Pre-requisite story
The ultimate test in life is death. Many use the phrase 'kill or be killed', but there are countless variations on it. I have come to understand the phrase 'kill and have everybody you love killed'. Life on the Last Mosque, following the teachings of Allah under the Qu'ran had been my life's work. But in a year my life has taken a different path. One of violence and blood. I have one goal in my life: I will kill my god. I will find Allah in his majestic temple, smash down the gates and kill him. For he has shown me no love, no mercy. Only hate and death and cruelty.
The Last Mosque, home of the i-Dokhtar family for generations, was attacked by infidels who lacked Allah's faith. They cited millenia-old hatreds and burned our ship. In that one day, my entire family was killed and my existence shattered. In the last few minutes of the Mosque's life, I used its turrets to blast through the cockpit of one of the attacking fighters and blast myself out an airlock. My pressure suit kept me alive long enough for me to toss the corpse out of the fighter and climb on board. By the time the Mosque was destroyed, I was long gone. Since then, I have been spreading destruction, dishonor and death to lure Allah out of his hovel. He will pay for his cruelty, and I will revenge myself upon him.
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:->Video log retrieved<-:
Fawzia Dokhtar-i-Sanjar bint Rizzo Abd al-Qaadir Sanjar-i-Dokhtar ibn Rustam Temptir ibn Abul al-Maliik Sanjar-i-Dokhtar ran down the corridor leading from her bedroom to the Mosque's bridge. Her bare feet pounded on the cold metal grate, which sent jabs of pain up her legs with each step. She had made it halfway when an explosion tore a hole in the wall to her right. Fire surrounded her body, but she was hurled forward before she was incinerated. She smashed into the grate face-first, blood welling up in her mouth and nose.
As she picked herself up, she was smoking. Her dress had been badly singed, and as she continued running the fine fabric fell off. She had her work clothes on underneath, an orange oil-stained jumpsuit. The ship shook as the Mosque was hit with another missile. The lights in the corridor blinked off, and were quickly replaced by the red emergency lights. Fawzia stumbled on a corpse laying in the hall. She fell to the ground again, and in the low light saw the dead body: It was her father, Rizzo. Fawzia whimpered in grief, and examined the body. He had died when a bit of shrapnel had sunk into his skull. He was clutching a datapad, so she connected her neural implant to it. Her father's voice sounded in her head,
"Fawzia, we are under attack by the Jerusalemites. I'm heading to the bridge to co-ordinate the escape, but if I don't make it, you have to get our family out! The escape pods aren't fast enough, you have to pilot the ship into the nearest asteroid field first. There's one at heading E-" the transmission was cut short by the sound of an explosion.
Leaving her father's corpse, Fawzia resumed her sprint for the bridge. Flinging the doors open, she saw her brother and sister manning the controls. Her uncles lay dead on the ground, burns on their faces. There was no time to grieve, she had to get the ship to safety. She leaped into the pilot's chair. She screamed at her brothers,
"Get to the escape pods! There's nothing more you can do!" Grudgingly, they left the bridge. It was up to Fawzia now to get them all out alive. The Jerusalemites approached for another pass.
On the best of days, the 'Last Mosque' moved like a drugged rhino; now that it was under attack it moved even slower. The Jerusalemites had destroyed the ship's defensive turrets and were now trying to blow out its engines. Fawzia was able to drag the hulk into the Colorado silver fields, and gave the signal for her family to launch escape pods. The ship vibrated as eight of nine pods were fired. Another missile slammed into the Mosque's engines, crippling them permanently. Without main propulsion, the ship drifted. When the engines went, so did the power relays connected to the shield generator.
When the shield generator died, asteroids began smashing into the ship's hull at full power. Fawzia had to abandon the bridge when a small rock blasted a hole clean through the cockpit and began sucking out air. Fleeing back into the corridors, the Muslim woman fought to stay on her feet as she ran down the red-tinted passageway. Smoke and fire made seeing impossible, so she reverted to instinct; she had lived on this ship for twenty three years. She could find her way around blind.
There was one escape pod left. She hurled herself inside, secured the door lock and jettisoned. Out of the window, she saw her little brother hurl himself at the now-closed blast doors. Panic was etched into his face. Dread sank into Fawzia's stomach as she realized she had just abandoned her brother on the ship, who had likely gotten lost in the confusion. The escape pod's autopilot had engaged, and was setting course for the nearest base or station- in this case, Pueblo. From the window, Fawzia watched as the Jerusalemites flew past her escape pods and delivered the killing blow to her ship. They were flying Eagle fighters, firing missiles and Flashpoints.
They put the Mosque between them and a large metallic asteroid. Then, firing a barrage of missiles in unison, they pulverized the port side of her family's ancestral home. The missiles tore chunks of metal off of the ship's hull, and as the interior depressurized the ship was turned inside out. The Eagles used their guns to attack the vulnerable interior of the ship. Oxygen and fuel ignited, blowing the ship apart completely. Fire spilled out into space, showing the area with flaming debris.
The Jerusalemites broke formation and began to hunt down the fleeing escape pods. The Muslim woman watched as they opened fire and destroyed each one. They were hot on her trail, but when she entered Pueblo airspace they broke off their pursuit. Fawzia Sanjar-i-Dokhtar drifted silently until a recovery ship from the base picked her up.
There was no funeral. She did not need to honor her family, and she certainly had no desire to commit their souls to Allah. Instead of grief, she felt hatred. There was a brief period on Pueblo when she was confused, lost, unable to cope. Since Pueblo was a factory, she wasn't allowed to stay long and soon found herself on a transport to Denver. She was crying in the back when the transport was stopped. She didn't notice or care. Until her door was thrown open.
Fawzia looked up with red, tear-filled eyes. A man with a gruff black goatee and a shadow of hair on his head stood in her doorway. On his chest was a Golden octagon with a star in the center. It was the symbol of the Jerusalemites. Things happened quickly when she set her eyes on it. He reached for his gun, but she had been clutching the photo of her brothers. She hurled it like a discus, striking him in the face. He threw his hand up to his right eye, and blood bubbled out from between his fingers. She charged forward and jabbed her knee into his chest. He had tough muscles, but she had enough force to knock the wind out of him and force him to his hands and knees. She clasped her hands together in a single fist, raised it in the air and smashed it down on the back of his neck. She felt his spine snap.
Fawzia was currently wearing her re-breather which filtered pathogens from the air and injected her periodically with antibiotics. Her immuno-system suits had been destroyed on the Mosque. Her family had lived in a sterile environment for so many dozens of generations that their immune systems wouldn't function on their own. Outside the ship they usually wore immuno-system suits to avoid developing infections. Right now a re-breather was all she had.
She took the dead Jerusalemite's weapon. While Allah preached peace, her family had learned to how defend themselves. Fawzia looked down the corridor. Jerusalemites were searching the rooms.
They're looking for me, she realized, They're here to capture me.
Making sure the pistol was loaded, Fawzia stepped into the hallway and raised her gun at a Jerusalemite woman who had her head in a room. She fired, and the bullet struck her in the left side of her chest. It must have hit her heart, because she silently collapsed to the ground. Screams came from the room she had her head in. Two more Jerusalemites appeared at the far end of the hall, reaching for their pistols. The Muslim dropped them both. Emerging from the cockpit, the transport pilot had his weapon raised. Another Jerusalemite entered the ship through the mooring hatch. The pilot raised his gun and shot, but missed. The bullet ricocheted off the metal passageway a few times before sinking into the back of his head.
Fawzia looked out a window and saw an Eagle docked with the transport. One of the ships used to destroy the Mosque, no doubt. Fawzia had her weapon raised as she approached the docking clamp and crawled inside. The fighter was empty, so Fawzia activated her weapon's safety and got into the cockpit. It was simple to de-activate the docking clamps and retract the mooring tunnel. The rest of the Jerusalemites circled like hounds, and as Fawzia undocked she received a communication,
"Did you get her?" It was a man's voice. Fawzia put on the flight helmet, leaving the visor up so her rebreather would fit. She integrated the rebreather's microphone into the ship's computer.
"No. Him and your heathen brothers are dead. You will follow them shortly."
Exclamations of rage assailed her, but she paid them no mind as she activated her weapons and charged into battle. The Eagle was the first warship she'd flown, though she had hundreds of hours of experience in the small fleet of mining ships that the Mosque used to mine the raw materials it needed. This ship was heavier, but it had a sensation of power. When she accelerated, she was pushed back into her seat. When she opened fire, the ship hummed. Dodging her enemies' attacks made her feel like she was dancing.
She caught her first target by surprise, drilling his shields and cramming a missile into his fuel line. The ship floated passively for a few seconds before exploding. There were two other Eagles who weren't so easily defeated. Fawzia was able to get behind one, firing barrages of Flashpoints at their rear shield. But the final Eagle got behind her, forcing her to break off her pursuit and dodge. The Eagle was equipped with a mine dropper, so as she banked she laid an explosive egg. A satisfying explosion behind her told her it made contact.
When she flipped around for another pass, she saw that the transport was firing at the Jerusalemites. Using it as a distraction, Fawzia lined up a perfect shot on the Eagle who she had been firing at before. With their combined fire, the Eagle began to break apart. A missile sealed the deal, turning the ship into a mobile fireball.
The final Eagle tried to turn and flee, but the Muslim pilot launched a cruise disruptor. At that same moment, the fleeing Jerusalemite tried to drop a mine. It hadn't left the safety of her shields when the disruptor hit, detonating the mine. The ship wasn't destroyed, but it was crippled. Fawzia kicked her engines to full and rammed the ship, sending it spinning into an asteroid which finished off the damaged ship.
Her enemies were destroyed, but the battle wasn't over. The Jerusalemites were going to pay for this atrocity. And not just them- no, she would follow this all the way to the one who was really responsible- her former Master, Allah. She was going to kill her God.
The Jerusalemites were the radical descendents of the Israelis of Earth. They and the Sanjar-i-Dokhtars had always conflicted. But it had always been semi-harmless harassment. Never outright murder, and certainly not this kind of genocide. Like Fawzia's family, the Jerusalemites traveled in a mobile home. Theirs was called the 'New Land', and it had once been a yacht like the Mosque. She felt a cold sense of rage seep through her as she planned to destroy it.
The New Land followed a set route through Liberty and Bretonia, stopping at several trade outposts to resupply and sell their crafts. Fawzia waited on one of these outposts, a farming station that sold fresh produce to travelers. Some casual inquiry revealed that the New Land would be arriving in about a week to buy more fresh food. That was when the Muslim woman would get her revenge.
The first step to destroying the New Land would be changing her fighter's IFF so that she could approach without too much suspicion. On the station was a quirkly little man named Edward Fully who offered to do it for free- "But only if you help me with a little problem," he said.
He wanted her to hold on to a small purple and gold stone, polished and quite beautiful. "It's a Corsair artifact," he explained, "Very valuable. You hold on to that, and I'll fix your ship's IFF so that you blend in with the Freelancer crowd. Capiche'?"
She agreed, and he handed her the stone. She stowed it in her boot. He happily went to examine her ship. She was left alone for a while while he worked. She examined the stone in the meantime. She had seen many such artifacts, but never one so flawless. It must have been worth several million credits. It wasn't the kind of trinket you just handed to a stranger. Suddenly very suspicious, Fawzia looked around for a place to hide the artifact. Her search turned upwards, to a flickering light in the ceiling. She was tall, but the light was still out of her reach. The light was built into the ceiling, but a panel covered it that she could remove. The hallway she was standing in was narrow and she was alone, so she braced her back on one wall and inched her way up. When she was close enough to the light, she saw that the panel could indeed be removed.
She wrenched open a corner of the light panel and saw an array of lights inside. Many of the bulbs had been burned out. Grunting with exertion, she reached inside and removed one of the spent bulbs and replaced it with the artifact, which fit inside the hooks that held the previous light in place. She put the burned out bulb in her work jumper's side pocket, replaced the light panel and slid back down to the ground. Looking up, she examined the hiding place. Nobody would be able to notice unless they went up to change the bulbs. Now she had to leave before Edward sent a surprise her way.
Fawzia returned to the main trading hub of the station and surreptitiously threw the empty light bulb into the trash. She did some shopping for the parts she would need to build the bomb that would destroy the New Land; unfortunately, the farmers here didn't stock many explosives. She received a ping on her neural communication implant. It was Edward.
"Hello there, miss. Your ship is all set. It wasn't hard to change up your transmission frequencies. Now, I've received word that you've been asking around for some sensitive and volatile materials. Coupled with the mods I've done to your ship, I'd say you were planning something. I'm the kind of guy who can help with that sort of thing."
Curious, Fawzia asked him to explain.
"I'm a supplier. I get people certain objects that help them achieve their goals. Tell me what you need, and I'll get it for you. For a price."
The Muslim was familiar with people like Edward. She didn't trust him at all, but decided to take a shot with him. Who knows, he might actually be useful.
"My family," she began, "was murdered today. And not just mine. Two other families on board the Last Mosque were shot down and butchered by the Jerusalemites. I am constructing a mechanism that will destroy the Jerusalemite mobile temple. I need a single nuclear warhead and a launch mechanism that will propel it. I need a weapon to disable the shields on the New Land long enough for me to deploy the warhead and slaughter every one of them."
For a few seconds, the only thing Fawzia could hear was the hissing and crackling of the neural communication implant. Then, Edward spoke.
"Oh.. Kay. Well, you're in luck. I don't have a nuke, but I do have the other thing- something to pop the shields on that temple right quick. You hear of the Corsair Tizona Del Cid? Powerful gun, obliterates most shields in a few good whacks. I can stick one of those on your ship and rig up a mechanism that will allow you to deploy and activate all of your mines at once. Before you know it, only a pile of smoking slag will be left."
"And how much will that cost me, Mr. Fully?"
"That artifact you've been holding on to for me. I want you sell it when you're done with your revenge mission and forward me the profits. I've got a buyer all lined up, and all you'll have to do is take the money and give him the pretty rock. Do we have a deal?"
"We do. The New Land arrives in three days. Have my ship ready by then."
"Got it. Three days. Be sure not to die out there or I'll have to find another pusher."
The next three days rolled by quickly. Fawzia spent most of it sleeping. She was so tired, she crashed anywhere with a mattress. The station's rent was relatively cheap for short-term residents. When Edward told her that her ship was ready, all of her rest paid off. She was in the cockpit of her ship as soon as it was ready. She had the artifact in her pocket, after retrieving it from the ceiling light.
"Remember," Edward reminded her, "Don't try and run off after you've killed the bad guys. Screw me over, and I'll kill you." Fawzia affirmed that she would indeed sell the artifact. And that she would give him his money.
Undocking from the station, Fawzia flew around for several hours before she detected the New Land approaching. It was still too far out for her to charge, they would see her and flee before she could fire. The Tizona Del Cid on her ship drew some attention, but nobody seemed to notice her slip off into the asteroid field surrounding the station. The New Land was within 10k when she engaged her cruise engines and lew at full speed towards the ship. They hailed her, but she ignored it. Her vision flushed red as murderous rage overpowered her judgment. She cut her cruise engines, flicked her thrusters on, and opened fire. Her ship needed time to recover from cruising but once it did, the Tizona shredded the transport's shields like wet paper. Then her coup de grace arrived when she activated the mine laying mechanism. Her ship lurched as her ship's mine bay detatched and popped open, sending over fifty active mines into space. She blasted past the shieldless yacht, who was trying to reach the station's defense grid. They didn't make it.
The transport got its shields back just as the first mines began to impact. Fawzia came around for another pass and lowered the shields for good. Now completely unprotected, the New Land was buffeted by the mines. As each one impacted they blew off a cloud of shrapnel. Then the next mine would dig a deeper hole, and so on. The protective armor of the old yacht finally gave way, exposing the pressurized interior of the ship. It limped forward, in its death throes. Fawzia saw bodies get sucked out of the interior of the ship and smack into the asteroids around them. Mines floated into the exposed corridors and rooms and exploded there, tearing the vulnerable insides of the ship apart. Twenty mines had stripped the hull plating bare, and the remaining thirty turned the interior of the ship into space dust.
Fawzia blinked with each flash of light created by a detonating mine. Her feeling of satisfaction increased with each explosion. She didn't care that her fighter was being surrounded by police. She didn't care when they attached tow lines to her ship and dragged her away. She just watched the Jerusalemites burn, and smiled. With their deaths, she had sent Allah a message: Her wrath would not spare him.
Fawzia's case puzzled the Liberty justice system. She didn't try to lie about what she did: she pleaded guilty to the murder and artifact smuggling charges. But her federal-appointed lawyer brought up the fact that she had escaped their initial attack and was looking for revenge. Revenge was still illegal, but it did lessen the sentence. Fawzia didn't care one way or another. She had wiped out one of her enemies, and it didn't matter whether she was in prison or space when it came to hunting down Allah. That had to be done through spirit and meditation.
She was sentenced to eight years in prison on board the Sugarland. She spent most of her time there in quiet seclusion, except for when she was put to work in the prison's factories. There were three noteworthy events for her while she was in prison:
First, a Jerusalemite attacked her while she was eating dinner. He had tried to stab her with a fork, but she smashed her food tray into his face and shoved her thumbs into his trachea before the guards could get her away from him. He died there of suffocation.
Second, she was approached by a member of the Xenos. He tried to recruit her, but she declined. She wasn't interested in petty squabbles between Libertonians. She had larger issues.
The final, most promising opportunity arose when she received a visitor. A well-groomed man in a gray suit was waiting on the opposite side of a clear pane of glass, holding a corded phone to his ear. Fawzia picked up the reciprocal phone on her side of the glass and waited for him to speak. He was silent, staring into her eyes, studying her. Then, he greeted her.
"Salaam Alaikum, Fawzia Dokhtar-i-Sanjar bint Rizzo Abd al-Qaadir Sanjar-i-Dokhtar ibn Rustam Temptir ibn Abul al-Maliik Dokhtar-i-Sanjar." said the man in fluent Arabic. Fawzia smiled pleasantly. It was always nice to meet people who spoke her dialect; however, she knew that her name was the extent of his knowledge.
"I am here to offer you employment," he said, "I represent the Bounty Hunter's Guild. We offer rehabilitating citizens such as yourself a chance to start over with a clean slate. I've taken a personal interest in your case, especially your statement where you expressed your desire to.. Kill your own god."
Fawzia nodded, not saying anything. The man continued.
"We in the Guild are always looking for such.. Unique motivation. When you are released, come find me on Deshima Station in Shikoku. We'll see about giving you the chance to meet Him."
The man hung up his phone, leaving a bemused yet intrigued Fawzia behind. She looked forward to the next two years in Sugarland. They would be the most interesting years of her life.