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Francisco de Orellana - Francisco_de_Orellana - 11-21-2012
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Neural net information: Francisco de Orellana
The Death of Francisco de Orellana
Francisco de Orellana is dead. That's what the history books say. His brothers drank to his memory and his parents mourned his loss. All of Crete attended his bodiless funeral nearly twenty years ago.
In his prime, Orellana had been a great explorer, mapping huge chunks of Sirius, beaming data back to his brothers on Crete, discovering routes that were still used to this day. He had delved further into the dark unknowns than any Corsair. The rewards were spectacular, the risks astronomical.
Orellana had successfully navigated through Outcast space, avoiding patrols, avoiding transmissions, often powering down the ship to sit secretly, quietly in the cold, sometimes waiting days to make a move uninterrupted. Omicron Alpha was known. Its facets and stations plotted. Patrol routes noted. Omicron 80 was no longer a mystery. A minefield of unknown construction prevented further exploration in one direction. A mystery for another day. On the other side of the system, another jump hole, well used by the outcasts and well guarded invited further enquiry. Careless outcast transmissions told him that the other side of the jump hole, Omicron 81, was equally well guarded.
Orellana prepared his ship. He would appear to be a stray piece of debris, tumbling into the jump hole like so much space dust. The course was set, the computers powered down and with a blast from a single off-axis thruster, the dead ship tumbled slowly towards the jump hole.
Outcast gunners breifly looked upon at the tangled metal, scanned and saw nothing but dead scrap. No power, no life support, no life signs, nothing salvageable. It floated into the jump hole and was gone. On the other side, it emerged and floated away from the jumphole guards. Three hours later, Orellana emerged from the lead lined capsule that shielded him from scans and the untempered harshness of space. Thirty K from the nearest signal. Perfect. He powered up the computers, and turned on the scanners, reading out the headline data to his note-taker.
“Binary system. Three planets, one terraformed and farmed, but no docking facilities. Four stations including one shipyard, advanced type, significantly larger than the facilities at Tripoli and clearly assembling many capital ships simultaneously. Large nebula occupying approx one quarter of system. Opaque to sensors”
He set a careful course towards the nebula. Nebulae often hid the most spectacular finds and the cover of sensor darkness meant a place to hide and take notes. Green gasses brushed past the cockpit as he entered, external probes showed the presence of alien organisms in massive concentrations. Orellana took a sample, wondering if these would be similar to the ones on Kurile.
The ship creaked and Orellana stumbled to the side. There was a gravity well nearby. Sensors were blank, confused by the living fog. He sighed and turned to the engineering panel to bring the engines up to full power and move away from the gravity well. Nothing. Orellana swore loudly. Something must have gone whilst the ship was powered down through the jump hole.
Still, it wasn't a star or planet, the sensors would have detected that, even in the nebula. A jump hole perhaps?
Turning off the station keeping thrusters and allowing the ship to move towards the gravity well, he stared at the computers. It was soon in view. A stable jump hole, destination unknown. “Might as well” he thought, hoping that it would lead to an easier way back to Omicron Alpha, perhaps even a route that his brothers could take to destroy that ship-yard.
Orellana was always cautious, that's why he was still alive. The dead ship ruse would do. He sealed himself within the lead-lined life support capsule as the ship went through the jump hole. Omicron 82. He'd discovered it. He'd be a hero when he transmitted this data.
The little ship appeared in Omicron 82. A system of towering rocky fragments of dark matter hanging in dark space. All was quiet.
Orellana opened the capsule a crack and checked outside. He saw nothing but rock. Exiting the capsule he flicked on the sensors.
“Highly radioactive system, no local star, large station or small planet at the centre of the system. Second jump hole consistent with one in Omicron Alpha. Four large weapon platforms of unknown construction, unknown armament. All powering up and targeting... Oh.”
No Corsair fears death, but all will fight to put it off as long as possible. Orellana was no different. As four large missiles screamed towards his little craft Orellana grabbed his latest data stick and dived into his capsule as the first of the missiles hit. It immediately breached the hull and he felt his flesh sear as the cockpit was engulfed by fire. The capsule sealed and he hit the eject button. The sound of loud explosions was replaced by a deafening silence as he passed into cold space.
A sharp thrust and the capsule was flung back the way it came, following its programme mindlessly, retracing its mothership's steps back in the search for home. It passed through the jumphole into Omicron 81 and flung him out of the gaseous cloud towards the Omicron 80 hole. The pod bounced as it hit a chunk of debris, Orellana's skull connected with the capsule wall with a sickening crack.
The universe went black and Francisco de Orellana thought no more.
Francisco de Orellana is dead. That's what the history books say. His brothers drank to his memory and his parents mourned his loss. All of Crete attended his bodiless funeral nearly twenty years ago.
In his prime, Orellana had been a great explorer, mapping huge chunks of Sirius, beaming data back to his brothers on Crete, discovering routes that were still used to this day. He had delved further into the dark unknowns than any Corsair. The rewards were spectacular, the risks astronomical.
Orellana had successfully navigated through Outcast space, avoiding patrols, avoiding transmissions, often powering down the ship to sit secretly, quietly in the cold, sometimes waiting days to make a move uninterrupted. Omicron Alpha was known. Its facets and stations plotted. Patrol routes noted. Omicron 80 was no longer a mystery. A minefield of unknown construction prevented further exploration in one direction. A mystery for another day. On the other side of the system, another jump hole, well used by the outcasts and well guarded invited further enquiry. Careless outcast transmissions told him that the other side of the jump hole, Omicron 81, was equally well guarded.
Orellana prepared his ship. He would appear to be a stray piece of debris, tumbling into the jump hole like so much space dust. The course was set, the computers powered down and with a blast from a single off-axis thruster, the dead ship tumbled slowly towards the jump hole.
Outcast gunners breifly looked upon at the tangled metal, scanned and saw nothing but dead scrap. No power, no life support, no life signs, nothing salvageable. It floated into the jump hole and was gone. On the other side, it emerged and floated away from the jumphole guards. Three hours later, Orellana emerged from the lead lined capsule that shielded him from scans and the untempered harshness of space. Thirty K from the nearest signal. Perfect. He powered up the computers, and turned on the scanners, reading out the headline data to his note-taker.
“Binary system. Three planets, one terraformed and farmed, but no docking facilities. Four stations including one shipyard, advanced type, significantly larger than the facilities at Tripoli and clearly assembling many capital ships simultaneously. Large nebula occupying approx one quarter of system. Opaque to sensors”
He set a careful course towards the nebula. Nebulae often hid the most spectacular finds and the cover of sensor darkness meant a place to hide and take notes. Green gasses brushed past the cockpit as he entered, external probes showed the presence of alien organisms in massive concentrations. Orellana took a sample, wondering if these would be similar to the ones on Kurile.
The ship creaked and Orellana stumbled to the side. There was a gravity well nearby. Sensors were blank, confused by the living fog. He sighed and turned to the engineering panel to bring the engines up to full power and move away from the gravity well. Nothing. Orellana swore loudly. Something must have gone whilst the ship was powered down through the jump hole.
Still, it wasn't a star or planet, the sensors would have detected that, even in the nebula. A jump hole perhaps?
Turning off the station keeping thrusters and allowing the ship to move towards the gravity well, he stared at the computers. It was soon in view. A stable jump hole, destination unknown. “Might as well” he thought, hoping that it would lead to an easier way back to Omicron Alpha, perhaps even a route that his brothers could take to destroy that ship-yard.
Orellana was always cautious, that's why he was still alive. The dead ship ruse would do. He sealed himself within the lead-lined life support capsule as the ship went through the jump hole. Omicron 82. He'd discovered it. He'd be a hero when he transmitted this data.
The little ship appeared in Omicron 82. A system of towering rocky fragments of dark matter hanging in dark space. All was quiet.
Orellana opened the capsule a crack and checked outside. He saw nothing but rock. Exiting the capsule he flicked on the sensors.
“Highly radioactive system, no local star, large station or small planet at the centre of the system. Second jump hole consistent with one in Omicron Alpha. Four large weapon platforms of unknown construction, unknown armament. All powering up and targeting... Oh.”
No Corsair fears death, but all will fight to put it off as long as possible. Orellana was no different. As four large missiles screamed towards his little craft Orellana grabbed his latest data stick and dived into his capsule as the first of the missiles hit. It immediately breached the hull and he felt his flesh sear as the cockpit was engulfed by fire. The capsule sealed and he hit the eject button. The sound of loud explosions was replaced by a deafening silence as he passed into cold space.
A sharp thrust and the capsule was flung back the way it came, following its programme mindlessly, retracing its mothership's steps back in the search for home. It passed through the jumphole into Omicron 81 and flung him out of the gaseous cloud towards the Omicron 80 hole. The pod bounced as it hit a chunk of debris, Orellana's skull connected with the capsule wall with a sickening crack.
The universe went black and Francisco de Orellana thought no more.
RE: Francisco de Orellana - Francisco_de_Orellana - 11-29-2012
The Rebirth of Francisco de Orellana
The gravely injured Orellana had been tractored in by Puertollano Observation Post who were most displeased that not only was there a Corsair floating around in their most guarded system, but that he was also too badly injured to beat to death outright with any kind of honour. Stabilised and bundled onto a ship bound for Malta, Orellana spent the next ten years enduring daily sessions with the Marina Militare's most brutal inquisitors. Orellana told them nothing and the inquisitor's visits became more infrequent, eventually forgetting about him all together, leaving him to rot in a damp prison cell.
Nearly two decades later, with a war on two fronts looming, slave transports thinning and every Outcast called to the front, the prisoners were taken out of their cells and set to work harvesting the cardamine grass that funded the war. Francisco's work gang was soon moved to the space port and entrusted with unloading cargo vessels. Heavy manual work. They were unchained as the commandante spoke to the assembled prisoners.
"You have all been on Malta for many years. You are by now a part of this planet, you cannot live without it. If you try to escape, a painful death awaits. If you succeed in leaving the planet, we will hunt you down and you will suffer a painful death at our hands. If you are not so lucky as to be caught, you will suffer the agony of Cardamine withdrawal and die slowly. Your choice. Live and work here. Die out there."
Orellana was forty years old, but his dedication to returning home had kept him strong. The heavy work had made him stronger still. Strong enough to see an opportunity when it arose. An opportunity like unloading a Zoner supply ship. The guards would be too busy helping themselves to goods to really keep an eye on an old man.
The vast ZBT-100 full of food and luxury goods was unpacked. The meagre skeleton crew would not find him until he wanted to be found. Orellana secreted himself behind an access panel and waited.
Twelve hours later the ship took off. Orellana smelled the air change from atmospheric to ship's own. He waited an hour, then pushed the panel door aside.
Meanwhile, on the deck of the OSI-Thetis, Captain Frost gave the order to approach the Omicron Beta jumphole and jump when ready and set course for Nagano, then retired to his cabin.
As Orellana crept through the maze like corridors of the ship, he heard footsteps on the deck plates. He squeezed himself against a wall and held his breath.
Around the corner, Frost entered his cabin, closed the door behind him and prepared to get some sleep.
Seeing the man in the Captain's uniform entering the cabin and the door shutting, Orellana marched up to the door and smashed the door padd with his fist. "Not getting out of there in a hurry amigo"
Orellana made his way towards the bridge, passing briefly through the ready-room. He paused for a moment as a blinding pain cut through his head, for a moment he thought he'd be sick. Steadying himself, he grabbed a carelessly placed rifle from a desk and marched in.
"Gentlemen, I'm Francisco de Orellana, and I'll be hijacking your ship this evening."
Herding the the two bridge crew and two engineers into the ship's small brig, Orellana was feeling increasingly unwell. Drenched in a cold sweat he set course for Omicron Gamma. Crete. Home.
The gravely injured Orellana had been tractored in by Puertollano Observation Post who were most displeased that not only was there a Corsair floating around in their most guarded system, but that he was also too badly injured to beat to death outright with any kind of honour. Stabilised and bundled onto a ship bound for Malta, Orellana spent the next ten years enduring daily sessions with the Marina Militare's most brutal inquisitors. Orellana told them nothing and the inquisitor's visits became more infrequent, eventually forgetting about him all together, leaving him to rot in a damp prison cell.
Nearly two decades later, with a war on two fronts looming, slave transports thinning and every Outcast called to the front, the prisoners were taken out of their cells and set to work harvesting the cardamine grass that funded the war. Francisco's work gang was soon moved to the space port and entrusted with unloading cargo vessels. Heavy manual work. They were unchained as the commandante spoke to the assembled prisoners.
"You have all been on Malta for many years. You are by now a part of this planet, you cannot live without it. If you try to escape, a painful death awaits. If you succeed in leaving the planet, we will hunt you down and you will suffer a painful death at our hands. If you are not so lucky as to be caught, you will suffer the agony of Cardamine withdrawal and die slowly. Your choice. Live and work here. Die out there."
Orellana was forty years old, but his dedication to returning home had kept him strong. The heavy work had made him stronger still. Strong enough to see an opportunity when it arose. An opportunity like unloading a Zoner supply ship. The guards would be too busy helping themselves to goods to really keep an eye on an old man.
The vast ZBT-100 full of food and luxury goods was unpacked. The meagre skeleton crew would not find him until he wanted to be found. Orellana secreted himself behind an access panel and waited.
Twelve hours later the ship took off. Orellana smelled the air change from atmospheric to ship's own. He waited an hour, then pushed the panel door aside.
Meanwhile, on the deck of the OSI-Thetis, Captain Frost gave the order to approach the Omicron Beta jumphole and jump when ready and set course for Nagano, then retired to his cabin.
As Orellana crept through the maze like corridors of the ship, he heard footsteps on the deck plates. He squeezed himself against a wall and held his breath.
Around the corner, Frost entered his cabin, closed the door behind him and prepared to get some sleep.
Seeing the man in the Captain's uniform entering the cabin and the door shutting, Orellana marched up to the door and smashed the door padd with his fist. "Not getting out of there in a hurry amigo"
Orellana made his way towards the bridge, passing briefly through the ready-room. He paused for a moment as a blinding pain cut through his head, for a moment he thought he'd be sick. Steadying himself, he grabbed a carelessly placed rifle from a desk and marched in.
"Gentlemen, I'm Francisco de Orellana, and I'll be hijacking your ship this evening."
Herding the the two bridge crew and two engineers into the ship's small brig, Orellana was feeling increasingly unwell. Drenched in a cold sweat he set course for Omicron Gamma. Crete. Home.
RE: Francisco de Orellana - Francisco_de_Orellana - 12-08-2012
The Reappearance of Francisco de Orellana
Moving away from the Alpha jumphole, Orellana employed the tricks of his old trade, running the huge ship silent, hiding it from those who might take an interest at a distance. The ship shuddered as the deflector moved a small asteroid away from the hull. "This is no fighter!" he muttered to the empty bridge.
Ruiz Base lay on the path to Sigma 19. Flying the long way around would be suspicious. He'd have to keep his distance, without looking like he was keeping his distance. Orellana laughed at the situation. "Fly casual! Ha!"
Ruiz passed by on the port. No-one questioned the Zoner ship. Just a regular trader.
The Sigma 19 jumphole was in detection range and plotted into the nav computer. As he confirmed the command another wave of blinding pain seared through Francisco's head, his vision narrowed to points and for a second he could have sworn the gravity plates switched polarity. Coming to seconds later, he found himself on the floor, again drenched in sweat, head throbbing, face bleeding from hitting the deckplates.
Weakened, he pulled himself back onto the chair at the helm and punched in the course for the Sigma 13 Jumphole.
Struggling to stay focused, he locked in the course and turned on autopilot. He just needed a minute to steady himself. Gas cloud, gas miner, right course. No changes. Ogashawa, lanes, jumphole. Made it.
Orellana's conciousness gave out a final time. He slumped over the console as the ship entered the Sigma 13 jumphole, thin blood dripping from the wound on his head.
The ZBT emerged from the jumphole and for powered up its cruise engines, firing itself towards the Sigma 17 jumphole. Five seconds later the engines cut out and silence momentarily filled the ship. A small screen on the console flashed "NAV FAULT" as a warning klaxon sounded across the bridge.
Below decks the THETIS' two engineers nursed blackened plasma wounds. The sickening smell of cauterised flesh and seared hair filled the ventilation system. They had attempted to gain remote control of the ship but had succeeded only in shorting out the entire navigational computer and god knows how many systems with it.
The ship drifted, tumbling end over end at cruise speed. No computers, an unconscious pilot, an imprisoned captain and an injured crew.
The silence was interrupted by voice that echoed through the cold ship
"OSI-THETIS: This is Senor Ronaldo Benitez, cut your engines and hold your position, we intend to scan you"
Moving away from the Alpha jumphole, Orellana employed the tricks of his old trade, running the huge ship silent, hiding it from those who might take an interest at a distance. The ship shuddered as the deflector moved a small asteroid away from the hull. "This is no fighter!" he muttered to the empty bridge.
Ruiz Base lay on the path to Sigma 19. Flying the long way around would be suspicious. He'd have to keep his distance, without looking like he was keeping his distance. Orellana laughed at the situation. "Fly casual! Ha!"
Ruiz passed by on the port. No-one questioned the Zoner ship. Just a regular trader.
The Sigma 19 jumphole was in detection range and plotted into the nav computer. As he confirmed the command another wave of blinding pain seared through Francisco's head, his vision narrowed to points and for a second he could have sworn the gravity plates switched polarity. Coming to seconds later, he found himself on the floor, again drenched in sweat, head throbbing, face bleeding from hitting the deckplates.
Weakened, he pulled himself back onto the chair at the helm and punched in the course for the Sigma 13 Jumphole.
Struggling to stay focused, he locked in the course and turned on autopilot. He just needed a minute to steady himself. Gas cloud, gas miner, right course. No changes. Ogashawa, lanes, jumphole. Made it.
Orellana's conciousness gave out a final time. He slumped over the console as the ship entered the Sigma 13 jumphole, thin blood dripping from the wound on his head.
The ZBT emerged from the jumphole and for powered up its cruise engines, firing itself towards the Sigma 17 jumphole. Five seconds later the engines cut out and silence momentarily filled the ship. A small screen on the console flashed "NAV FAULT" as a warning klaxon sounded across the bridge.
Below decks the THETIS' two engineers nursed blackened plasma wounds. The sickening smell of cauterised flesh and seared hair filled the ventilation system. They had attempted to gain remote control of the ship but had succeeded only in shorting out the entire navigational computer and god knows how many systems with it.
The ship drifted, tumbling end over end at cruise speed. No computers, an unconscious pilot, an imprisoned captain and an injured crew.
The silence was interrupted by voice that echoed through the cold ship
"OSI-THETIS: This is Senor Ronaldo Benitez, cut your engines and hold your position, we intend to scan you"
RE: Francisco de Orellana - Francisco_de_Orellana - 12-12-2012
The Rescue of Francisco de Orellana
A small Cardamine interdiction force of the Familia Benitez stalked Sigma 13, hunting for traders foolish enough to carry the poison past the Corsair's front door. Business was quiet. Nothing on scanners.
A message popped up on Commandante Ronaldo's comms screen. The reclusive Don Carlos appeared into view.
"I'm aware that this is a routine mission but I have a bad feeling about this one. The yacht is not suited to military operations, so I will not be joining you, but I expect to be kept in the loop"
"Si, I will keep you informed of developments mi Don."
"Bueno".
Aboard the gunboat Aegis Leon Benitez was getting restless, "More power to the scanners. Keep targetting systems at the ready".
"We've got something, I have a ship on scanners, long range"
Ronaldo trained his fighter's scanners onto the Aegis's sensor-lock.
"Zoner markings, I'm moving in for a closer look, Pepito, cover us as we move in"
"Zoner ship OSI-Thetis: This is Senor Ronaldo Benitez, cut your engines and hold your position, we intend to scan you."
The huge ship hurtled through the gas field towards the the fighter group showing no intention of running.. As it moved into visual range, they saw why. The ship was drifting, tumbling at cruise speed, out of control.
"OSI-Thetis, Captain, do you read?"
The radio buzzed with static. This was not normal.
"Fire Disrupters"
A train disrupter streaked towards the ship and found its target, its EMP forcing a reset of every computer on the ship. The subcruise engines fired up and dragged the ship suddenly to a halt. Inside, everyone was thrown against the bulkheads by the sudden, violent deceleration.
Ronaldo barked orders over the comms to his men
"Scanners show 6 life signs on board, one faint. No cargo. Aegis, prep a boarding party, I want to know what's going on here. Fighters, maintain a security screen."
The Aegis moved in, grappling the Thetis and extending a conduit to the airlock.
"Leon, what's the sit-rep on that boarding party?"
"They're entering the Thetis now sir"
Aboard the Thetis the four man assault team descended into darkness. The ancillary power was out. Lighting up torches, they pressed on, clearing rooms as they went.
"This is Assault-1, We're aboard, no sign of the crew. Power's out."
They reached the bridge doors. Sealed shut. Grey smoke lifted lazily from the overloaded control padd.
"Bridge doors sealed, we're cutting through now".
Taking out micro-plasma torches, the four man team sliced through the thick door with speed and precision, a firm kick from a boot dropped the doors to the deck.
Ronaldo called in information from all points "Report in"
"Fighter section shows no contacts, GMG clearly aren't aware of our presence yet"
"Commando-1 here. We've just entered the bridge. Looks like the pilot's unconscious. He's... He's Corsair sir"
"A Corsair pilot? On a zoner ship? Check his dog tags."
"This tattoo, he's Benitez! But I don't recognise him sir, but he's old, perhaps as old as the Don"
"What's his condition?"
"I'd say he was dying, looks like Cardamine poisoning"
Out in the fighter group, Enrico called his men to readiness "Keep it tight, I've got a bad feeling about this".
Back at the Thetis, Ronaldo was quickly planning.
"Commando group, get that ship operational and get ready to move out. We'll head to Atka. If it is Cardamine, they're the only ones who can help him now. If we move him or attempt to run to Gamma, he'll die."
"Sir, we've found his tags. You're not going to believe this, I'm having a hard time myself."
"Spit it out, we're running out of time here"
"These tags belong to Francisco de Orellana"
"Impossible. He's dead. Lost on deep recon 20 years ago.
"DNA scan confirms sir."
" Madre Mio! Hmm... Well I'll be..."
"Commando 2 to Commandante, there's severe damage to the nav computer over here. I'm going to need to work out how to fly this thing manually. It'll take about five minutes.
"Enrico to Ronaldo, long range scans show GMG paramilitary and Outcast patrols in this region, we need to get a move on"
Ronaldo warmed up his ship, this could get interesting.
"Commando unit, you've got two minutes, take any longer and I'll drag you to Cadiz and sell you to the Sails"
Two minutes later, the subcruise engines on the Thetis powered up
"We're rolling sir"
Meanwhile on the Aegis, the scanners came alive
"Sir, we've got three Outcast Light Fighters closing on us!"
"Ronaldo to all hands: inbound outcasts, Security screen formation, protect the Thetis
Claes Leslie of the 75th guided her ships into range.
"OSI Thetis: Captaino Frost, move away from the corsair ships and surrender our prisoner and you may be afforded mercy"
"This is Gunboat Aegis, you can forget it. Turn and run or we turn on the turrets"
Swearing under her breath Claes opened a channel to her pilots:
"Take out the Thetis. We can tow corpses back to Malta."
As weaponsfire began to illuminate the clouds, aboard the Thetis the thrusters had finally fired up and the ship ran for the Sigma 17 jumphole, taking a beating from the attacking 75th patrol as it went.
"Sir, this thing doesn't handle weapons fire well, keep em clear!"
Ronaldo opened up the comm link to Atka Research Station and transmitted:
"Cryer Cryer, this is Benitez 1-1, we have a pilot with Cardamine poisoning, We're en route to you and bringing company"
A Cryer scientist appeared on the screen.
"Cardamine poisoning? We'll have the Emergency room waiting for his arrival. See if you can collect us some Outcast test subjects whilst you're at it?"
The Outcast onslaught continued as the Thetis jumped to 17 and powered towards Atka, taking a colossal beating as the heavy interdiction squad attempted to defend from the swarm of light fighters.
After a few minutes and with few regens left aboard, the Thetis docked inside the sheild envelope of Atka as two Cryer ships moved into position to keep the fighting away from the station.
Orellana was removed from the ship by the medics, the Thetis' crew and captain were located and treated. Once the battle outside had concluded, the ship was escorted to Freeport 9 and handed back to its Zoner crew. As they approached FP9, they spotted the silhouette of a Democritus yacht.
On board Commandante Ronaldo Benitez's ship, the viewscreen popped into life.
"This is Don Carlos at Freeport 9 to Benitez amigos. Gentlemen, you have a lot of explaining to do. I mean, I would love to know why the hell you've hijacked a Zoner Whale. You realise that boarding that ship could be considered an act of war?"
Somewhat taken aback, Ronaldo replied. "The ship was non-responsive and drifting, on boarding, we found one of our men, Fransisco de Orellana. He's been missing for 20 years"
"20 years? You mean before our little peaceful revolution?"
"Si"
"You realise what that means? Regarding his loyalty?"
"Si, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But first he must survive"
A small Cardamine interdiction force of the Familia Benitez stalked Sigma 13, hunting for traders foolish enough to carry the poison past the Corsair's front door. Business was quiet. Nothing on scanners.
A message popped up on Commandante Ronaldo's comms screen. The reclusive Don Carlos appeared into view.
"I'm aware that this is a routine mission but I have a bad feeling about this one. The yacht is not suited to military operations, so I will not be joining you, but I expect to be kept in the loop"
"Si, I will keep you informed of developments mi Don."
"Bueno".
Aboard the gunboat Aegis Leon Benitez was getting restless, "More power to the scanners. Keep targetting systems at the ready".
"We've got something, I have a ship on scanners, long range"
Ronaldo trained his fighter's scanners onto the Aegis's sensor-lock.
"Zoner markings, I'm moving in for a closer look, Pepito, cover us as we move in"
"Zoner ship OSI-Thetis: This is Senor Ronaldo Benitez, cut your engines and hold your position, we intend to scan you."
The huge ship hurtled through the gas field towards the the fighter group showing no intention of running.. As it moved into visual range, they saw why. The ship was drifting, tumbling at cruise speed, out of control.
"OSI-Thetis, Captain, do you read?"
The radio buzzed with static. This was not normal.
"Fire Disrupters"
A train disrupter streaked towards the ship and found its target, its EMP forcing a reset of every computer on the ship. The subcruise engines fired up and dragged the ship suddenly to a halt. Inside, everyone was thrown against the bulkheads by the sudden, violent deceleration.
Ronaldo barked orders over the comms to his men
"Scanners show 6 life signs on board, one faint. No cargo. Aegis, prep a boarding party, I want to know what's going on here. Fighters, maintain a security screen."
The Aegis moved in, grappling the Thetis and extending a conduit to the airlock.
"Leon, what's the sit-rep on that boarding party?"
"They're entering the Thetis now sir"
Aboard the Thetis the four man assault team descended into darkness. The ancillary power was out. Lighting up torches, they pressed on, clearing rooms as they went.
"This is Assault-1, We're aboard, no sign of the crew. Power's out."
They reached the bridge doors. Sealed shut. Grey smoke lifted lazily from the overloaded control padd.
"Bridge doors sealed, we're cutting through now".
Taking out micro-plasma torches, the four man team sliced through the thick door with speed and precision, a firm kick from a boot dropped the doors to the deck.
Ronaldo called in information from all points "Report in"
"Fighter section shows no contacts, GMG clearly aren't aware of our presence yet"
"Commando-1 here. We've just entered the bridge. Looks like the pilot's unconscious. He's... He's Corsair sir"
"A Corsair pilot? On a zoner ship? Check his dog tags."
"This tattoo, he's Benitez! But I don't recognise him sir, but he's old, perhaps as old as the Don"
"What's his condition?"
"I'd say he was dying, looks like Cardamine poisoning"
Out in the fighter group, Enrico called his men to readiness "Keep it tight, I've got a bad feeling about this".
Back at the Thetis, Ronaldo was quickly planning.
"Commando group, get that ship operational and get ready to move out. We'll head to Atka. If it is Cardamine, they're the only ones who can help him now. If we move him or attempt to run to Gamma, he'll die."
"Sir, we've found his tags. You're not going to believe this, I'm having a hard time myself."
"Spit it out, we're running out of time here"
"These tags belong to Francisco de Orellana"
"Impossible. He's dead. Lost on deep recon 20 years ago.
"DNA scan confirms sir."
" Madre Mio! Hmm... Well I'll be..."
"Commando 2 to Commandante, there's severe damage to the nav computer over here. I'm going to need to work out how to fly this thing manually. It'll take about five minutes.
"Enrico to Ronaldo, long range scans show GMG paramilitary and Outcast patrols in this region, we need to get a move on"
Ronaldo warmed up his ship, this could get interesting.
"Commando unit, you've got two minutes, take any longer and I'll drag you to Cadiz and sell you to the Sails"
Two minutes later, the subcruise engines on the Thetis powered up
"We're rolling sir"
Meanwhile on the Aegis, the scanners came alive
"Sir, we've got three Outcast Light Fighters closing on us!"
"Ronaldo to all hands: inbound outcasts, Security screen formation, protect the Thetis
Claes Leslie of the 75th guided her ships into range.
"OSI Thetis: Captaino Frost, move away from the corsair ships and surrender our prisoner and you may be afforded mercy"
"This is Gunboat Aegis, you can forget it. Turn and run or we turn on the turrets"
Swearing under her breath Claes opened a channel to her pilots:
"Take out the Thetis. We can tow corpses back to Malta."
As weaponsfire began to illuminate the clouds, aboard the Thetis the thrusters had finally fired up and the ship ran for the Sigma 17 jumphole, taking a beating from the attacking 75th patrol as it went.
"Sir, this thing doesn't handle weapons fire well, keep em clear!"
Ronaldo opened up the comm link to Atka Research Station and transmitted:
"Cryer Cryer, this is Benitez 1-1, we have a pilot with Cardamine poisoning, We're en route to you and bringing company"
A Cryer scientist appeared on the screen.
"Cardamine poisoning? We'll have the Emergency room waiting for his arrival. See if you can collect us some Outcast test subjects whilst you're at it?"
The Outcast onslaught continued as the Thetis jumped to 17 and powered towards Atka, taking a colossal beating as the heavy interdiction squad attempted to defend from the swarm of light fighters.
After a few minutes and with few regens left aboard, the Thetis docked inside the sheild envelope of Atka as two Cryer ships moved into position to keep the fighting away from the station.
Orellana was removed from the ship by the medics, the Thetis' crew and captain were located and treated. Once the battle outside had concluded, the ship was escorted to Freeport 9 and handed back to its Zoner crew. As they approached FP9, they spotted the silhouette of a Democritus yacht.
On board Commandante Ronaldo Benitez's ship, the viewscreen popped into life.
"This is Don Carlos at Freeport 9 to Benitez amigos. Gentlemen, you have a lot of explaining to do. I mean, I would love to know why the hell you've hijacked a Zoner Whale. You realise that boarding that ship could be considered an act of war?"
Somewhat taken aback, Ronaldo replied. "The ship was non-responsive and drifting, on boarding, we found one of our men, Fransisco de Orellana. He's been missing for 20 years"
"20 years? You mean before our little peaceful revolution?"
"Si"
"You realise what that means? Regarding his loyalty?"
"Si, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But first he must survive"
RE: Francisco de Orellana - FrostTransport - 12-18-2012
(02-11-2013, 03:24 AM)Bakamono Wrote: Alerted to an incoming O.S.I transport under fire, Atka medical crews dashed around Bay three as deck crews ran through emergency landing procedures. Elsewhere trauma teams began populating theatres.
The Thetis had virutally skidded into Atka bay one after a frenzied pursuit from outcast elite wing: the Seventy Fifth (75th).With military precision a group of commandos disembarked bearing an unconscious, battered, tanned male, wet blood obscured his features.
Before security raised their sr2's, The response crews moved in under the scrutinous eyes of the menacingly-armed commando squad.
The stretcher crew completed their retrieval, a nervous looking doctor looked up to a commando - “What happened to this man?” the white-coat asked, observing the messy, broken lattice of scars across the unconscious mans body.
“He's been a prisoner on Malta for decades...”“Francisco De Orellana”
The doctor interrupted the larger mans explanation as he turned to the red and whites around him “he's an addict, call in for a can of Orange and tell them clear med five.” He turned back to the commando “any more injured on-board?”
“Si but...” the commando firmly grasped the doctors shoulder – interrupting the white-coats next words “...Escucha me senor – they hurt him pretty bad: This man is a corsair hero, he cannot live as a corsair with that Naranja crap! comprende?” the commando locked eyes with the doctor in a intimidating moment. The doctor visibly swallowed slowly before speaking “ch-check...uh..what's his name?”
“We'll take good care of him.”
“You better senor – or ...” the made a hand signal with a thumb across his throat as he climbed aboard the Thetis.
The response medics bore the man away as they studied his vital signs.
* * * * *The stretcher and its growing entourage of interns moved quickly through the sterile corridors, their journey only broken by the cycling of interlocking metal bulkheads. “Crap! Vitals are dropping, someone get us a can of orange and call Doctor Fredericks!”
After moments a younger doctor in turquoise scrubs ran to join the convoy and handed the lead physician a labelled cannister & breathing mask, which he took and with thanks and immediately administered. Francisco looked almost dead, but the movement of orange particles beneath the clear mask indicated the man was breathing, if weakly.“Alright ALL of you mask up, we don't want accidents.”
Surrounding younger faces erupted with observations as they moved
"...look at the voids in this burn – what do you suppose did that?"
"...this one looks like a laser burn..."
"that's from a hot iron dummy..."
"...no way it's a heat-whip. Looks like frostbite here..."
Three of the youngest interns babbled at each other before turning to the resident "Is that a cranial break? Oh shiz are those mono-filament scars?"
As the stretcher turned through the double doors to the theatre he replied "Those, my little vultures, are from a very cruel device invented by malicious people – named a deep tissue massager." as the non attendings fell off at the point of non-admittance he added "~not~ pleasant, more like the opposite of pleasure..." the double doors closed, screening the gawkers from the surgical team beyond.* * * * *The theatre was large, its size reminiscent of a chapel or small church. The gallery dominated one wall – a hive of activity behind the glass, as an audience of interns and researchers clambered over each other for front row seats.
Raised on the operating table lay Francisco De Orellana, surrounded by a team of eight doctors freshly scrubbed and masked. Orthopedics, cardiology, pulmonology, and neurology took up one side, opposite were vascular and thoracic surgeons, an anaesthesisologist, and a nephrologist. Stood away from the table was Doctor Fredericks, representing the field of genetics – G-power! Cytopathology and a plastics man stood admiring his shoes, off to one side.Their hands raised and gloved as the scanning display flickered into illuminated life in the air before them. The de-constructed image of Franciscos body drew a few gasps as the extent of his injuries and treatment became apparent.
In unison they took an audible breath, the lady from cardio broke the tension and voiced the rooms conundrum "Where do we start?"Fredericks voice reached from his vantage point "Diagnosis and triage, identify the priorities Jessa. Really – you should know better: how old are you doctor? "
"I'm twenty eight sir"
"Your panic disappoints me. Jessa, get out of my theatre"
Jessa looked to ground with a teary eye and departed mournfully as a voice echoed “...kids!...”
"Nurse – would you bring us doctor Binks please. The rest of you – what do you have?"
"We're gonna have to put him under and do a full tissue sweep..."Fredericks nodded and met the eyes of each “Alright, good” he gestured and adjusted the holo-image of Franciscos body – which zoomed and shifted to display its cellular structures. As he effectively zoomed through different areas of the body some of the doctors pointed at his the deft artistic movement of the 'old-mans' hands over the imaging controls.
"I wanna rebuild these worn vertebrae and bring out these warps..."
“...obvious stress on the lungs and the fluid damage... I'm for a transplant...”
A doctor opposite nodded “me too – I'm surprised his kidneys aren't haemorrhaging”
“As you can see this kind of cellular 'infection' is total-body, and the Benitez have said they want him off the Cardamine. Any cell repair we do will have to come last, and it will be cell-repair ladies and gents – I'm saying targeted nano-tech maintenance of cells is our only shot at keeping him alive without the drug."“...but.. the cost”
“Forget the bloody cost! Focus! We have to save this patient. We have a monumental task people, make no mistake – this -will- be a game changer. If you haven't got the spine, bow out now.”
* * * * *The Benitez corsairs had been checking in on their man Francisco. In the midst of organising one of the most ambitious medical projects of the past decade Doctor Fredericks replied, because Cryer cares.
The Cryer doctors had Francisco placed in a tank to heal. They had been working on Fredericks nano-solution for the duration, and still bickered over the finer points. It became apparent that the nano-bots would be limited to one hundred and sixty eight hours effective operation, before needing identical replacements. The demanding task before the little robots resulted in their destruction and absorption into the blood stream.It had been determined that Cryer would supply Francisco with these artificial micro-organisms for daily injection, and that he should return every seven days to replenish supplies, and for a circulatory system flush. The little 'Fredericksons' as they had been dubbed, would function as his R.N.A for a short time, in lieu of cardamine. As such the nano-bots design had to be specifically based on Franciscos D.N.A, and would potentially kill anyone else who absorbed them.
The entire process was costly, not only for the consultations and genetic designers, but the creation of each perfect unit time and time again. Not many people in Sirius would be able to afford the radical treatment, and almost all would prefer the much cheaper, convenient and safer alternative of simply relying on the cardamine. Fiscally it was an unreasonable pursuit, but was a landmark for research and the fight against cardamine. Once the board found out about the extraordinary events which has transpired, their infamous debates restarted, as the merits of Benitez favour versus expenses ensued.* * * * *A doctor had come to communicate with a Cryer board member bearing a report on the patient Francisco De Orellana. The board member sat bouncing a ball on a paddle, refusing eye-contact with the subordinate. “Yeah alright go on, if you must...”
“...the molecular tissue breakdown shows the history of inflicted damage. As you will see in the file – if you look at your screen Doctor – the scars tell a brutal history, but below the surface is darker still.The repetitious noise of the bouncing ball ceased as the board man caught the ball and dropped the paddle. “wait. Are you saying the orange county have like - sophisticated torture instruments and pain-medics?”
You can see the nerve damage in the musculophrenic cluster and the surrounding tissue that a nerve-targeted, minimally-invasive device was used, this patten occurs numerous...”
The doctor sighed “of co.... Not only that sir, but that this device” the white coat gestured at the screen in vain “was a re-purposed C.N.S stimulator – designed for rehabilitation.”“Oh right! You were telling me about torture, how pleasant. Please continue to disgust me...” the board-man replied sarcastically.
“O shiz! They're ripping off our tech for torture?! Jesus christ man, logistics are gonna chop heads when they hear about this!” the board-man threw the ball weakly at a wall of art.
“So uhm – the patient sir?” the doctor inquired meekly.
The doctor suppressed a remark “What report shows is that our patient, Mister De Orellana, has been subjected to years of almost unimaginable pain. His mind is probably like mashed-potato : We have no idea how he could react when he wakes up, and we can't trust character references from his Wingmen because they haven't seen him for twenty years. Trauma of this level could have implications further down the line.”
“Alright so have neuro take a look at him and schedule a psych eval. Oh and post some security on his ward.”
“Thank you sir, if could you just sign here to authorise that?” The boardman quickly took the pad and barely scribbled some kind of symbol which might have been a name.
“Level with me: you think he'll pop?”
“I just don't know sir – he might just bear it, or he could go postal, or he could end up vegetable – rehabs sometimes build themselves good lives.”
“okay good, keep me apprised. Are you going to that Leeds benefit thing this weekend?”
“I would but we have hands ~pretty~ full here at the moment, sir. What with rebuilding a mans R.N.A replication system, fighting cell-death and arranging production for -trillions- of unique nano-bots...”
“Well - bring your work along and we can discuss the results there – place will probably be dead anyway.”
“uhm thanks, I'll try and make it.”
“don't bring your wife though: you know how they feel about Kusari.”
“Uhm – I'm not married sir.”
The board-man winked “exactly.”* * * * *On day two of his stay on Atka, Francisco woke up. Groggily he tried to focus on his new environment before he realised he was suspended in liquid, for a heartbeat panic threatened to over take him as his instincts sent him toward the top of the tank – medics outside ran, blurred forms reacting to his panic. Then he realised that he was breathing and alive, and not back on Malta with his head held below the ice.
A feminine voice sounded in his ear “Mister de orellana – this is nurse stanton – please try to remain calm. You are in an iso-tank of breathable fluid – you cannot drown. You are safe here. This is a Cryer medical facility. We are treating you for cardamine withdrawal.”On the third day of 'freedom' since his escape from Malta – Francisco was hauled from the tank, fluids draining from him in coughing, vomitous gouts. Wearily he rolled his shoulders, surprised at the ease of the movement. He knew a moment of relief as he straightened without the usual pain and tension as before though his skin still felt taut at the scarred areas.
After a few moments waving below him, a predominantly white form moved closer to the tanks window and waved. “We can take you out of the tank tomorrow, when you can go home mister de orellana. Can you give me a 'thumbs-up' if you understand?” the nurse became more distinct as he swam closer, he could see her signalling with her thumb in demonstration.
Psych ran their consult and found
... *Classified medical data*...*Rec...fig...*...*Decompiling*
Quote:You’re in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down, and you see a tortoise, it’s crawling toward you. You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over, but it can’t, not without your help. But you’re not helping. Why is that?*Error*...*Record incomplete*...
-I crawled out of hell on my own, clawed back my life from NOTHING. Why shouldn't it?
Describe in single words, only the good things that come into your mind about your mother.
-Loving. Supportive. Proud.
A teacher calls you "stupid" in front of the rest of the class...
-Call him on it. I'm right. We'll see who's the fool when he's backpedalling.
You are given a gaian seal-calf wallet for your birthday...
-Thank the gift giver. Can't go wrong with a nice wallet.
You've got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar.
-Praise his scientific method. You can know where something is, or how fast it's going. Never both.
Using the first words that come into your mind; describe your childhood.
-Pressure to perform.
A man dressed in rags approaches you on the street and ask for money...
-Laugh. A Corsair does not ask, he TAKES.
For your anniversary, your spouse gives you a real gaian fish...
-So now I have to take care of her AND the fish? Great.
You are at a bar, an attractive woman winks at you and makes her way over.
You know her boyfriend: he does not have herpes.
The woman kisses you, you let her. Why is that ?
- She's clearly recognised that I'm the better man.
Your child comes home with a black eye..
- It's his bloody problem.
You hear cries for help from a burning jewelery store...
- Gold and diamonds don't burn. What's the problem?
It's your little boys fourteenth birthday, he tells you he wants the services of a prostitute.
- Tell him he can pay for that himself.
You just hit someone in your vehicle, you glance in the rearview: the body lays still. You haven't stopped - why is that?
- If there's no significant damage to my vehicle, why should I need to go back and have him pay reparations? We'll call it even.
What do you think it's like: to 'be' an outcast?
- Permanent euphoria, tinged with a hatred for all those below you. Total disregard for the bodies you clamber over.
It's your little girls first big soccer game. She dropkicks the goalie: you cheer her on. why?
- If the goalie is on the floor bleeding, he's not defending the goal.
One more question. You're watching a stage play. A banquet is in progress. The guests are enjoying an appetizer of raw oysters. The entree consists of boiled dog…
-It's a stage play, they aren't really eating dog. Whoever wrote the script needs a cricket bat to the gonads though.
Doctors tested Franciscos lucidity before explaining the procedure necessary to sustain his life without cardamine. He nodded in compliance, surprisingly calm considering his situation – though some in psych considered that there was something calculated and damaged within him.
![[Image: franciscofaceclose.png]](http://s19.postimage.org/s10ax719v/franciscofaceclose.png)
![[Image: Tiabunna_Cuteelephantsealcalf_macquarie_Island_vi.png]](http://s19.postimage.org/pq6u6rfw3/Tiabunna_Cuteelephantsealcalf_macquarie_Island_vi.png)
RE: Francisco de Orellana - Francisco_de_Orellana - 12-18-2012
![[Image: Body1_zpsd09e0e80.jpg]](http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a262/Chasealex/Body1_zpsd09e0e80.jpg)
The Grudge
The Cryer doctors had finally given Orellana clearance to leave the Atka facility. The treatment had been long-winded and painful, the extra days separation from Crete feeling longer than years of Maltese mistreatment.
Finally released from the lab, he had spent the past two days in a guest room, living as what could almost be described as a human existence, but for the hourly scans, checkups and injections.
The comms screen pipped in the corner of the room. An incoming message. Benitez encryption.
The face of Commandante Ronaldo appeared on the screen.
"We're coming to retrieve you. Be ready to leave within the hour"
"For Crete?"
"No, you'll be travelling to New London"
"The Challenge?"
"Yes. You'll demonstrate your loyalty to the familia and your skill as a pilot before you truly return to our fold."
"Si Commandante. An understandable precaution."
A large group of Benitez ships, including a Raba transport, crept silently towards Atka. As they neared it, the fighters slowed to a stop as the Raba surged on. It moored with the station and began to unload a large package.
Ronaldo appeared on the viewscreen again.
"Francisco, we have arrived. Head down to the docking bay. You'll be met there."
As he entered the bay, a tired looking Corsair wearing full dress uniform introduced himself.
"Francisco, I am Trueno Benitez. We've waited a long time for this day!"
As they walked around to the other side of the Raba. Stood in sharp relief against the dull steel plating of the docking bay was a newly painted M3 "Legionnaire" light fighter.
"It's yours until you're killed, or you're awarded something better. I suppose you'd best have this too"
Trueno handed Orellana a new combat helmet bearing the markings of his old recon unit.
"The boys were keen for you to have this, it's not every day that a man comes back from the dead. Now kit up, we'll be opening the bay doors in ten minutes. I recommend you're in your cockpit before the atmosphere vents."
Orellana nodded, and climbed into the cockpit. By the time he'd familiarised himself with the controls, the docking bay doors were open and Orellana followed the Raba out into space.
Surrounding the station were ten ships, a mixture of Titans and bombers.
Ronaldo opened a channel to the group:
"Escort group, we will be heading to Cadiz with Francisco de Orellana. Closed loop comms only. I do not want his location or destination leaked."
Heading out of Sigma 17 they traversed Omicron Theta, O-41 and arrived at Cadiz.
"Challenge party, switch to Legionnaires. The rest of you will remain as security".
The large party headed through Cambridge and Leeds then jumped into New London. As Orellana arrived in the system, Ronaldo and the security section of the flight were already facing off two large Molly ships.
An irish voice crackled over the radio
"You'll hand over the pilot Francisco de Orellana, or we'll take him by force, your choice"
Ronaldo broadcast over group comms
"Challenge party continue on mission, Security party remain with me until we've dealt with these clowns"
Francisco, Sula and Trueno headed for Trafalgar to begin the Challenge.
Half an hour later, Ronaldo appeared on the viewscreen, a ship to ship transmission.
"The Mollys have been dealt with. It appears that someone has arranged to have you killed. Until further notice you are not to move without an escort."
"Understood Commandante. What I don't understand is that no-one outside of the Benitez knows of my survival. No-one outside of the Benitez Elders knew that you planned to move me to Trafalgar at this time. With the greatest respect, you have a leak."
"We will investigate how this happened, rest assured"
Orellana looked troubled and transmitted his final message before beginning the Challenge.
"I will find the man who intended to have me murdered."
The Cryer doctors had finally given Orellana clearance to leave the Atka facility. The treatment had been long-winded and painful, the extra days separation from Crete feeling longer than years of Maltese mistreatment.
Finally released from the lab, he had spent the past two days in a guest room, living as what could almost be described as a human existence, but for the hourly scans, checkups and injections.
The comms screen pipped in the corner of the room. An incoming message. Benitez encryption.
The face of Commandante Ronaldo appeared on the screen.
"We're coming to retrieve you. Be ready to leave within the hour"
"For Crete?"
"No, you'll be travelling to New London"
"The Challenge?"
"Yes. You'll demonstrate your loyalty to the familia and your skill as a pilot before you truly return to our fold."
"Si Commandante. An understandable precaution."
A large group of Benitez ships, including a Raba transport, crept silently towards Atka. As they neared it, the fighters slowed to a stop as the Raba surged on. It moored with the station and began to unload a large package.
Ronaldo appeared on the viewscreen again.
"Francisco, we have arrived. Head down to the docking bay. You'll be met there."
As he entered the bay, a tired looking Corsair wearing full dress uniform introduced himself.
"Francisco, I am Trueno Benitez. We've waited a long time for this day!"
As they walked around to the other side of the Raba. Stood in sharp relief against the dull steel plating of the docking bay was a newly painted M3 "Legionnaire" light fighter.
"It's yours until you're killed, or you're awarded something better. I suppose you'd best have this too"
Trueno handed Orellana a new combat helmet bearing the markings of his old recon unit.
"The boys were keen for you to have this, it's not every day that a man comes back from the dead. Now kit up, we'll be opening the bay doors in ten minutes. I recommend you're in your cockpit before the atmosphere vents."
Orellana nodded, and climbed into the cockpit. By the time he'd familiarised himself with the controls, the docking bay doors were open and Orellana followed the Raba out into space.
Surrounding the station were ten ships, a mixture of Titans and bombers.
Ronaldo opened a channel to the group:
"Escort group, we will be heading to Cadiz with Francisco de Orellana. Closed loop comms only. I do not want his location or destination leaked."
Heading out of Sigma 17 they traversed Omicron Theta, O-41 and arrived at Cadiz.
"Challenge party, switch to Legionnaires. The rest of you will remain as security".
The large party headed through Cambridge and Leeds then jumped into New London. As Orellana arrived in the system, Ronaldo and the security section of the flight were already facing off two large Molly ships.
An irish voice crackled over the radio
"You'll hand over the pilot Francisco de Orellana, or we'll take him by force, your choice"
Ronaldo broadcast over group comms
"Challenge party continue on mission, Security party remain with me until we've dealt with these clowns"
Francisco, Sula and Trueno headed for Trafalgar to begin the Challenge.
Half an hour later, Ronaldo appeared on the viewscreen, a ship to ship transmission.
"The Mollys have been dealt with. It appears that someone has arranged to have you killed. Until further notice you are not to move without an escort."
"Understood Commandante. What I don't understand is that no-one outside of the Benitez knows of my survival. No-one outside of the Benitez Elders knew that you planned to move me to Trafalgar at this time. With the greatest respect, you have a leak."
"We will investigate how this happened, rest assured"
Orellana looked troubled and transmitted his final message before beginning the Challenge.
"I will find the man who intended to have me murdered."
RE: Francisco de Orellana - Francisco_de_Orellana - 12-24-2012
The Return of Francisco de Orellana
Francisco's time based from Trafalgar was glorious. Back in a light fighter, the best of Benitez at his side, they brought hell to New London's Molly and Bounty Hunter population.
The only encounter of true note was with with a Bretonian Policeman. Constable Sweeny had led them a merry dance in his attempt to bring Valeria, Ronaldo and Francisco in but managed to detonate himself on a mine during the engagement. Paddling home in an escape pod the constable swore that Francisco was a dead man if he saw him again. Opening the group comms Francisco pointed out that, legally, he already was.
Six days into his stint, he made the dangerous trip back to Cambridge. Running silent then docking with the Cryer controlled Cambridge Research Station. He'd have to make this trip to a Cryer centre once a week until further notice to control the damage done by the years under the Maltese sun.
A week after his arrival on Trafalgar, Orellana earned his Corsair IFF and Trueno escorted him back to Crete. This was not a jubilant homecoming, there was no hero's welcome. The arrival in Gamma was quiet, discrete, almost secretive. As they approached Crete, Trueno called him over ship to ship comms.
"We're heading straight for Myrthos Villa where you'll remain until you are debriefed by the elders. Get fitted for a uniform, we expect to see you in chambers in 48 hours."
Francisco nodded and closed the comm link as he landed at Myrthos. To be debriefed not by one senior officer, but by the full Benitez council of elders was most unusual, clearly a reflection on the length of the mission and upon the leak that lead to the Molly assassination attempt.
Sensing a long week ahead, Francisco headed for the bar.
Francisco's time based from Trafalgar was glorious. Back in a light fighter, the best of Benitez at his side, they brought hell to New London's Molly and Bounty Hunter population.
The only encounter of true note was with with a Bretonian Policeman. Constable Sweeny had led them a merry dance in his attempt to bring Valeria, Ronaldo and Francisco in but managed to detonate himself on a mine during the engagement. Paddling home in an escape pod the constable swore that Francisco was a dead man if he saw him again. Opening the group comms Francisco pointed out that, legally, he already was.
Six days into his stint, he made the dangerous trip back to Cambridge. Running silent then docking with the Cryer controlled Cambridge Research Station. He'd have to make this trip to a Cryer centre once a week until further notice to control the damage done by the years under the Maltese sun.
A week after his arrival on Trafalgar, Orellana earned his Corsair IFF and Trueno escorted him back to Crete. This was not a jubilant homecoming, there was no hero's welcome. The arrival in Gamma was quiet, discrete, almost secretive. As they approached Crete, Trueno called him over ship to ship comms.
"We're heading straight for Myrthos Villa where you'll remain until you are debriefed by the elders. Get fitted for a uniform, we expect to see you in chambers in 48 hours."
Francisco nodded and closed the comm link as he landed at Myrthos. To be debriefed not by one senior officer, but by the full Benitez council of elders was most unusual, clearly a reflection on the length of the mission and upon the leak that lead to the Molly assassination attempt.
Sensing a long week ahead, Francisco headed for the bar.
RE: Francisco de Orellana - Francisco_de_Orellana - 02-11-2013
Time had moved on for Francisco, the medical records from Cryer had been intercepted and although hidden from him, they reviewed by the Commandante.
The Debrief at Myrthos Villa was a long process and had produced no answers as to who would have him killed so soon after returning from death.
Meanwhile, the Commandante was meeting with Don Carlos. An oversight by the Commandante had meant that Francisco had been required to enter the office during the discussion. As he entered the room, his eyes met the sunken, hollow eyes of Don Carlos Benitez. Eyes that betrayed his feelings and the truth of it all.
Francisco had seen that look on the face of every Outcast. A look of hatred for those crushed beneath a jackboot, grounded in a fear that, some day, the oppressed might rise up.
Francisco knew relatively little of the goings on of the last 20 years, but from the debrief and overhearing the odd snippet he'd managed to deduce a few things.
Carlos Benitez claimed to be the rightful heir to Don Santiago and had taken control just after Francisco's capture. No-one would say for definite what happened to Don Rivas, but Francisco was sure that he'd not survived the takeover. If Rivas had remained surely a rescue would have been forthcoming?
Looking into the eyes of the Benitez Don, Francisco knew that this was the man who had killed Don Rivas and that this man intended to kill him too.