R/P & The Fleet Championship Tournament

[Marvin]

Episode One

Note to the Reader: This is a role-playing adventure and, consequently, does not necessarily reflect what actually transpired at the fleet tournament or championship. Any similarity to real persons or events may or may not be coincidental.

[RP]

Marvin floated helplessly in space. Abandoned by his comrades, he pondered events of the last few days.

About a week ago ... or maybe it was two weeks ("time" no longer seemed to have any meaning for Marvin) ... a group of insurgents had mounted a massive attack. For months, they had been pushing further into GalCom space and their incursions had gained them considerable ground. They must've felt confident of complete victory.

[begin Flashback ...]

Marvin had led the first wave against the offensive. He had, at his command, a contingency of carriers and cruisers from GalCom's Prime Fleet. Early in the engagement, GalCom seemed to overwhelm the advancing insurents. But the opposition was fierce and persistent. Marvin remembered how, certain of impending victory, he was stunned to hear that an insurgent carrier had broken through friendly lines and destroyed resources vital to GalCom's very existence.

Rallying to the cause, Prime met the bulk of the insurgent horde ... head on, in Castrin. Through a series of unfortunate events, first Marvin's ship, the "GCV-Asimov," was destroyed then, systematically ... one by one ... the rest of the fleet fell. The battlefield was a mess, with debris and disemboweled ships drifting everywhere ... even into other areas of space.

Luckily for GalCom, ISS formed a second line of defense. Taking advantage of the carnage, they positioned themselves and quickly decimated what remained of the insurgent force.

Once again, all was well with GalCom.

To celebrate, the fleet commander of Prime decided to hold a tournament of champions. It was to be a merry, festive affair ... where drink flowed in abundance and a good time would be had by all. At the center of the celebration was the tournament ... reminiscent of those days of yore when knights trampled the training grounds out back of King ArthurÔÇÖs castle.

But, early on, the festivities were marred by an insurgent who disguised himself (and his ship), snuck into Castrin, and challenged one of the leading contenders. The illicit match was fought and, once again, GalCom won out.

As they towed the defeated insurgent away, he shouted something about a maiden named Marianne or Mary-Anne or someone of that nature. Marvin supposed the poor insurgent was confused. The only Mary-Anne he could think of was a servant girl who kept forgetting the white rabbit's gloves. Or one of the castaways on Gilligan's island ... but that couldn't have been what the insurgent meant. He must've been mad. Why else show up at a tournament, dressed to hide your identity, surrounded by hostile ships ... and try to beat the competition ... thereby calling complete attention to yourself? Maybe ... if the prize was a golden wrist-laser or something ... but to do all that just to win the favor of some servant girl?

Oh well.

The victor of that engagement, a leading member of ISS, dusted off his ship and prepared to meet another challenger on the field of battle: Marvin.

After a few brief but necessary introductions, Marvin made his way to the bridge of his newly-constructed cruiser and prepared for the match. Most of the people around him were untested members to his crew ... he recognized only two faces: one, the combat officer, always ready for a fight, stood near the main guns control panel; two, his tactical officer, as usual, stayed too close and talked incessantly ... either asking absurd questions or demanding more power for her analytical computer systems.

Entering Castrin, Marvin spotted his opponent already in position. In short order, the ISS ship jumped. Marvin casually watched the range rapidly decrease on the TDD. "Well," he mused, half-aloud, "ISS commanders have been bragging about how aggressive they are."

He ordered his tactical officer to plot and fly an intercept point. She complied. As the "Asimov" picked up speed, Marvin gazed around the room. Calm. Cool. Collected. All except his combat officer ... who continued to spasmodically punch buttons, turn knobs and pull levers. "Make sure the PTA is turned off," Marvin reminded him.

Time dragged on.

"Sir," the tactical officer finally announced, "the ship is coming out of hyperspace."

"Did you target her?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. I have missiles primed and ready to fire ... just as soon as the ship is in range."

Distance between the two ships decreased more slowly. Then it stopped. But the ISS ship remained nearly two hundred kilometers away. "What happened?" Marvin demanded.

"The missiles didn't fire," his combat officer said.

"I know that," Marvin replied. "How come that ship is still out of range? How is it we are almost two hundred kilometers away?"

His tactical officer backed away and pointed to the navigator. "No idea. I gave her the correct coordinates."

The navigator shrugged. "Don't blame me. I show us only about five kilometers short of where the tactical officer said we should be."

"We blew it," suggested the combat officer. "Do we give up?"

"Not on your life," Marvin insisted. "Settle down everyone. No need to panic. I don't know how he managed to exit hyperspace at a safe distance but it doesn't mean we've lost the fight. Not by a long shot. No, sir, not us. We stay put and fight."

"Captain," interrupted the communications officer, "The transporter room is calling. We have a back-log of crewmembers trying to transport off the ship."

"The transporter is off line," chimed the tactical officer. "Tell everyone to get back to their posts."

"Close the distance," Marvin ordered.

"Shouldn't we take defensive measures, sir?" the tactical officer replied.

"Okay, okay. Once inside a hundred kilometers, fly a defensive pattern," he retorted. Marvin's CPU throbbed, nearly overheating as he cursed to himself for having lost the tactical advantage. "And turn jammers on."

"What about the missiles? They won't fire with jammers on," reminded the combat officer.

"Okay. Hold off on the jammers until missiles are away."

As if the words came from a dark corner of the bridge, the last thing Marvin remembered hearing was, "I need more power to the shields ...."

[... End Flashback]

Marvin shuddered at the recollection. At least half his crew had abandoned ship after that first disastrous engagement. Yeah, he'd managed to keep the situation together long enough to do major damage to his opponent and, thereafter, hold his own during a close-in "knife fight." But, looking back on it now, Marvin could see that the end was inevitable from the outset.

ISS had secrets up its sleeves. Secrets culled from years and years of experience with ships of a design not yet totally familiar (or friendly) to Marvin.

So Marvin simply sighed. Drifting. Forgotten in the confusion and celebration that followed ... as the victor and onlookers abandoned the battleground and adjourned to GalCom HQ for a final "one for the road" and a few leftover turkey legs. Forgotten by his own crew ... who had absconded with all the shuttles and escape pods to join the onlookers in the mad rush back to Alpha Wing Bar. Forgotten by everyone ... except ... maybe ... "Hey," he thought, "Maybe I can contact my one current cadet ... my last hope.ÔÇØ

Marvin was scheduled to give the cadet a check ride  the final step before anyone becomes a full-fledged commander in Prime Fleet. That cadet is the only person who will be looking for me any time soon  before next year, at the very least."

Marvin opened his chest box, pulled out a 20th century telephone, and dialed the Academy frequency. He checked his watch. "Great," he exclaimed to himself, "Two minutes until our scheduled rendezvous time. If I keep this line open, that cadet is bound to show. Then I can direct him into Castrin and have him pick me up."

Marvin's hopes were high. Floating aimlessly, he began to plot how he would get even with his crew. And whether he'd order a beer or a mixed drink after getting back to the bar at HQ. "I sure hope Denny is keeping Alpha Wing open over the holidays."

Actually, he thought about many things. Because, for a robot with a positronic brain (even one that's been slightly damaged by weapons fire, radiation, and the frigid temperatures of outer space), twenty minutes is a long, long time. Twenty minutes. Which is how long Marvin waited for his cadet to show ... before the batteries died on his 20th century phone. (Note: It would've died sooner had Marvin not rotated himself so that his FP solar pack faced toward the sun.)

After which, Marvin continued to float ... aimlessly. Thinking about that drink he'd never get to drink. And about that cadet who would never get a check ride ... leastwise, not by Marvin. And, mostly, about the championship that put him in this predicament. About how he'd lost. Gallantly, yeah. But, bottom line was: Marvin had lost.

Defeated.

By Daffy Duck.

[/RP]