From Darkness - Printable Version

From Darkness - Printable Version

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From Darkness - Manticore - 07-28-2013

THE CHARACTERS

JAMES LAMBERT is an officer in the Liberty Navy’s primary fleet. He graduated from West Point Military Academy in 819 AS, and entered service as an active duty officer. He was shot down by Rogues in the Badlands a few months later, and was imprisoned on Buffalo Base. There he met Pita, the young girl who ended up helping him escape Rogue captivity. He went on to lead an operation to rescue the girl from the clutches of the Rogue second-in-command, Ruby. In early 820, Pita unexpectedly left Liberty, and Lambert, sick with grief, abandoned his duty to go look for her. Recently he has found his way back into the Navy, but remains carefully scrutinized due to his erratic behavior, history of mental instability, and cardamine addiction.

LISA JAEGER is a skilled computer hacker currently operating as a freelancer. Despite being young, she has already served a stint in the elite Sabre Wing of the Bretonian Armed Forces, which has since been exiled from Bretonia and disbanded. Prior to that, Lisa did unlawful work for a pair of mysterious men, who trained her and had her working for them to repay a debt passed down from her father. She is now working alongside James Arland, another former Sabre.

STEVEN FALKLAND is an officer in the Liberty Navy’s primary fleet, having transferred there from the Bretonian Armed Forces in late 819 AS. Falkland keeps to himself and is not seen as friendly or approachable by other Navy officers, but he does his job exceptionally well. Relatively little is known about his background or past, except for a long service record in the Armed Forces.

CONTENTS

RE: From Darkness - Manticore - 07-28-2013

STEVEN

The shuttle quivered almost imperceptibly as it was released from the tractors holding it, dropping through the airlock and into open space. Lieutenant Steven Falkland sat alone inside the passenger compartment. He was distinctly glad for this, for he had cultivated a strong dislike of his fellow officers over the course of his blessedly brief time in the Liberty Navy.

He looked forward to spending the next few short minutes in some genuine silence, for once. These people did not respect the power of silence, rather they reveled in the loud and obnoxious lifestyle that they polluted the rest of the galaxy with. Even their military depots were a constant barrage of deafening sound. All the better, for Steven Falkland’s job would have been immeasurably more difficult if everyone else remained as quiet as he.

He glanced out the viewport across from him, watching the Battleship James disappear into the admittedly beautiful background of the highly-secure Virginia system. So much power was manifested here, and so much secrecy. The Libertonians hid much here, far out of the public eye, and it was his job to uncover it.

He allowed himself a small smile. His work thus far had been… exceptional. He was Lieutenant Steven Falkland, originally of the Bretonian Armed Forces, reassigned to the Liberty Navy in order to train their pilots in the use of the Templar Very Heavy Fighter. As far as anyone here in Liberty knew, he was a three-year veteran of the Gallic war, and had fought in the Kusari war before that.

It had not been easy. He had spent weeks immersing himself in the enemy culture, memorizing sayings, euphemisms, and even jokes. He had questioned a captive for days until he had perfected the tones of the Leeds accent. The records had all been inserted ahead of time, and he had slid into the role as effortlessly as putting on a new set of clothes. Now, today, he finally began the final phase of his preparations by assuming his first command.

The deck shuddered beneath his feet as the shuttle settled into the docking bay of Richmond Military Academy. He stood, carefully smoothing his uniform and straightening the accursed necktie. Damned things were hundreds of years out of date, but for some reason the Liberty Navy insisted on them for most formal uniforms. His service blue uniform was rather sparse– lacking any distinctive ornamentation by design. He was meant not to draw any unnecessary attention, after all. Hat tucked under his arm, he ducked out the hatch, striding confidently across the massive hanger bay.

His new command was a Buffalo-class Heavy Assault Ship, the Mesa Verde. It had been refitted from the hull of a Bison-class supertransport to support two full companies of Liberty Marines along with a pair of Kodiak-class Assault Freighters for rapid insertion. The Kodiaks had been offloaded into the hanger, where several squads of Marines milled about, busy loading equipment and checking over suits of battle armor.

Falkland walked through them, headed for the docking tube that connected to the Mesa Verde itself, moored right outside. Several heads turned as Marines noticed his Navy uniform and perhaps began to put the pieces together.

He arrived at the tube and handed his ID card to the Marine standing on duty. Despite having been in this role for months without hiccup, he still could not avoid feeling a slight twinge of nerves as the Marine dutifully took the card, ran it through his handheld scanner, and scrutinized it.

Steven Alexander Falkland. Lieutenant, Liberty Navy Primary Fleet. Service Number 897-14624.

He repeated his mantra in his head over and over while he frowned at the Marine seemingly taking an eternity to confirm his identity. Finally, the man nodded and handed the card back to Falkland, saluting. He sharply returned the salute and entered the tube.

After a short zero-gee swim across the tube, he stepped through the other side and onto his ship for the first time. Liberty did not keep to the same anachronistic formalities that the Bretonians did, so there were no side parties or bosun’s pipes. Instead, only a single man awaited him, wearing a blue service uniform just like his. Falkland stepped up to the man, who immediately saluted.

Before returning the salute, Falkland looked over the man’s uniform with a practiced glance, taking in all the details in the blink of an eye. He noted the single stripe of an ensign on the man’s cuffs, as well as telltale marks that indicated there had once been a second stripe there too. A swath of color across his chest, with ribbons and stars for bravery, combat action, and even a POW stripe, was sharp contrast to Falkland’s own nearly-empty chest. This was the most decorated ensign he’d ever seen.

He looked this tall ensign in the eye and returned his salute.

“Welcome aboard the Mesa Verde, sir. I’m Ensign Lambert, and I will be serving as your exec for this tour.”

Falkland nodded. “Command had informed me that I would be receiving a Naval exec for this vessel, but they were unable to give me more detail at the time.”

“Well, sir, I have a history with this ship. She’s a good one, and these marines are the best in the Corps, I can assure you.”

Falkland suppressed the urge to sneer, already angered by this ensign’s casual tone. This could prove to be a very long tour of duty indeed. Instead, he nodded brusquely.

“Should we head to the bridge? I’m sure the men would like to hear from their new skipper, sir.” The ensign’s voice rose expectantly, and he smiled confidently.

“I suppose that would be best…” Falkland said quietly, while mentally lamenting the fact that he needed this brief command on his record in order to become eligible for the true prize…

“Lead the way, Ensign.”

RE: From Darkness - Manticore - 07-28-2013

LISA

Lisa Jaeger and James Arland touched down at a public spaceport in one of the seediest sectors of Houston. The massive pad was jammed with ships in various states of disrepair, and it was a struggle to find space to set their fighters down.

Lisa popped the hatch of her Sabre after activating the security system, and made sure to buckle her gun belt on before climbing down. She sighted James' Eagle several ships over and started walking in his direction. She spotted the man himself, wearing a heavy coat, and even from this distance thought she recognized the bulk of the nanosuit she’d helped build for him lurking underneath.

"It's been a while since I saw you in person," he said with a smile as she approached. He towered over her, and she noticed his jet-black hair had been permitted to grow to a comfortable length, now that they were no longer in the military.

She adjusted the gun belt over her slim grey jumpsuit. "Yeah, it has. Good to be breathing a little ‘fresh’ air again." She made a face at the revolting smell of the spaceport around them.

"Fresh seems about right. Either way, respectable citizens such as ourselves should fit right in.” His voice was tinged with his trademark brand of sarcasm.

Lisa nodded. “JADE, please determine where the shipment is going from here.” JADE was Lisa’s AI companion, and was able to communicate directly with her and James through the small receivers in their ears.

"Of course," JADE replied through the receivers in both of their ears, her voice noticeably echoing with a synthetic tone. “At the moment, I can tell you that it is headed toward those warehouses to the west.”

They started walking, and Lisa pulled out a cigarette and lit it, seemingly lost in thought.

James lifted an eyebrow upon seeing the cigarette. He chuckled, cracking a half-smile. "Should I give you the spiel about your lungs and their now intimate relationship with tar and nicotine?"

Lisa shrugged, blowing a long trail of smoke into the wind. "They... help me relax, and these are pure Cambridge smokes, so they don't have nearly as many impurities. Besides, they contribute to my ‘bad girl’ persona."

"Ah, I used to smoke a bit before, actually. Dropped it when I realized the habit was growing too much on me." He paused. "You know, this place might actually have a few dangers. Probably plenty of morons who just see a pretty face and act accordingly."

Lisa nodded, but seemed unfazed by both the warning and the compliment. She was still a tiny slip of a girl, but she carried herself with a confidence that didn't waver as she walked through the seedy neighborhood. "Well, I guess that’s why I have a big strong man in battle armor to protect me.” She turned to him and grinned wickedly, cigarette clenched in the corner of her mouth.

He laughed openly at this. "Keep up that attitude and soon you’ll be the one protecting me instead. Seriously, though, have you been going to the range like I told you to?”

Lisa shrugged. "I've been when I've had the time..."

James frowned, staying silent for a long moment. “JADE, do you have a solid read on the shipment yet?”

"Yes, I do. According to the security cameras, it will be in Warehouse C, but it is about to be resold. The Junkers who purchased them from the Colonial are now selling to a group of Xenos. I have managed to confirm the identities of three of the five Xenos, and have forwarded that information to your neural net."

James withdrew what appeared to be another piece of the suit from a coat pocket, pulling it down over his face. It was a full face mask with a visor - the carbon nanotube fibers from the mask and the rest of the suit knit together intelligently to form a seamless seal. The display inside lit up and Lisa assumed James was perusing the intel.

"Hm. Savory, savory people. I read at least fifteen counts of assault and robbery on all of these fine gentlemen put together. Six counts of first-degree murder. And one count of bestiality."

"Fantastic," Lisa said, sarcastically. "When's the deal going down?"

"Based on what I'm seeing, very soon," JADE replied. "Between two and four minutes from now."

"What's our plan?" Lisa asked, looking to James.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that if I make a very unsubtle entrance, wave a gun at them and pretend to be a cop, the Junkers will run off. The Xenos will likely try and stand their ground, since they really want this shipment." He rubbed the chin area of the mask contemplatively. "Now, question is - what to do with our friends, the Xenos? I didn't bring nonlethal ammo. So what do you think?”

"I've never really been opposed to killing Xenos on principle, but they might know something useful. JADE, any help you can offer us from there?"

"The warehouse does not provide many sophisticated options. Their electronics are limited to a basic security system with cameras. I could kill the power or open the bay doors, but I do not see a way to directly incapacitate the hostiles." James calmly checked his compact Libertonian submachinegun. Fortunately, it was a model commonly used by the LPI.

"So I'll try to keep one of them still breathing. JADE, wait until you detect that the funds for the munitions go through, then cut the power. I'll blast my way through the gate with some detwire, then we'll see if my amateur psychologist theory holds up.”

He looked to Lisa. "Want to come in and wave a gun around in there with me? It'll be more convincing, and it'll be fun. I swear."

Lisa forced a grin. "Hell yes I do!" She faked a good dose of enthusiasm as she yanked her pistol free from her belt, racking a round into the chamber. "Are we trying to actually hit the Xenos or just scare them?”

James just shrugged. "Eh, we’ll see."

As they drew closer to Warehouse C, James prepared his detwire string. "Any sentries on our approach, JADE?"

"Negative. I believe this group thinks that their obscure location provides them all the privacy they need. I estimate that it will be easy to approach them."

James strolled up to the door, carefully lining it with enough detonation cord to blow out a good-sized hole. "Okay, time to see if I can feign that particular speech impediment - a Libertonian accent. Ready when you are, JADE. Sync the wire charge three seconds after the power cut for maximum effect."

"Understood," JADE said. "Five, four, three..."

Lisa readied her weapon, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm her racing heart. With an effort, she managed to get her emotions partially in check, and squeezed the metal grip of her pistol as tightly as she could.

"Lights out. Charge in two, one..."

(Credit to l3wt for his character's portion of this chapter.)

RE: From Darkness - Manticore - 07-29-2013

LAMBERT

It had been an excruciatingly long day, and Lambert’s patience and decorum had been taken to the very brink by having to deal with Lieutenant Steven Falkland. Several uncomplimentary descriptions of the man ran through his mind, each more vulgar than the one before. It was clearly going to be a long deployment aboard the Mesa Verde, for not only was this man commanding the ship that should be Lambert’s, he was seemingly going out of his way to make his subordinate’s lives more difficult.

The only solace Lambert could find in the situation was that the lieutenant didn’t seem to have any real interest in the marines or their work. Perhaps that would leave Lambert some room to spend a little more time among the marines than he would otherwise. That was assuming the damned lieutenant would lay off him for long enough, of course.

He sighed and leaned back in his pilot’s seat, the trade lane glowing outside the cockpit glass slowly fading to black as he closed his eyes. Things had really been starting to look up for him - until today. Funny how that always seemed to work out – the thing he’d been looking forward to the most turned out to be the biggest disappointment.

After a long moment, he opened his eyes again. The Hudson gate was looking back at him through the glass, as if taunting him to pass through. Technically he wasn’t supposed to patrol so close to the Rheinland border alone, but tonight he desperately wanted to. He had last seen Pita in Hudson two months ago, and every week or so he found himself battling the urge to swing by Atka just one more time… just to check.

Damn it, man. She’s gone. You’re going to have to deal with it.

Yet… somehow his hand found its way down to the console, and initiated the docking sequence.

Inside the endless tunnel of light that carried him to Hudson, he lamented his lack of good sense.

* * *

After taking the lane to Atka, he was surprised to pick up an unidentified contact on his scopes. It wasn’t reading as hostile, which a Rheinland Military patrol certainly would, and it was too small to be a transport.

For the barest moment, he felt a glimmer of hope, despite the realist within him insisting it was all but impossible.

Yet as he drew closer, his scans grew more detailed. Definitely a light fighter, and with that shape… it had to be a Liberator.

It can’t be. There’s no way.

Yet his hand reached to key the comm, and he spoke into his headset. “Is that who I…?” With a choking noise he cut the sentence off. He was embarrassing himself. This was no way for an officer of the Liberty Navy to behave.

Space was silent for a long, agonizing moment.

Then a voice crackled to life on the other end of the comm. “Hi…”

It was Pita’s voice, without the barest shade of a doubt. Against all odds, he’d found her once again.

(Credit to Widow for her character's portion of this chapter.)

RE: From Darkness - Manticore - 07-29-2013

LISA

The wire charge blasted through the door in a white-hot flash, briefly illuminating the now darkened warehouse. James burst through, weapon at the ready. Lisa followed close behind, desperately trying to remember everything from the shooting lessons he'd given her.

James put on the thickest Houston accent he could fake, and screamed at the folks inside.

"LPI, MORONS! GET ON THE GROUND!" She also saw him activate the tactical light on his weapon – effectively blinding the hostiles through the gloom.

For her part, Lisa elected to remain silent. Her unique Rheinlander/Bretonian accent would certainly spoil the ruse. She kept her weapon up at the ready, and watched as the group of men in front of her hit the deck obediently, while the group of men across the warehouse ducked to cover under a cloud of vile cursing.

"Suspects taking cover, open fire!"

Lisa watched James squeeze off a quick burst of fire that caught a Xeno who had been too slow to reach cover. The wounded man writhed to the floor.

"One down!" he shouted, slipping on the accent now. Not that anybody would really notice at this point.

Lisa abruptly realized she was still standing in the open like an idiot. She squeezed off several wild shots and then slid across the concrete floor to take cover behind a large crate.

Catching a glimpse of James behind a pillar across from her, she quickly ducked out from cover, bringing her pistol up and instinctually squeezing off several more rounds at the dim shape of the cluster of crates the Xenos hid behind. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Junkers still flat on the ground. Several seemed to be scuttling towards the closest exit.

"JADE, make sure you're painting those targets for James!" she shouted as she popped out to fire wildly into the darkness again.

James shouted to her. "Cover me!" He then broke from cover, moving to flank. With the suit's assistance, the glimmer of his movement was eerily precise, verging on being robotic. Unlike for Lisa, the darkness was not a hindrance for James.

Lisa popped from cover again, wildly firing more rounds towards the crates in a panicked effort to cover him. Through her earpiece, she heard the rumble of James’ laughter as he opened up with the flash of a precise burst of fire. She marveled at how well the suit worked in action.

Lisa’s pistol clicked after it discharged the magazine's last round, and she promptly ducked back into cover to reload.

When she emerged from cover again, it was already over. She stood, making her way to James just as the last Xeno babbled out his surrender, his gun already on the floor. She glanced at the Junkers, noting that two had crawled away in the dark confusion and only three now remained.

"The area is secure," JADE piped in, "and three Junkers are in custody. There is also a wounded Xeno on the south side of the building in addition to this one. I will bring the lights back up now."

James nodded, turning back to the surrendered Xeno as the lights began to snap back to life, one by one. "Stay. Here. Take this biofoam hypo, fill up your friend's wound cavity with it, and go find a hospital. AFTER I leave.”

The Xeno nodded rapidly, quickly snatching the hypo from James' hand and rushing over to his friend.

Seeing that James had the situation under control, Lisa stepped over to monitor the Junkers still lying prostrate on the floor. "What's the plan for these Junkers? Since I think I know your intention for the munitions..."

“Junkers, I assume have already received the pay for these goods? If you walk away now, you get to keep it. If you won't keep quiet, then I will find you, and I will put a bullet in each one of you. Have I made myself clear?"

They nodded, and then scurried away as quickly as possible.

“JADE, which crate are the munitions in?” After a pause, he spoke again. “Thank you,” he said, walking over to a black crate. Lisa assumed JADE had simply painted it as a target on his visor.

"Might as well check it out. I'll keep an eye on these." She nodded towards the Xenos.

"This had better be good stuff…" James muttered as he unsealed it. He let out a low whistle as he perused the contents. "There's enough in here to arm half a company!”

He took out various items, inspecting them. "Ys-35 tachyon rifle. Eh, energy weapons are for plebs. Powerful, though. Vaegir handguns. Common things. Bison 890 sniper rifles. Fair enough, but I already have Old Faithful…”

He paused, continuing to talk to himself as he rummaged through the contents. “Oh… hey, Lisa! Check this out! They have missile launchers and high-yield explosives in here too, enough to blow up a space station." He paused again as he found something particularly interesting. "Hellooo, where have you been all my life?"

The thing he pulled out of the crate was about as long as he was - a complex power mechanism was housed in the main body, with a magnetic rail covering the length of the barrel. "A Harkannon Multipurpose Railgun! This piece alone probably cost a couple million credits. I never thought I'd see the day…"

"That's... a gun? Looks like it should be mounted on a ship or something.” She frowned, not seeing the practical value in such a monstrosity. “There wouldn't happen to be any electronics in there, would there?"

He took out one of the missiles, turning it over in his hands. "Well, no actual computers, but these things have some fancy tech in them. Guidance and control systems mostly. I think you might find it useful. I think I also saw some military grade ship-based sensor modules. That’s pretty powerful hardware."

Lisa nodded. "Yeah, I could probably use those. Maybe make a fancy toy or two." Glancing around, she added, “Let’s bring one of the ships in here and load up the good stuff."

JADE had access to the piloting computer of Lisa’s Sabre, so she brought the ship into the warehouse through the bay door. Lisa and James loaded up the munitions.

"Well, job's done. Wanna get out of here?"

"Yeah. We should probably start tracking down a place to settle in and establish ourselves. Houston's not the best spot for that, but it is the best spot to get the real low-down on what's going on in Liberty."

James nodded. “Good idea. I’ll see you in space.”

(Credit to l3wt for his character's portion of this chapter.)

RE: From Darkness - Manticore - 07-30-2013

LAMBERT

James Lambert sat in stunned silence for a long moment. Hearing Pita’s voice for the first time in several long months was a complete shock to his system.

“Wow… honestly I didn’t expect to run into you out here again,” he finally said. Another pause – this was far more difficult for him than it should be.

“Uh… so how have you been? With Buster and everything, I mean.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Pita initiated a video link with his ship. She appeared on-screen, looking much as he had left her. Her wide blue eyes met his, and she shrugged slightly.

“I’m okay. Buster has stuff to do that he doesn’t want me there for so I stay here a bit…” She sounded distinctly sad, and she looked away.

“Over at Cold Bay?” Lambert asked. “I guess that’s…” he paused again, deciding to change direction. “So Buster’s home is out here somewhere, huh?”

“He’s like me, he doesn’t really have a home,” Pita said. “It got destroyed or something…”

“Oh…” Lambert said, starting to put the pieces together. “So you’ve been living on that big ol’ Pilgrim with him?” He tried to smile to encourage her, but it was difficult.

She shook her head. “No, not really.”

Lambert was confused. “So you’ve been staying at Cold Bay more often?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “The people there are kind of nice.”

Lambert frowned deeply. When he had left Pita with Buster, he had extracted a promise from the ex-Rogue that he would take good care of her and keep her safe. This was all wrong.

“Pita, when I said you could stay with him, that wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind…” he locked eyes with her, unable to keep his rising fury for Buster’s lies under control. “Are you happy with that situation?”

She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “He just has things to sort out that he doesn’t want me there for. It’s okay… some of the times.”

He nodded slowly, his anger now being overcome by sadness at the realization that it was ultimately his fault that the girl had been left in the care of the blasted Rogue. “Well, Pita… I’ve always wanted you to be happy. If you’d rather be someplace else, then I can help with that.”

She looked down, twitching her shoulders into a shrug. “Where else would I go?”

Lambert exhaled, looking away from his screen for a long moment. Finally, he turned back to her, forcing a smile. “Anywhere you want, kiddo. Any place in the entire sector, I’ll make it happen.”

Quietly, she said, “I miss our house.”

Hope soared within him. “Really? I… still own it, actually. Went back the other day, even. I was planning on selling it…”

Pita looked a little confused. “Do you want to sell it?”

“Well, that was what I was thinking. It’s too big for just me, and too filled with… sad memories.” He sighed, recalling his visit to the house along with all the ghosts of happier days it had conjured.

Pita frowned, clearly not understanding. “But it wasn’t sad there…”

He tried to think of how to explain. “It wasn’t at the time, but for me, now, it is. Makes me think back on all the happy times, all the stuff I threw away when I left…”

“Oh…” she said, clearly in thought.

He cracked a smile. “But if you did decide that you wanted to come back, I reckon it just might make that old house livable again.”

She nodded, smiling too. “And will it be our house again?”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “I daresay it would be, Pita. Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“I don’t get to see Buster much. He’s always away doing work.” She smiled sadly, shrugging.

Lambert sighed, shaking his head. “At least he had the decency not to involve you directly. But if I’d known, I would’ve been down here a lot sooner.”

“It’s okay, I can look after myself.” She paused a moment, thinking. “Hey James? Why did you come down here?”

He tried to think of a good way to explain it. “Really just for the small chance of seeing you or Buster. I guess it worked.”

“It’s a long way to come down here just to maybe see me.” She frowned, still looking confused.

He shrugged, smiling. “Texas is only one system away. But even if this were Omicron Alpha, I’d still want to find a way to check up anyways.”

“You’re strange,” Pita said, with complete solemnity.

He actually laughed at that, for what felt like the first time in years. “That I am. But I still care about you, even if I was… silly and ran away from it when you went looking for Buster.”

He paused, then sobered for a moment. “And I'm sorry for that. I don't think you'll ever be able to understand just how sorry I truly am.”

Quietly, she said, “If you’re as sorry as I am for going to find Buster, then that’s a lot.”

He nodded, then cracked a smile. “You know what we should do? Stop feeling bad about all this silliness and go home. How's that sound, kiddo?”

Pita’s eyes lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically. “Can we? Really?”

He grinned. “Honestly, I would like nothing more in the entire universe.”

(Credit to Widow for her character's portion of this chapter.)

RE: From Darkness - Manticore - 08-06-2013

INTERLUDE

Smoke hung in the air all around, refracting light in strange ways. The world was so… grey. Grey and dark and confusing.

He lurched to the side as everything shuddered one way, and then the other. Faintly he heard distant yelling, as if a man were screaming at him from across a very wide canyon. The sound echoed, and he could not make out what was being said.

His stomach convulsed, and by instinct he lowered his head as he vomited. As he darkened the floor of burnished grey steel, he abruptly realized that he had no idea where this was.

Then, he realized that he had no idea who he was, either. And yet - for some reason, that didn’t matter.

He was seated, leaned against a wall with legs splayed out in front of him. Slowly, he pulled his head up from the pool of vomit at his side and looked into the smoky haze like a diviner attempting to see the future. Shapes shifted in the fog, occasionally there were flashes and loud sounds.

Looking down at himself, he saw that he was wearing plated steel of some sort. Some sort of armor – darkened with the wet slick of what could only be blood.

It was then that he noticed the insignia on his chest. Stenciled all in white, a half star with fading lines away from the rear… it brought forth an echo in his scrambled mind.

Liberty.

RE: From Darkness - Manticore - 09-12-2013

LAMBERT

The padded fist connected with his head, sending James Lambert reeling backwards two steps. He brought his gloved hands up in an instinctive guard, and realized his mistake a moment before his opponent’s other fist ended up in his stomach.

He doubled over, lungs suddenly devoid of all air. Realizing he was finished, he raised his right hand, signaling the end of the bout.

It took a long moment before he could breathe well enough to speak again. “Nice move there, Gunny. I didn’t see that one coming,” he said, breathily.

The gruff voice of his opponent, Gunnery Sergeant Conor Brack, responded in a chiding tone. “You never see anything coming, Lieutenant. Maybe one day we’ll get your soft Navy rear in shape enough to prove a small challenge to a greenhorn Marine! We’ll see.”

The gunny laughed, a booming, raucous sound that echoed through the noise of the military gym. The man, several inches shorter than Lambert but built with all the lean strength and ferocity of a jaguar, stepped over and lazily clapped him on the back. “You did better that time, though. I think I actually broke a sweat before taking you down.”

He laughed again, but this time Lambert detected a hint of respect in the man’s voice. For someone with the advanced training and combat record of Gunny Brack, that was praise enough. At least it was a small victory, something to remember fondly as he dealt with this week’s round of bruises.

He and the Gunny stepped out of the circular boxing ring, and Lambert calmly removed his gloves and left them for the next combatants. Unsurprisingly, another pair of the Mesa Verde’s marines stepped up right away. The pair of boxing rings in this small gym were hot commodities among these marines, and it was still a wonder to Lambert that he was even tolerated in the gym during peak hours. Not only was he tolerated, he was treated with respect. Considering the long-standing animosity between the ever-shrinking Marine Corps and the ever-growing Navy, such a state of affairs was highly unusual, to say the least.

Lambert grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off his bare chest as he walked towards the locker room. “Same time next week, Gunny?” he asked as Brack stepped over to a rack of weights.

“Damn straight, El-Tee,” the sergeant replied. “Keep practicing that feint I showed you!”

Lambert nodded wryly and stepped into the locker room.

* * *

Just under an hour later, he was back in uniform and politely pretending to listen to Admiral Danforth, CO of Washington Shipyard, brief him and Lieutenant Falkland on the enhancements the yard was currently almost finished building into their ship.

It might have been an interesting briefing, aside from two small things. First, Admiral Danforth, the fat, balding career officer who had been put well out of the way in this esteemed but meaningless posting, was perhaps the dullest man Lambert had ever met. He spoke in flat monotones, without inflection or any sign of interest in what he was talking about. Lambert suppressed the urge to smile as he realized the admiral likely felt the same way as he did about this unnecessary meeting.

The Book, in its infinite wisdom, dictated that every command staff must be briefed in person about any changes or alterations done on their ship, despite the fact that by this point, any command staff worth a posting would be well up to date on the plans and proceeding work, thanks to the daily progress reports from the yard. So the admiral was essentially required to re-hash information he and Falkland had known for weeks now.

Lambert glanced over at Lieutenant Falkland. The man, as usual, hid behind his impeccable poker face. He was attentively focused on the admiral, nodding at all the proper times. Yet by now, Lambert saw the signs that Falkland too was on autopilot. The eyes were what gave it away – the rapt focus the man usually possessed was now replaced with a mere attentive gaze. It was a subtle distinction, but Lambert had learned that Lieutenant Falkland was nothing if not subtle. The man, to Lambert’s constant frustration, was never rattled or bothered by anything. He was, ultimately, passive – like a hawk floating far above, observing everything but acting on nothing.

The admiral launched into another dull explanation of the added armor plating that was currently being installed on the ship. Lambert reviewed his mental checklist of all the changes, smiling to himself as he realized that this was one of the last ones to go over. Hopefully they’d be able to quickly cover the extra hanger bay, and then he’d be free to…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the hatch hissing open behind him. He turned to see a naval rating step into the room, quietly waiting for the admiral to pause before proffering a small physical envelope.

“Sorry to interrupt, sirs. This transmission just came in for Lieutenant Falkland, and it’s marked top priority.”

Falkland reached out, snatching it from the rating’s hand with an air of distrust. Admiral Danforth only smiled paternally at the young rating, gesturing for him to leave.

Lambert pointedly did not look over at Falkland as he heard the antique sound of ripping paper as the envelope was opened. Only a few sorts of dispatches were still delivered to an officer in the form of physical letters, and none of them were the type to take lightly.

He waited an appropriate amount of time for the man to read through the dispatch, then turned to face him. “Anything I should be aware of, sir?”

Falkland glanced up, having been furtively reading the paper. His face remained masklike, but there was a spark of angry fire in his blue eyes as he glared at Lambert.

A long moment passed, and then Falkland turned to the admiral. “I’m sorry, Admiral Danforth. We’ll need to cut this meeting short. I must be back to my ship.”

“What’s going on, Lieutenant?” the admiral asked with only a hint of idle curiosity.

Falkland glanced at Lambert, then back to the admiral. “We’ve been activated, sir. Our orders are to head to the Rheinland border as soon as the alterations are finished.”

RE: From Darkness - l3wt - 09-29-2013

ARLAND

Norfolk Shipyard.

Oldest and greatest shipyard in Liberty, churning out warship after warship for the might of the Liberty Navy, and a great many high-end civilian vessels. The place was enormous, and a major hub for spacefaring military and civilians both.

James Arland smiled as he slowly approached the station in his beloved Eagle. He was here under the pretense of giving the slightly battered and well-worn craft a tuneup, which wasn't a complete lie.

He just had other business to attend to while he was here. After consulting his hacker friend, Lisa Jaeger, he had decided to run a little errand into Liberty's heart, to enhance their security net by placing a completely - well, sort of completely - innocent communications tap program into one of the terminals on board. It was an ingenious little thing: An AI based heuristics system that would integrate with the communications suite on board the station and sift through transmisions it snapped up from traffic, then feed it back piecemeal to Lisa computers, entire star systems away.

While not powerful enough to decrypt well secured signals undetected, it would give them a greatly improved picture of current events in Liberty.

Only problem was that they could not upload the little wonder into the system remotely, so James had to find a place to physically connect the memory unit containing it and introduce it to Norfolk's systems.

Thus, after docking and signing an agreement for an (in his opinion) extortionate sum of money in exchange for fixing up the system glitches and hull stresses accumulated from many, many hours of flight time... In addition to the damage caused by the slightly bizarre event in which the Bretonian mercenary had tried to drunkenly connect a man-portable rail-gun to his ship systems to prove a point, James Arland went for a "walk."

Upon disembarking he gently rolled his flight-stiffened neck around in its socket for a bit and wandered, not quite aimlessly, amidst impatient merchants, bored looking security teams, military pilots, and the myriad other kinds of people you're liable to find in a popular shipyard, mentally mapping the place out.

He'd opted to leave behind the advanced armour system for this little run, handy though it was. Far too conspicuous here, even with the greatcoat covering it up. Instead, a nondescript gray and black pilot's outfit was his attire for the day, and he looked every bit like the common spacer as he turned away from the waiting hub areas, and down a narrower hallway.

He'd been on a lot of space stations, and they almost universally had paths specifically designated for maintenance access. The further he kept going away from the manufacture/docking areas and towards station command and control, the better were his odds to find somewhere to slip in his little gadget.

After a few turns, he found what he was looking for. This corridor was nearly deserted - boring steel walls and floor, but with a black/yellow label on one of the wall panels clearly spelling out that this was indeed a maintenance accessway.

He took one quick glance around for cameras, didn't see any that monitored this hatch specifically. He made his approach, acting as casual as he could be.

Then he stopped in his tracks when he noticed that someone had followed him. He turned, looking the newcomer up and down. Liberty Navy officer uniform. Lieutenant by the looks of it. Blue eyes. Clean shaven, very tall, a few centimetres taller than Arland himself, and he was already a pretty damned tall man.

Arland gave a sardonic smirk.

"Stretching your legs?"

The officer in turn quickly sized up the dark-haired man in front of him, noticing the Bretonian accent right away. The corners of his mouth turned downwards into a slight frown.

"Something like that. Mind telling me what you're doing down here..." he paused, glancing at the man's obvious lack of uniform, "... civilian?"

"Much the same as you, I imagine. Killing time, while my ship is being fixed up. Crowds tire me."

It would take one motion and a twitch to put a pistol round in this guy's face, Arland carefully measured. But that would be a whole other mess, a weight on his conscience, and they'd hunt him from here to Gallia if they had to.

That, and this bloke looked sharper than most of the Navy's excuses for officers, and he looked none too happy to see someone down here.

Instead, he briefly glanced to his left. Corridor continued down that way. On his right, a wall panel that would allow him access to the systems in this sector of the station, where he could upload his package. He could even see a bit of loose wiring sticking out from behind the panel.

The officer's eyes narrowed as he noticed the man's glances to either side. Yes, this one was definitely suspicious.

Arland noticed him slowly and deliberately rest his hands near the handgun holstered at his hip.

To his surprise, the officer kept the conversation going as well. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

The man smiled, quite possibly deliberately, pretending to abruptly remember his manners. "Lieutenant James Lambert, Primary Fleet," he said, extending his right hand.

Arland in turn stepped forward, and shook the proffered hand, watching the cautious demeanor very carefully.

He had to catch himself in not introducing himself as "Commander". Old habits die hard.

"Ah, a fellow James. Well, Lieutenant Lambert, my name is James Arland."

He afforded a glance down at the line of ribbons and medals before looking back at his eyes.

"My word, but I've yet to see any other lieutenant boast half the decorations you've got. That a Leeds Defense Force Ribbon I see there?"

A strange feeling of recognition struck him. Where had he seen those eyes before? He brushed the thought away, wasn't important.

"Have we met, Lieutenant? How long ago since you fought at Leeds?"

Lambert nodded. "A pleasure, Mr. Arland. I suppose my situation has always been... somewhat... unique, within the Navy."

Then he frowned. It was fairly obvious that he was trying to work out what Arland could be, and would be quite correct if he placed him as ex-BAF. "I don't believe we've met, though my memory sometimes eludes me. But yes, I was in Leeds... it would be seven or eight months ago, now. Didn't see much actual combat... we were focused a bit more on the logistical side of things. Evacuation, aid and relief, and such."

He paused for a moment, then continued. "You didn't mention your rank. Are you a former officer, or just off-duty at the moment?"

Arland leaned back against the wall, and began to spin a lie.

"I'm a former officer. Medical discharge, you see. I was a combat pilot, flew Templars like nobody's business. Got unlucky, my squad was on patrol. Was jumped by an entire wing's worth of fighters and we just had no chance against the numbers they they threw at us, cooked a few of the sorry bastards, but my squad died and I took a missile square on from the right, sent a good bit of shrapnel right through my neck. Surgeons barely got me in time. Good thing I wore a helmet, or my brain would have been so much potpourri."

He pulled down the back of his collar a bit, showing the cybernetic implant at the back of his neck.

"See? They fixed up the scarring and tissue damage pretty good, but the damage to my spine was too severe to keep me in service. I tell them I'm still good to fly, but they said that the stresses of military life runs a high risk of long-term health issues with my kind of injury, especially for a combat pilot. So, there went my glorious military career."

Lambert smiled and nodded, displaying his understanding clearly. Some doubt was still obvious on his face, however, likely originating from the fact that the BAF simply didn't let skilled manpower go like that.

"So you're out of the military, then. What are you doing instead, these days?" he asked. His curiosity seemed genuine enough.

"Once a spacer, always a spacer. And if Freelancers worried about health risks, there wouldn't be any, eh?" Arland trailed the sentence off with a rueful chuckle.

He made a little nonchalant gesture with his hand.

"Besides, I have enough things to do even when jobs are few. I hunt a bit, and I have a little sister that keeps finding ways to keep me busy."

"A freelancer then, huh? That's a tough life, especially after the military. Been there myself, recently... and I ended up back in uniform again. Funny how that works sometimes."

Lambert shrugged, seeming to lose focus for a moment. "My daughter keeps me busy enough, yes..." he paused, mentally shaking himself back into focus. It was time to cut to the chase.

"So tell me, James Arland the freelancer. What brings you down to Deck F's maintence accessway? Get lost on the way back to the public docking bays, perhaps?"

Arland figured there was no plausible way for him to persuade Lieutenant Lambert to simply let him continue trespassing, but he could at the very least attempt to get away from this matter scot-free and retry at a later opportunity.

"Something like that, I suppose. Just standing around waiting never really was my thing, so I figured I might as well take a walk and find somewhere quiet, as I mentioned."

Lambert didn't seem entirely convinced. But eventually, he shrugged, apparently dismissing him as an immediate threat to station security.

"Well, this area is technically off-limits to non-Navy personnel. It's not very clearly marked though..."

He glanced around for a moment.

"Let me show you back to the unrestricted area."

Arland in turn kept up his role, feigning innocent ignorance.

"Oh, so it is restricted? Simple enough mistake to make, I suppose. Didn't really see any signs, besides the fact that this place looks so deserted. Well, then, Lieutenant, I shall happilly accompany you, I figure the old rustbucket's been beaten back into shape by now, anyhow."

Lambert smiled, nodding. "Of course. Let me lead the way."

Lambert started walking out of the maintenence accessway, gesturing for Arland to follow.

"What do you fly, anyways?" he asked out of curiousity as they walked.

Some base predatorial instinct twitched in Arland's head twitched when he saw Lambert turn his back on him, urging that now was the time to strike, if ever, but rational thought reestablished itself within a fraction of a second, and he followed without complaint. He generated a bit of enthusiasm now, given the opportunity to talk about tech.

"Ah, I'm glad you asked! It's a CTE-6000 series Eagle, from the '05 production run. It's in pretty damn good shape, I've had it retrofit with enough aftermarket parts to give my old Templar a run for its money, maybe even a Gaul's Lynx. What about you, Lieutenant? I see the wings of a fighter jockey on your chest there, but damn if it isn't simple enough to be reassigned to fly a desk or a capital ship instead even after you've earned your wings."

Lambert grinned, turning back to Arland.

"The Eagle, huh? Good ship, hard to find one more nimble. And I always was a fan of those older-model ones too - all about the function and form without too many bells and whistles to weigh it down."

He paused a moment before continuing. "These days I fly the standard issue Guardian more or less exclusively. It's nothing fancy but it does everything well enough that it suits most any situation or opponent. I guess I'm lucky enough that I've been able to still fly fairly often, though I'm hardly an ace pilot. My personal ship is a Wasupu but it's been sitting in my hanger for months now. Between my Guardian and the Verde I'm pretty happy."

Arland nodded in understanding, pleased with the response.

"The Wasupu may not be as agile as my Eagle, but it's tough as an old boot, and it's got a deceptively low profile. Say what you will about the Guardian, but it's hard to miss! What was this Verde you were speaking of?"

"Yes, the Wasupu is a rather small target... but it's not the most comfortable for long flights, let me tell you."

Lambert shrugged. "The Verde is my current assignment. Bison-class transport currently undergoing refit. They're calling the new version a "Buffalo" Heavy Assault Ship. Basically it's a big ferry for fleet marine units. The only perk is that it lets me hone my own combat skills a bit alongside the best Liberty has to offer."

Arland paused for a moment, making connections in his head.

"Retrofitting transports to ferry marines into combat - doesn't bode well. Better stay very sharp, mate, that kind of stuff smells a lot like your brass has *plans*, and when admirals make plans, people tend to die in droves. Especially those whose postings include the words "heavy assault," just saying."

"That's probably a good observation. One war or the other, we'll end up on the front lines before long. Me, I just try and keep my head down and do my duty."

He thought for a moment. "I'm not in command this time, though. I guess we'll see what happens." There was a slight twist at the corner of his mouth, as if he'd remembered something unpleasant.

Arland shrugged in turn.

"Yeah, you'll just have to see where you end up, I suppose. That's just the way it is."

James took note of the increasing noise levels, the bustle of the shipyard's main hub areas were approaching.

"Well, it was good talking, Lieutenant. I'll take note of your posting, perhaps I'll see the Verde in space."

"Safe flight, Mr. Arland," Lambert replied, also noticing that they had arrived back to the unrestricted section of the station. "Perhaps we'll meet again someday."

Checking his neural net, he realized he should be making his way back to his ship. He looked one last time at the freelancer walking away from him, then headed off in another direction.
As he walked unhurriedly back towards his ship, Arland sent Lisa Jaeger a short message.

"Operation Safety Net delayed. No complications. Adjust timeframe for further activities in Liberty accordingly. "

RE: From Darkness - l3wt - 10-12-2013

ARLAND

The planet Hamburg was a decidedly dreary place, even at its warmest and most accommodating.

Its primary spaceport was set in the equatorial zone, which in the end did not count for much more than the fact that there wasn't much snow, at least.

Rain and hail, on the other hand, dominated the skies, which were steel-gray during the daylight hours, and a stygian black at night. And amongst the many people hurrying along from place to place at this particular spaceport, pulling thick overcoats around them and trying their level best to ignore the cold and sticking to lit streets was a particular Bretonian mercenary.

James Arland was, all things considered, reasonably happy. How could he not be, when today's work was in essence a long pub crawl which functioned as a good excuse to scrutinize the spacer talent that came through this port? He couldn't drink too much, he realized, if he was to be in shape to negotiate with potential partners in crime, but the hour was growing late, and he would have to put an end to the search soon.

One final pub, he decided. He'd sit there, drink in hand, and listen for an hour or two to conversations. The AI he and his partner Lisa Jaeger had built for themselves, JADE, would scour databases for records on names he picked up in conversation, or faces he could get pictures of, if he was in doubt.

So far nobody had fit the bill. Yet he would keep watch a little longer, he considered himself dutiful enough to keep on drinking for at least another few hours. He spotted a suitable location a few steps later – what looked to be a reasonably classy establishment and fairly full as well, based on what James could see through the foggy windows. The sign above the door – weathered and made of actual wood, James noted – read "Unsagbar". It would do just fine.

James stepped inside, immediately feeling the warmth provided by the place’s climate control system. He selected a seat, ordered a beer, and immediately started overhearing bits of conversation from nearby tables. He closed his eyes and listened closely for tell-tale phrases.

"You'll never get Lex out on a job - you know that, Tanya," a man said. "He doesn't give a damn about anything that's not aboard Wayfarer."

His companion, a woman, laughed. "Oh really? What if we raid a vodka distillery?"

James perked up upon hearing the word "job." Sipping his beer, he snuck a glance at the two speakers out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge their general shape, body language and demeanor. They were just across the aisle and behind him.

The man sat back, his voice carrying to James again. He seemed tall, with striking blue eyes and tousled dark hair. "The kid wouldn't let him! We'd still be on Honshu, otherwise." He spoke with a relaxed yet authoritative tone, and his voice carried a subtle drawl that James figured originated from somewhere in Liberty.

His companion, the woman, laughed again in a soft, melodic chuckle. "That's right; he got us out of there, didn't he? Blasted right through them without a care in the world." Her voice was soft Libertonian, with a sophisticated accent. Glancing at her, James saw that she was fairly small, with frosty blue eyes. Her hair was close to black, as far as James could determine in the dim light. She sat ramrod straight and moved her hands with mechanical precision that spoke of previous military experience.

James nodded to himself, deciding this was worth pursuing. He signaled the barkeep for another couple of beers. Once they were in his hands, he brought those and his own beer over to the speakers’ table, putting on a polite, confident smile.

"Mind if I sit?" he began.

He sat down before they could respond.

"I couldn't help but overhear, and now I'm wondering if the two of you can't help me drink these beers, and maybe tell me the story of what happened on Honshu."

The woman’s face shifted as she glared at the sudden intrusion. She looked about ready to stand and throw a challenge when the man placed a hand on her shoulder. He shot James a searching look, and then nodded calmly.

"Hello, friend. Name's Rob Shaw. This here is Tanya. And you are...?" He sat quietly, expecting an answer.

The tall Bretonian kept up the smile, unfazed by the reaction. Seeing as how Rob was seemingly the more diplomatically inclined, he decided to focus on him.

"I'm James Arland. Pleasure to meet you both. I'm terribly sorry about the intrusion, I meant no harm... and if you want me to leave, I'll leave. But I'd ask that you humor me for a moment, since you seem like the kind of people I might want to get to know. The kind that get things done."

Rob's eyes narrowed for a brief moment, and then he smiled magnanimously. "Why Tanya, I believe this man wants to hire us," he said, his tone now decidedly more hushed.

Tanya nodded silently. She still didn’t look comfortable with James’ presence.

Rob continued. "Please, James, tell me more. Whom do you represent?" The man finished his beer, reaching for one of the ones James had brought.

James' smile grew another centimeter before it faded and he adopted a sterner expression, as the officer within him emerged. He too spoke more quietly now, for this was not a conversation to be overheard. The tone was level and carefully modulated - he wanted to make sure he had their attention every step of the way.

"I realize this a rather... impromptu job offer, so please bear with me. I do not represent anyone - I'm freelance like I presume you are. I do, however, have a line on an urgent Rheinland Military logistical demand for this particular system. Munitions, sensor grid tech, construction materials – that sort of thing.

I also have good intel that in less than twenty-four hours, a heavy cargo freighter will be arriving here from outside of Rheinland to supply it. They've not yet sealed the deal with the Military."

He leaned forward. "A associate of mine and I intend to hijack this vessel and claim the deal for ourselves. The plan and the equipment is already prepared, all I need are a few more people who can keep their cool in a gunfight. You don't want to hear more, I'll take my drink and go. If you're interested... then we can talk details.”

Rob paused for a moment, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "Well, it sounds promising. Pardon us for a moment."

He turned to Tanya, and in a practiced manner they scooted closer together, leaned their heads in, and began whispering. A fairly long conversation seemed to play out, but James could not hear more than a word or two.

Finally, Rob turned back to James. "Very well, forgive our caution but this all seems a touch... suspicious." His eyes were steely, but he nodded. "Color us interested, at least. What, precisely, are you looking for us to do?"

James smiled slightly. "Very well. Here's what's going to happen." He took a paper napkin and fished a pen out of a pocket.

Then, he began to outline, with uncanny precision, the layout of a Gull-class cargo transport. Or more accurately, the deck containing the main airlock, through which they'd board the ship.

"Assuming a fireteam-size force taking the ship, we'd go about it like this. Mind, we have to do all of it with a great amount of speed and violence of action, since the less time the crew has to respond, the better."

He then proceeded to carefully explain how the assault would work, going through approaches, firing positions and all the other minutiae of a treacherous close quarters scenario. Until his finger reached something he'd labeled as life support.

"...Here we have some options unique to spaceships. We could try and cut life support entirely, but we'd all need personal oxygen supplies to do that. And they might be able to override anything we do down there from the bridge, unless I just bring tear gas grenades and flood the vents with them…”

He paused, looking up at them. “Do I have to prove my point further? If so, I'll need more napkins."

Both Rob and Tanya looked back at him with obvious surprise in their eyes. "Okay, you've made your point. This is not the time to go through all the minute details, but I believe I understand what you're asking for," Rob said.

Tanya pursed her lips, finally speaking. "The Military will pay well for this, sounds like. We're going to want a fair share of the take."

Rob nodded. "Me, Tanya here, and my man Kouta should be all the support you'll need, assuming your partner sets things up as you've described. For the three of us, work like this, we usually charge..." he hesitated, glancing at Tanya for confirmation, "about a million credits."

James calculated the risk of saying done deal. The haul was probably worth a lot more, but arguing a percentage basis might be more trouble than was worthwhile.

"Sounds good, Mister Shaw, I look forward to working with you. Introduce me to the rest of your crew, I'll drag Lisa out of her cave, and we'll all be a bit richer before the weekend's done, yeah?"

He raised his glass, anticipating a toast as the informal seal to the agreement.

Rob nodded, raising his glass as well, and then gestured for Tanya to do the same. "Cheers to that. Where should we bring the crew to meet you? We can get ourselves just about anywhere, if needed.”

“Here in port will do fine. Intercept point is high atmo, so pack accordingly.”

Rob nodded. "Here," he said, slipping a small card across the table, "contact us when it's time."

"Excellent. I'll be in touch within... say, 20 hours. Mister Shaw, miss, uh, Tanya."

Then he finished his beer, got up, and melted back into the crowd. If they paid attention, they might have caught a glimpse of metal and some strange rigid matte material underneath the coat when he stood, but the moment was too brief to tell for sure.