615, shit, shower and a shave (sadly so shag, yet ;-) ) till 0700, breakfast (Ugh!) till 0730. Then off to the morning work detail in some God-forbidden pit at the arse-end of nowhere; lunch 1200 ? 1230, afternoon work detail till 1800. If it?s a Monday, Wednesday or Friday, I get a shower, otherwise it?s supper, back to the cells and lights out at 2100. And so on ad nauseum. By my reckoning, I have 3454 days to go, if I last that long. No chance of parole, no chance of early release for good behaviour, my only hope of getting out before I die is an appeal. Fat chance!

Speaking of which, I had a rather amusing visit from my Earthcom-appointed lawyer yesterday. His name?s Spiegel and he is a 100% certified arsehole of the 1st class. It was the usual bollocks: following new leads, unfair trial, your best interests, war hero, unblemished record etc etc. New leads? Your joking right? Unfair trial? Damn straight, but who's gonna believe it? War hero, unblemished record? Hero, yes; unblemished? Nope. Funny thing was, we had been working in the hospital sewers, and it being a Tuesday, well you can imagine.

The poor arsewipe couldn't wait to get away, I could swear he had tears in his eyes when he left and someone was definitely puking their guts up somewhere just after.

Alexei Rebrov placed his pencil on the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Around fifteen minutes before lights out he reckoned, and he was usually pretty close. Writing about Spiegel's visit made him think back to the twist of events resulting in his present circumstances. Having served with great distinction in the Gammulan conflict in 3010, he had returned to Sol after his tour of duty had ended. Five years from retirement, he was content to patrol the trade routes around Sol. Raiders and Insurgents were no match for a pilot of his calibre; 'shooting fish' was how he described it. It was that easy.

A large shipment of Radine had been scheduled for delivery and Earthcom, in all it's wisdom, had decided to disguise it in a convoy of low grade medical supplies ie blankets, pillows, bandages etc, hoping it would prevent any attempt to steal it. Due to his rank and experience, only Rebrov had been made aware of the registration code for the radine ship. Once the ship had been identified, he was to relay the destination coordinates and escort it personally. Fine in theory. Unfortunately it all went balls up as soon as he'd identified the radine; three raider cruisers immediately de-cloaked and launched their fighters. The cargo ship was captured, Rebrov's best friend and wingman Mas Sanders lasted a matter of seconds and Rebrov's co-pilot fatally wounded. For some reason his guns and missile launchers went offline the minute the Raiders appeared, only his piloting skills nurtured against the Gammulans prevented him too from dying. The mission had been a complete shambles, not only had they lost God only knows how many tons of radine, but also the crew of the cargo, two interceptors and, most importantly to Rebrov, Sanders.

And Alexei Rebrov, ace pilot and veteran, was powerless to prevent it.

He had been arrested immediately. The trial was a formality, a joke and a pantomime all packaged neatly for the military tribunal. The case against him was clear (to most people); the Raiders only showed up once the ship's identity had been established; Rebrov had failed to fire a single shot in defence of the convoy, despite his insistance that the weapons were offline, subsequent investigations had found no fault with them; and he had survived. No-one could come up with any credible evidence in his defence and he had been swiftly convicted as a raider informer and dispatched to this miserable penal colony on Titan. That was 196 days ago, and he still had just under nine-and-a-half years to go.

Darkness descended. About five minutes off he thought. Not bad.

'Who was your cute friend yesterday, Alexei?' It was Badegan, his neighbour. An Insurgent terrorist and a certifiable psychopath. Rebrov wasn't sure which was worse.

'My lawyer'

'When you?re finished with him, can I play?' His breathless whisper revolted Rebrov; people went crazy after only a few weeks sometimes. Badegan had been here fifteen years and would die here for sure. Rebrov smiled to himself, couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

'Whatever you want, Badegan, whatever you want'

'You're a pal, Alexei, a real pal. Maybe I can do you a favour sometime'

Hardly, he thought to himself, I'd rather die first. Then he smiled again, that probably wasn't so far off the truth.

/RP

More to follow in the near future.

[ 10-02-2001: Message edited by: Paddy Gregory ]

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Please excuse the random use of apostrophes and queries, I pasted it from a Word document typed using my German keyboard and the keystrokes are different. The next one will be a bit tidier, I promise.

PS how do you like it so far?

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OK part 2

/RP

March 22nd 3012 AD

Day 197

Thinking about Spiegel's visit yesterday really got my mind going again. Someone, somewhere knew what was going to happen, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time (another clich├®, hope no one publishes this) and I was the one who got stitched up. Some many questions; who knew about the registration code; why did my guns fail; hell, why was I the only survivor? There were half a dozen interceptors out there as well as 3 ┬┤cruisers; I was alone and defenceless, yet they failed to take me out. Pretty darn good flying on my part if I do say so myself, but still. It was set up that I would take the blame, but for who? No one else survived, or did they?

-Come on Rebrov, get off that lazy, treacherous arse and get out here before I stick you in with Badegan for a night-

It was Stark, one of the more unpleasant screws. Rebrov looked over to his left where Badegan was just emerging his cell, grinning stupidly.

-Hello Alexei sweetie -

-Piss off Badegan, came anywhere near me and I'll tear your nuts off.-

Rebrov was in no need for this right now.

- Ooh, promises promises -

Badegan grinned stupidly again.

-Knock it off lover boys, plenty of time for that later. Right now we have a most rewarding day trip for our honoured guests, a pleasant little Sulphur mine on Io -

Stark's sarcasm was devastating.

-You'll need full EP gear and we leave in twenty minutes.-

He walked off down the cellblock.

Environmental Protection or EP suits were heavy, suffocatingly hot and poorly maintained. Many an inmate had died within minutes of entering a hostile environment, mainly due to punctures or blocked airlines. Rumour had it that the more disruptive cons were given sabotaged suits, just to get rid of them quietly.

-Great, another chance on the EP lottery, buy your ticket here -

Badegan sounded genuinely irritated this time.

-For once, I agree with you Badegan. You never know, you might get the winning number. At least you'll be out of here -

-Won't you miss me Alexei? -

-Hmm, tough question. Let me think. Um, No.-

They walked off to the staging area accompanied by the rest of the cellblock and three armed screws. The inmates were all Terran; common criminals, Insurgents, Raiders and such like. No Gammulans. They were kept in a separate section of the facility to avoid any trouble. Their work details were also separated; the Overseer tried to keep Terrans and Gammulans apart as much as possible.

The EP suits were waiting for them at the launch bay. They pulled them on, accompanied by the usual complaints and profanities and marched slowly into the shuttle.

Once they were seated, Rebrov could hear the pilot going through the final launch check before the shuttle lifted gently, a short jolt and the craft was out of the launch bay. The journey to Io would take several minutes, too short for any form of restful sleep, so Rebrov decided to take in the view. The density and turbulence of Titan?s atmosphere made the first few minutes pretty dicey, a couple of guys threw up, the sickly sweet smell reached Rebrov's nostrils, nearly causing him to do the same. He swallowed it down and watched the bland atmosphere of Titan quickly recede away from the shuttle. He couldn't see the surface of Saturn itself as he was on the opposite side, but the rings were majestic. Too far away to pick out individual objects, they were simply flat, almost solid bands. A multitude of shades, colours and densities.

Once they were clear of the rings, they would make the short jump to Jupiter. Rebrov settled back into his seat and the shuttle lurched slightly as the hyperdrive was engaged. He took a glance round his fellow inmates; Badegan was asleep, his hand resting on his neighbour's knee, a nervous-looking Insurgent by the name of Dacourt, barely out of his teens and one of Badegan's favourites. Next to him were a couple of Raiders, Mason and Petri-something, a Polish or Czech sounding name, Rebrov couldn't remember exactly. They had tried to strike up a friendship when he first arrived, but he had told them in no uncertain terms where to go. They had ignored him since. On Rebrov's right was Jackal, he didn't know his real name, but he was also a Raider who arrived just after he had. Rebrov actually liked him because he kept himself to himself and didn't say much. Mason and his pal seemed scared of him. To Rebrov's left was another Insurgent who arrived only two days before, he looked terrified and was one of those who had secreted his breakfast on the deck floor.

The shuttle lurched again as the hyperdrive was disengaged.

-Twelve minutes to planetfall-

He heard the pilot say to Stark

It's a moon, you dickhead, thought Rebrov. He glanced out of the window and saw the characteristic multiple volcanic plumes rising from the jagged surface.

-OK, scumbags, there's been a lot of tectonic activity round the mine the last few days, so we're putting down about a click away from the entrance. It's a long walk, but you get to work an extra hour to make up the time. Don't we just treat you like royalty? -

Stark never ceased to delight in the misery of his charges.

A voice came from the back of the shuttle.

-Screw you, fagot.-

-You couldn't afford me-

was Stark's retort as he proceeded to lower the ramp.

-Come on girls, let's get to work -

They donned their helmets and checked each other's seals and air supply. They might hate each other's guts, but this was a customary show of solidarity. The group proceeded through the hatch and down the ramp onto the surface. Io was the most volcanically active body in the Sol system, hence the need for caution with the shuttle. The surface changes completely every million years or so, a mere instant in geological terms.

There were twelve inmates in total, accompanied by five armed guards. Stark and two others stayed with the shuttle along with the pilot.

The trek took the best part of half an hour, or more. The entrance to the mine was a hole carved out of the rock face, with two sets of rails disappearing into the darkness. Inmates were used for mining just to save costs; mining drones were more efficient but were reserved for more valuable resources like Radine and Uranium. Two guards remained at the entrance while the remaining three escorted the work detail into the hellhole. Even though his suit, Rebrov could smell the sulphurous odour. It made his eyes water. About ten minutes later they reached the deposit. There were an assortment of crude tools available; picks, shovels, disused drill-bits etc. Nothing mechanical, too much of a risk to the guards. They each selected a tool and began the laborious task of prising the yellow rock out of the seam and loading it onto the small trucks that stood waiting on the rails. Once one was full, it had to be manually pushed to the entrance and the load emptied into a hopper. It was hot, claustrophobic and bone-aching work.

Then the rumbling started. The ground beneath their feet began to shake and dust fell from the cavern ceiling. One by one they stopped working.

-What the f.... ? -

Rebrov was unable to finish his sentence as an explosion rocked the cavern, throwing them violently to the rapidly shifting floor. A shooting pain froze him as he tried to rise. Looking down, a splinter of wood about half-an-inch wide had imbedded itself in his left forearm, blood was beginning to seep out of the torn EP suit. The place was in complete disarray; he saw at least six lifeless bodies on the ground, one of which was a guard who had been at the far end of the seam where the explosion had taken place. Others were dazed, but standing, some were obviously alive, but unable to move. Most had obviously damaged EP suits and wouldn't last much longer. He was fortunate; he had been at the end of the seam nearest the mine entrance and furthest from the explosion. His only thought was to get out, the cavern was too unstable and could collapse any second. The dust and smoke brought visibility down to no more than a few inches; his only chance of getting out was to use the feel of the rails beneath his boots. He ran, walked, stumbled as fast as he could, the air began to clear the nearer he got to the entrance. The silhouettes of the two guards were visible, running in his direction. It's now or never, he thought. He took the closest guard in the chest with his right shoulder, sending a jarring pain down his injured left arm. The guard was knocked clean of his feet, winded. Before the startled second guard could react, Rebrov picked up the fallen ZS10 Assault rifle and jammed the butt into the facemask of the guard's EP suit. He then did the same to the winded guard; they wouldn't survive more than a few minutes without any oxygen he decided. No need to waste more energy or rounds. He relieved them both of their ammo, nutri and medi-packs, discarded the now damaged assault rifle and checked the other was functional. He stood up, breathing heavily and assessed his situation. Stark and the others wouldn't have heard the explosion above the ambient noise of the moon, but he couldn't rule out that one of the guards at the entrance had radioed to explain what had happened. With any luck, Stark and his buddies would be on their way. No one else had emerged from the mine, so he assumed no one else had survived. There were two options, wait for Stark to get here and pick them off one by one, or get back to the shuttle without being detected, kill anybody there and steal it. That would mean leaving three guards on the moon's surface, although their chance of survival was not good, he couldn't afford the risk. He decided to wait, choosing a good vantage point about twenty yards to the side of the mine entrance. If they knew what had happened, they would be there in about twenty minutes, the guards' suits were lighter and more flexible than his were and they would be able to move a lot faster. He settled down to wait and meditated on his situation; taking out the guards would be no problem, he had the element of surprise and was an expert shot; taking the shuttle would be easy, only one pilot with a wrist laser and the thing was a piece of cake to fly. But then what happens? Where would he go? Would he be hunted? There would be no one left here to tell what had happened, there would be a missing shuttle, but that could have been caught in the explosion, no one would know. They would send out a search party, but once the situation was clear they wouldn't bother to recover the bodies of a few convicts and guards. The problem would be avoiding Galcom patrols. The registration number of the shuttle was on a central database; if it was logged as destroyed or missing and then he appeared on a patrol's radar, there would be way too much explaining to do. He would have to head for the Indy stations, Zenin or Centron perhaps, anywhere away from Galcom jurisdiction, but did he have enough fuel to get there though? That was another question altogether.

His train of though was broken by voices over to his right. He sneaked a peak over his cover. Two guards. Damn! Where was the third? He scanned behind the others towards the direction of the shuttle, but could see no-one. Then he caught a flash of something glinting in the cave entrance. It was Stark's suit! He cursed himself for not paying attention; Stark must have hurried on ahead and would see the bodies of his colleagues within a few seconds. As they were separated, it would be tough to take out all three quickly, but not impossible. He lined his sites on the back of Stark's head and pulled the trigger.

- Goodbye, shithead -

he said as Stark's helmet disappeared in a red blur.

The shot alerted the other two, but one didn't have time to react before his chest erupted. The second squeezed off a couple of wild shots and dived for cover. Rebrov would have to get him before he radioed the pilot. The guard's cover was fairly good, but one of his feet was visible. Rebrov took aim and fired. The screams echoed round the canyon as the lower half of his leg disintegrated, but they too wouldn't last long. At least he wouldn't be in any fit state to radio anyone before he died.

Rebrov lifted his gear, plundered what he could from the dead and dying guards and headed towards the location of the shuttle. Hopefully, the pilot wouldn't try and contact Stark for a while yet, if he did and received no answer, he might just take off. Rebrov picked up the pace and was soon within a hundred metres or so. Fortunately, the cockpit was facing away from him so the pilot was oblivious to his approach. The problem was trying to lure him out of the ship; maybe some kind of distraction would do it. Then it occurred to him;

-You idiot, Alexei Rebrov -

he said aloud to himself

-The communicator, use the damned communicator! -

He located the device he had scavenged from Stark's headless corpse and flicked it on;

-Hey, flyboy, you there? ?

He shouted into the small grey box, trying to make his voice as indistinct as possible

- Wha?. What? Yes, who is this? ?

came the startled reply.

- It's me, Stark, you dipshit. We got big problems here. We need medipacs like now! -

-What happened, more explosions? -

-Yes, and I've got two men down. Hurry man!-

Not far off the truth, thought Rebrov.

- On my way Stark -

Rebrov replaced the communicator and shouldered the rifle. Seconds later, the rear hatch opened and the pilot emerged laden with medipacs. In an instant he had gone the way of the guards. Rebrov climbed inside and dumped his gear. He could afford to rest as they weren't due back on Titan for another six hours at least and there was no one left here to give him any trouble. He waited for the pumps to vent the air then extricated himself from his EP suit. The place still stank of puke, but he could live with it. His arm wasn't as bad as he'd first thought and he was able to patch it up pretty well with what he had.

He climbed into the pilot seat, set it in the recline position and closed his eyes.

/RP

Next episode after the weekend, going home to Mummy and Daddy with my youngest for a few days.

[ 10-03-2001: Message edited by: Paddy Gregory ]

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quote:

Originally posted by Commander Elio Jason:

i could bring you to justice if i wanted too however.

No chance!

Anyway, the next bit....

/RP

March 22nd 3012

Io, Sol system

Rebrov was jolted from a deep sleep as he was thrown from the pilot's chair. The shuttle was leaning at an alarming angle; its nose peering down into the bowels of the moon. The tectonic activity around the craft was forming vast fissures, and the shuttle was sliding slowly into one of them. He stood up and steadied himself, only to be thrown to the floor by another violent lurch. I really do need to get out of here he thought and clambered back into the seat. A quick check revealed all systems intact, surprisingly. This would be no easy take-off, he would have to apply vertical thrust with a bit of juice, and almost instantaneously slam it into reverse at maximum to avoid colliding with the opposite side of the widening fissure.

He strapped himself into the seat, tightened the straps over his shoulders and took a deep breath

'Here goes nothing' he said and initiated the vertical thrusters. The shuttle jolted and lurched. A worrying scraping could be heard over the whine of the engines and rumbles of the seething moon. The shuttle was suddenly free of the fissure wall but Rebrov could see the opposite wall approaching rapidly, he disengaged the vertical thrust and switched to reverse vector, another lurch and the fissure began to slowly recede from him. He righted the craft, set the altitude to two hundred metres and engaged a hover. He exhaled, long and deep.

'They don't teach that at Galcom academy' he exclaimed to no one in particular and flicked on the Navitron. 'Let's see where we are then. OK, Io, I know that, but where to go?' He studied the glowing display in front of him. All the inner planets were out of the question, too much Galcom activity. The only jump from Jupiter was too Lyrius, but the Wraithers were all too aware of his history, unless he could bluff it. In which case it was only a short jump into Insurgent and Raider territory, where he wouldn't be exactly welcomed with open arms, but at least they probably wouldn't blow him too oblivion.

The other alternative was a short trip to the Science station orbiting Pluto, Gazer 1. He'd been on escort trips there in the past, and Galcom patrols were pretty sparse. From there he could get to Empirian space and they wouldn't be too interested in a Terran fugitive.

Pluto it was then, way less risky. He programmed in the route, engaged the autopilot and settled back. The pockmarked, jagged surface of Io was soon an indistinct red-brown hue, which quickly became an anonymous dot in the deep black of space. His rude awakening had disrupted a rather pleasant dream involving a couple of nurses, a good bottle of Vodka and rather a large quantity of whipped cream. And leather. He tried to shut his eyes and resume the virtual orgy, but it was useless. His mind was racing; he was a convicted criminal who had murdered five guards and a pilot and stolen a Galcom shuttle. If he was caught and identified, it would take much of an investigation to prove his guilt, and he WAS guilty this time. The only thing expecting him would be a lethal injection, or worse. He checked the clock on the shuttle display, another couple of hours before they would be expected back on Titan and he would be in the relative safety of Empirian space by then.

The hyperdrive whined as it disengaged, the bleak, featureless surface of Pluto became visible in the distance and he could just pick out the Starstation in orbit around the plant. The autopilot would take him to the far side of the planet, to the wormhole beyond. The static on his commlink crackled,

'This is the Terran Scientific Research station, Gazer 1, please state your identity and destination'

'Galcom shuttle, en route to Centris, picking up supplies for ISS on Titan' Rebrov was a convincing liar.

'Yes, your craft designation checks out, except it seems to be assigned to the penal colony, not ISS' was the reply.

'I've been temporarily reassigned, ISS is a little short on transports at the moment'

'Very well, proceed. And greetings to our friends, the Empirians. Gazer 1 out'

'Thank you Gazer 1 and I will do that. Shuttle out' Rebrov turned off the commlink, 'Piece of cake'

The shuttle changed direction to begin its approach to the wormhole. Soon the swirling, multicoloured whirlpool was visible in the bridge viewer. Such anomalies had opened up the galaxy for the Terrans all those centuries ago, and it had almost been their undoing. The Insurgent and Gammulan conflicts had almost brought the Terran race to its knees and it was only with the help from its allied races that had permitted it to survive.

He carried out a systems check as the craft approached the wormhole and within a fraction of a second, he was through to the other side.

He was in Empirian space and (almost) free.

[ 10-11-2001: Message edited by: Paddy Gregory ]

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