//To get the mood for this story, try this: http://youtu.be/_0gtDmywnp4
(//Pictures marked with *** are original content. They were taken by me on various occasions/ or contain parts of my pics. Enjoy :))
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My name is Louis Forgeron...
And ... as sad as it may sound, I can't remember much about my mother. I know, I know, it was only thirty-or-so years ago, don't know for sure, never cared for numbers, and as sure as hell I ain't going to start now, mon ami.
I was born in Gallia, Burgundy System, Planet Nevers.
Oh, how I loved that world, its warm oceans and the many lush green islands that seemed to sprout just about everywhere. We lived on a forested atoll, my family and I, but just as all inhabitants of Nevers we were fond of travelling.
I was always drifting, thus I can't say how many brothers and sisters I had, I can't remember their names and I've never seen all of them gathered together at the dinner table. I know for sure that one of my older brothers was working as a cook, on a large steam-driven Casino Show-Boat, one of my sisters was a legendary fishing boat captain, and some of my cousins drove giant rafts for the logging companies or timber factories.
I also fondly remember warm freshwater marshes with countless animals, endless forests, the clean air, the birds that never stopped singing... the clear sky that sometime allowed us to see the big ships in geostationary orbit, but most of all, I remember the sunsets...
Oh, mon ami, those sunsets. I've always said I won't die until I get back home to Nevers and watch my last sunset.
It was during one of those times when I finally met my father.
I was just returning home after weeks of hunting and hiking through the wilderness, when I saw a tall stranger in front of our log cabin, embracing my mother.
His name was Armand Forgeron. Born in Gallia aswell, but now he was one of the best fliers that Daumann Heavy Construction had. Heavens know by what strange fate he ended flying for Rheinland, and it seems that even a stranger fate has brought him home after all these years.
As I would find out, much to my sadness, he came back home to take me to the stars! Teach me a real trade, least I'll be stuck hunting rats in swamps all my life!
Oh, the nerve of that man!
I was angry for being "uprooted" like that, but as any good boy I listened to my mother, I packed my little nothings and followed him, still pouting and sulking.
I climbed in the shuttle, we took off, and for the first time in my life I admired Nevers ... from way above, from outer space. But that was nothing, compared with what was to follow.
His Colossus Train was the biggest, most amazing thing I have ever seen! Its polished steel, with a greenish hue that reminded me of the forests I had just left back home. Sitting there, majestically, in orbit, awaiting for its captain, gleaming, dominating the emptiness. I saw the sun disappear behind the Colossus, in the most beautiful sunset ever, just before we docked the cargo train.
In that moment my eyes opened to the world. I stopped hating my father.
That's how I spent the next fifteen years of my life. First as a cabin boy, then as an apprentice to the gigantic's ship engineer and finally, I put all those years of rat-hunting and my shooting skills to good use. I became the chief of security aboard the Colossus.
And see, this is why life isn't fair. I remember everything about my father.
His soft voice, his deep blue eyes, his strong hands gripping the ship's controls, and his miraculous way of explaining things. Be it engineering issues, gun handling, astronomy, space charting, navigation... you name it. In just a few words he somehow managed to shine light upon all problems, and so, I learned all he had to teach.
I remember his stories, his stupid jokes that had me laughing to tears. And his booming commands, assigning targets, guiding the turret operators and burning those that wished to harm us.
But I still can't remember my mother.
All I know is that she was a beautiful, fiery, redhead with a temper, and a few other things, but all these are from my father's stories. Oui, I remember her face from a picture my father had on top of the navigational charts clipboard. But that's about it.
When I finally grew up, my father got me an official job at Daumann. Obviously, those corporate rats were happy to have me, as leverage against my father, if nothing else, should it be needed.
Yes, at that time he was their best flier and they feared he may leave for another company.
Then they cut my wings.
Those dirty rats grounded me on "The Ring". True, I was a below-average flier, or just an adequate engineer, but they had no right to do so!
I became the leader of Daumann Sicherheitsdienstleistungen (security services) on The Ring, more specifically, the TIR Squad, the ones in charge of repelling boarding pirates, and even took part in a few hard fights on some Bundschuh bases. I don't know which ones, they loaded us in black pods, sent us to chemically-induced sleep. We were woken up just as the pods pierced the base walls, and then ... roll camera! ACTION!
As such, I saw my fair share of action before reaching the age of thirty. We even fried some of those ugly purple squids on one occasion, and as the "highlight" of my career, I even became Poster-Boy for a Daumann publicity campaign, and featured in an obscure, forgotten neuro-net holovideo.
***
So things were going rather well...
Until my father went M.I.A.
//To get the mood for this story, try this:http://youtu.be/ST2H8FWDvEA
(//Pictures marked with *** are original content. They were taken by me on various occasions/ or contain parts of my pics. Enjoy :))
//Spoilers and details from the previous post. Have you noticed that...
The redhead's picture, is indeed present on the cockpit's dashboard, as stated in the story.
***
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Yes, mon ami, welcome to Planet Tangier. A forgotten cesspool in the Omega-47 system.
The Corsairs attempted to colonize it and failed. The Red Hessians came right after, tried, settled on the previous ruins, failed, tried again... and all that madness.
That hell hole is covered with abandoned settlements, and among them, hiding, here and there, are the real Hessian factories, mines and working camps, but all the Gods of Sirius are my witness, they are expertly camouflaged.
And to make matters worse, the Corsairs and the Hessians are still squabbling over that piece of rock.
But guess what? Daumann wanted a piece of the action too. I don't know if they were after the Aluminum deposits, or if they wanted to teach the Hessians a lesson, I have no idea what they were thinking, and as sure as hell wasn't going to ask.
I did all I could to avoid this ... business trip.
I was worried, I had just gotten the word that my father's DHC Colossus Train was missing in action. Not KIA. Not pirated. Not stolen... Missing.
Of course, Daumann couldn't care any less about my personal tragedies and without a word I got loaded into those cursed drop-pods, and sent to chem-sleep land.
I was leading Squad 11, not that it mattered, DHG have a notoriously low concern for human life, and obviously they messed up the atmospheric entry. Most of the pods were sent down at the wrong angle and ended up as a rather unpleasant recipe of "Canned DHG Trooper Bouillabaise".
Ew. Tres desagreable, mon ami.
And to make all things perfect, they also botched the drop coordinates.
When the pod landed, I got flooded with the chemicals that canceled the chem-sleep and gave a major combat boost. The pod's hatch blew its explosive bolt locks, and I leaped forward already looking for cover and the blood of my enemies.
Sadly, I had ended up utterly alone. And guess what I have found instead of a bustling Hessian industrial facility?
***
Oui, that is correct. I have found nothing. Kilometers upon kilometers of nothing. And you know what's funny? Our objectives stated:
"Do not contact DHG until you have located the Hessian factory!"
So, what do you think? Did I radio for help, or did I walk for days through deserted urban rubble, with little to no water and feeding on some rare, disgusting six-legged rats?
***
How about... Walking until my feet were raw and bleeding. Our combat boots were designed for inside-spacecraft combat or for 48 hour short and easy missions.
Walking of broken reinforced concrete, getting stabbed by glass shards... that did not help at all.
To be quite honest, I did chicken out, and at the end of day 12, just before my DHG LandWarrior System ran out of power, I cried for help. I was delighted to hear 10 seconds of laughter, straight from Daumann Command Center, and zhen the comm went dead.
So I dropped the whole stinkin' useless electronic gear, including the rest of all the gadgets that were no more than dead weight without power and ... I started walking.