... Sweating and panting from shock, the old man finds himself on a bed in a small, metallic room, wearing white pajamas, the bed sheet covering his lower body...
[color=#99FFFF]... A... A dream...?
He looks around the room that surrounded him and observed its contents: it was tight at best, with only a bed, a small metal desk to its side corner of the room and a chair tucked beneath it, a pistol of rather large size placed meticulously on the top; to the opposite of the room was the door, which was only two paces away, and a small computer screen with a console on the bottom part lay to the wall beside it. There was a clear window that showed the outside glistening with many stars in its inky depths.
The bed alone seemed to occupy 1/3 of the total area to the right, the desk only 1/8.
He rubbed his head from a splitting headache coming up, and got up from his bed and sat on its rim, leaning his body a bit forward and making his head look downwards to fight off the headache.
[color=#99FFFF]... What... be that...? Where be that, I wonder...?
The old man rubs his forehead once again, but this time with his left robotic arm... He looked at the outside of the window, contemplating at the twinkling stars of space, then got up from the bed and stretched himself a bit to loosen up some joints.
... And what... be I dreaming... ?
He then opens up a drawer on the desk, and takes out an extremely-ragged costume: a desert-camo cargo pants that was lined with many pockets and was heavily patched-up; then a clean-white shirt followed by a vest so battleworn it had more stitches and patchworks than the original material it came with; afterwards a trench-coat so gunshot-ridden, burn-blazed, rip-torn and patched-up it looked as if it seen a couple of wars and was brimming with experience of battle; and finally took out a pair of rugged, worn-out combat boots below the desk, its seams still intact, but its body very patched-up as well.
After he changed into the said clothing and discarded the pajamas into the same desk drawer, he picked up the pistol and inspected it with thoughtfulness if it was in anyway tampered with... none... He then placed it into a holster already attached to the pants, and breathed a sigh of relief.
He then walks to the door and was just about to open it when he looked at the viewscreen beside it. He passed along in front of the computer, and tapped a few keys at the console until some codes came out:
Account name: Dragonbourne
Password: xxxxxxxxxx
options:
---ship status (1)
---cargo hold (2)
---lifeforms aboard (3)
---outside scanners (4)
---telemetry data (5)
---chronology data (6)
---log entry (7)
--- 5 ---
Telemetry data chosen: opening data --- --- ---
Current system: New Berlin
Current plane orientation: *free space*
Current coordinates: 6G
Current direction: West-South-West
---Log out? [Y/N]---
[Y]
---Saving Settings---
---Shutting Down---
As the computer screen blanked out, the old man gruffed and then went towards the front of the door.
As he was about to open it he stopped short and paused for a minute...
... Why I be dreaming... ?
Afterwards he shrugs his shoulders and proceeds to exit the metallic door...
-----------------------------------------
The old man soon finds himself in the ship bridge: its numerous consoles beeping and whirring to themselves from autopilot, and all of them glowing with different lights; its walls had signs of rust in various places, yet was decently well-maintained.
To the left and right were rows and rows of touchscreens that were lined with 4 empty chairs on each side: numerous data feeds were being processed and illustrated on the left wall, mostly which involved frequency-bandwidths, chatter from local transmissions and channel-adjustments; to the opposite wall showed some detailed data on the system they were in, the anomolies, scans from nearby ships that passed to and fro, and data regarding Telemetric Data.
To the front was a large, clear window that had a planet looming just on the other side, and stars filling up the rest, while on this side was a full line of computer-benches that had many touchscreen buttons which was covered with details on what the status the ship was in: component-integrity, hull-integrity, shield-integrity, velocity, plane orientation and many other gauges; before this line was another line of chairs that looked fit for 6 people to use.
At the very center was a rather-large chair that was planted down on the metallic floor with an alloy spine, with consoles of more touch-screen on its arms: it even had some cupholders on each arm, and had a comfy headrest for anyone willing to use it to relax.
He looked around a bit and first went to the front portion of the bridge and tapped a few buttons here and there; then he went to the left wall and pressed a lot of buttons around as he sat on the 2nd chair in the line; finally he stood up and sat on the comfy captain's chair, tapping some buttons on the right arm.
Eventually, the computer read the responses of his inputs, and the onboard neural-net computer replied:
[color=#3366FF]~~~Video Recording Protocols established~~~
~~~Initiating Video Feed Recording~~~
When the old man was finished with his speech, he took in a long breath, and exhaled deeply and satisfactorily.
... That should be it, then...
He got up from the chair, and stepped up to the front of the huge, open window, staring at Planet New Berlin with a fixed gaze. Afterwards, he sighs yet again, this time even longer and deeper, his chest heaving from the pressure...
"CLARE?! W-WHAT?! H-H-HOW?! Have ye seen her, by any chance, laddy?!"
"No... I'm sorry once again, Katarn...
"All I have, however, was a rumor from one of my Corsair-bred crewmembers that said she was finally going back to Crete to visit her parents there. Here... I'll load up the address of her parent's house on Planet Crete into you're PDA, Katarn..."
"... Thank ye, Fenton... This... This be great news te hear... I finally have a lead... After all these years..."
"Please... It's the least I can do for what you did for me back then... And I only came up with that rumor from luck too! Joshua used to be Clare's childhood friend when she was young, so evidently he'd know the address to where she used to live..."
"Give your friend my best wishes, Katarn... Safe travels."
Flashback*********
The old veteran suddenly finds himself on the surface of a very barren world, its land dried up and unsuitable for agricultural production, its surface covered with vast mountains and hilltops of rock and gravel, its skies lighting up with yellow meteor showers that seemed to never stop...
... Planet Crete...
[color=#99FFFF]... The home planet o' the Corsairs... Be as barren and lifeless as rumor, see...
... And...
... 30 minutes later...
... After walking through endless identical houses of sand and mortar-make the old veteran stops right in front of a similarly-identical house, but this one being taller than the rest by a storey. Its walls were of the same, dull mocha, and this one had no windows near the front door; it was flat-topped on the roof, and had a cloth tent right above it that was hooked to the ends like a small tent.
He inpected the wooden doorway that was just tall enough to allow access without hitting him on the head, and knocked on it 4 times.
The door opened up to reveal a young Corsair in his early 20's, his face having a smooth mustache and showing a humble build on his body; he wore the ordinary clothes of a Corsair civilian, and was in no way luxurious and showy; he raised an eyebrow at the comparatively-towering old man right in front of him, "... Eh... Hola, senor. What may Lucero do for you?"
The old man gave out a hearty laugh before slowly motioning his right hand towards the Corsair in an offer for a friendly handshake, "... Pardon me, lad... Ma name's Katarn... Katarn Dragonbourne at yer service...
"Pardon once again fer the sudden interruption, but... I be looking fer someone I knew once long ago, and I was hopin she be here in this lovely abode..."
The young man narrowed his eyes in suspicion at what the veteran said, and his demeanor then became formal, "Senor... We don't usually give out information to strangers, especially to people as armed as you..." He eyes the two exotically-shaped pistols on the veteran's side-holsters which were at first concealed from view by the ankle-deep trench-coat.
Katarn gave an expected, yet sheepish, smile at his remark, "HAHAHAAAAH! Yer be a smart lad, see... I be understanding yer suspicion, especially fer one so heavily armed as I...
"If it be makin ye feel any better, lad... I'll be leavin me weapons on the front door. I be havin no intention fer a'fightin, and just have a few questions willin te be answered, see?"
The Corsair inspected the man closely for a few moments, not wishing to miss any details, then said, "... You may come in, Senor... Just don't do anything funny, or the guards will make short work of you." He returns the handshake offered in the beginning.
The old veteran smiled thankfully, "... Thank ye, lad..." After which, he walks inside the door slowly, and it shuts behind him with a soft thud.
As the old veteran walked in he inspected the setting he was in: it seemed like it was the living room, 25-square meters in area, with a window to the left of it, a flight of stairs at the back, and another doorway to the right; it had an old-fasioned desert-theme with artifacts of shapes, sizes and colors dotting the walls, with a comfy leather couch just beside the stairs.
A hunting trophy was placed beside the window, showing off the horns of a once great beast that was killed by a skilled hunter; below it was an old Corsair-make rifle, possibly the honored weapon used to ensure the success of the former-mentioned hunt. He noticed that it was scarred deeply by a huge gash on the gunbutt, but nevertheless looked like it still had some fights left in it.
Lucero showed the old man to the couch, who didn't take long to sit down and make himself comfortable.
"Forgive me for my rude introduction back there Senor, but I'm just being cautious. We Corsairs have to look out for each other, and strangers, especially armed ones, aren't immediately welcomed with open arms, no?"
[color=#99FFFF]"True words, lad, I understand...
"Uhm... Where be you sittin, laddy? It make me be feelin wrong on me part fer makin ye stand as the talk I'm gonna have with ye be long and possibly boring, HAHAHA!"
Lucero soon disappeared into the other room, and came out with an ivory chair which he used to sit to face Katarn, "There now... That feels much better.
"So, Senor, make it quick, please... I feel all the more uncomfortable as you stay here in my home with your... guns."
"Sure, sure, laddy, HAHAHA!!!" Katarn grinned excitedly at the young man, "... I be lookin fer someone I met from 40-50 years ago... She be a Corsair, like yerself. I was told by a friend o' mine that his own matey be knowin her from her childhood days, see...
"It be so long since I last saw her, see, so I be not sure as te how she looks like NOW, HAHAHA!... As far as the rumor went, she used te live here back when she was a wee lassy.
"I'm not sure if she be the same one I be lookin fer. He only be givin me the address te the place, see, so I comes and tries te investigate. Please... If ye know even a trace o' her, it would be a great help fer me... Her name be... Clare."
Lucero thought for a moment, trying to recall all the names he's ever know from his life, "... Hmmm... Clare... Clare..." He then remembers something from a far-off distant memory, and says in wonder, "... Senorita Clare?"
Katarn's eyes suddenly sparkle from anticipation at the reaction, "... You... you know o' her, lad?"
Lucero scratches his head in disappointment, and puts on a strangely-sheepish smile, "Uhm... That be a very, very old memory, Senor. Senorita Clare was my Grand-Mama, whom I only met when I was still a small boy! Pappy told me all about her in my bedtime stories, of how she used to be a wonderous adventurer of sorts...
"... Sadly, I've only had a chance to meet her once, back when I was only 4... If I remember right, I think I saw some sort of digital map she left on the table while she was sleeping. I inspected it and saw it as a search route that zig-zagged around the Malvada Cloud, if my memory serves me right..."
"Could ye give me yer feelin as te how this route went?"
Lucero hesitates and deeply thinks for a few more moments before responding, "... I... suppose there's no harm in doing so, Senor. After all, I am a bit curious as to how her expedition turned out... She hasn't come back again, as far as I know..." He disappears once again into the other room, and when he returned he had in his hands a PDA. He tapped a few buttons here and there, and when he was done he showed it to the old veteran, who was only too eager to look at it.
Katarn's eyes widened with a new hope, and was just about to stand up to leave when Lucero halted him, "Whoa there, Senor, wait a minute... I'm not yet down with explaining.
"The Malvada Cloud is a very sacred place, Senor. That is where Corsair initiates pass their rite into adulthood...
"In there, you might come across the ancient grounds of the Sacred Spirits, and the ancient burial place of our old ancestors... If you know what's good for you, Senor, you will leave these grounds... undisturbed...
"Oh... and one other thing... You should NOT expect any form of aid should you get into any form trouble, Senor, for rescuing fool-hardy strangers is not of our concern... So expect yourself to be alone when you take this journey into our sacred grounds, Senor."
"I understand, laddy..." He gets up from the couch, and shakes the hand of the Corsair firmly, "... Thank ye fer yer help. It be a pleasure te find at least a lead te her, HAHAHAHAHA!!!
"Ah... and one other thin... What may be yer fam'ly name, lad, just in case I be meetin her and be provin her identity...?"
The Corsair gave a wry smile and replied, "... Campeche, Senor... Lucero Vadiani de la Campeche is my full name..."
"... Campeche... Clare Campeche... Thank ye once again, Lucero." After he nodded his head for a small bow, he exits the house and closes the door behind him with consideration.
Lucero then sits on the couch and takes out a small locket from his left pocket... He opens the locket and it reveals the picture a beautiful young Corsair lady in a black-and-white setting. After staring at the picture for a moment, he breathes a deep sigh to himself, and falls on the couch to sleep.
"sniff... help... sniff... I just wanna go home... sniff..."
"Please... I just wanna..."
".........go ........ go home...... mommy... sniff...................."
Katarn opened his eyes and found himself dozing off on the captain's chair in the bridge, the many gauges and consoles buzzing and whirring with delight as the ship moved in a straight line at cruise speed towards a now-looming green nebula cloud in front of the bridge window.
Shortly afterwards, a splitting headache engulfs the old man's head, and he tries desperately to rub it to mitigate the pain, yet to no avail.
"... Bah... Curse these... dreams..." He says loudly to himself, closing his eyes and trying to relax and shut out the pain.
[color=#99FFFF]"Must... concentrate......" The old man heaves in three deep breathes, each one slower and deeper than the one before it, until the last one he held his breath and exhaled with patience. He calmed his senses, his spirit, his presence, his sense of danger, his soul, and tried to feel the atmosphere around him. He concentrated into his head a singular imaginary point in the inky depths of the darkness, and tried to find peace amongst the chaos of his pain...
Soon, he fell back once again into a deep sleep, the background noises starting to fall silent, the roar of the engines purring till they were no longer heard, the creaking of the metal stopping short, and finally even his own breath fell undetected...
"... A conduit to the master..."
"... Fear... Anxiety... Dread..."
"... A conduit to an ocean of confusion..."
"... New course... Awaken..."
"... The void... covered in an ocean of thorns..."
"... Doubt... Perseverance... Courage..."
"... A fleeting memory... a danger to all..."
"... Thrill... Excited..."
"... deep fallout hides the revelation..."
"... Disappointment... Hope... A new way..."
Katarn once again opened his eyes, but this time with a wondering face, "... Eh... Now that... be a lot less sensible..." He rubs his forehead to find the headache totally vanished, [color=#99FFFF]"... Well, at least that splittin pain be gone now, HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
He gets up from the chair and walks over to the front of the bridge, eyeing the now close-by Malvada Cloud, the nebula used as the sacred grounds for the Corsairs: from a distance Katarn saw it to be very thick, possibly only giving off a few kilometers of viewing distance in all directions; he could make up a couple of strange black asteroids that were almost as flat as a pancake, lying parallel to each other, boasting a range of sizes and scales, a strange sense of solemness eminating from their thinly frames; even on this distance the ship started to impact on small, bullet-like projections of these asteroids, the shields fending these minihails off with an occasional buzz in the array like a bug zapper.
Shortly several minutes afterwards, the ship's navigational consoles fire up in yellow light as the ship entered the green cloud, the onboard computer's monotonic voice soon responding on the general intercom:
~~~WARNING: SENSORY EFFICIENCY REDUCED~~~
~~~SENSORY RANGE EFFICIENCY AT 10%~~~
The old man's face grinned with eagerness upon hearing the news. He slowly walked towards the Navigational consoles and looked at the map he got from Lucero, comparing it with the current heading of the ship's course...
... Aye... Steady as ye go... he thought.
Another warning soon flares up, this time to the left of where the first warning lights came on: it was the onboard radiation geiger counter of the ship, reading high levels of radiation starting to affect the hull integrity of the ship:
~~~DANGER: RADIATION DAMAGE DETECTED~~~
Katarn only laughed heartily at the computer's warning, ...Aye... The Malvada Cloud... Full o' radiation this lassy be... No matter how much radiation shielding ye may apply, the amount o' damage that be gettin through still be significant te the ship...
... No use o' adjustin power te the shields, eh? Well then... Me only hope, it seems, be Chronos on me side...
"Computer! Reroute power from the weapon systems te engines!" As soon as he finished the sentence the ship shuddered even greater, its cruise engines' roar now noticeably echoing around the halls of the ship, propelling the ship forward at break-neck speed. Even the old veteran wobbled a bit for a moment from the sudden increase of speed.
After getting his bearings back he went towards the Telemetric-Consoles of the bridge and viewed the current Nav-data of the area: only a scanning range of 1000 meters was observed from the data, which was not far enoughand not safe at all.
... I be thinkin as much... Rumor be that the cloud be too deep fer any scanners te work. It be lookin I needs te rely on dead-vision te navigate me way 'round here, hahahah...
... And this be not helpin at all if ever I should come te any form o' trouble... If ever I be caught in a'driftin, chances are I be spendin me last days here in the cloud as the radiation be tryin te eat away at me hull, see...
"... This... should be FUN, HAAAAHAHAHAAAAAAAH!!!" He looks yonder at the window that revealed many black asteroids whizzing by the ship like fast-moving comets, the inky-green depths of the nebula too thick to see too far ahead, which only made the trip far more dangerous...
... 26 minutes later...
... The old veteran was starting to grow a bit bored from the long journey he had: the minutes seemed to pass in hours, the many buttons he had to press to steer the ship from numerous accounts of collisions with asteroids didn't help at all; so far, only a small 2% of hull integrity faltered from the radiation seeping in, yet Katarn decided to release the nanobots ahead to be ready for anything; overall, the need for constant vigilance kept the old veteran on the edge.
As he pressed onwards, suddenly something metallic made a large FIZZ on the shielding array, a different sound from the usual asteroid that impacted commonly, and the old man flinched upward in shock, "Huh?! What be that?! Computer! Power down main cruise engines and divert power te scanners..." After the ship stalled in a halt, he veered the ship around to find the object he bumped into.
Soon he caught a glimpse of a faint object just a few hundred meters from the viewing window. He moved the ship closer in for a look, and the result raised an eyebrow: it was an old Titan vessel, and from the looks of it was far older than even himself! It had no guns on it and was broken on several places, yet there was a flight suit in the cockpit which clothed a long-ago-rotten skeleton.
... This must be what Lucero be talkin about... an ol' elder from ages past...
... I be close te the sacred grounds o' the Corsairs, see... No telling if--- huh...?
He notices the ship reading energy signatures to be high somewhere close by. He pinpoints the location of the source, and proceeds to investigate...
... What he saw stunned him.
A jumphole was sparking in front of him: its green aura shone with mystery, the fullness of its shape was cloudy, its gravitational field was disturbing; lightning occasionally shot outwards from the high readings of energy the ship detected, but only for a few meters which posed no threat to the ITS-Logos; Katarn knew that jumpholes, especially ones like these, were dangerous things to toy with, coupled with the fact that he may have stumbled across one by total accident...
... Yet... It had... a beckoning feel to it... like an unfamiliar doorway in a familiar house... It seemed to call out to him, to activate the phase-alignment procedures and just venture deep into the other side, to find out what lay ahead and know its mysteries...
Katarn stood up from the captain's chair and approached the viewing window with wonderous, awe-struck eyes. He reached out to figuratively grasp the jumphole with his right hand, like a fleeting memory that started to escape him. His body started to feel calm... safe... relaxed...
... But... wait...
All of a sudden, he saw as his outreaching arm starts to shake violently. He stops himself and reels back slowly from the window, from the jumphole... Somehow he felt something he didn't feel for a long time, something that he didn't think he would remember once again...
... He felt... Fear.
Katarn slowly backed away, his body starting to shake, his vitality was starting to leave him, and then he even started gasping for air. Mustering all of the willpower he had, he fought off the feeling and turned away from the Jumphole. Sweating his forehead, he quickly punched in the autopilot to continue onwards to the intended course of his search.
... What... was that... I... what... what happened...?
... This... feeling... why... what be that jumphole anyway...?
... Maybe... when... when I find her... I be askin the lassy bout this thing... not now...
Katarn wiped away the beads of sweat that started to trickle down his beard, and continued onwards in his search for his missing friend Clare Campeche...
The doors of Lucero Campeche were once again interrupted with a soft, but noticeable noise from the outside. He slowly comes to open the door slightly: just enough to catch a glympse of who was coming to visit...
It was the old veteran...
Lucero gives off a sigh, then opens up the door to greet the man, "Ah... Senor Dragonbourne...
"What news do you bring from your expedition into the Malveda Cloud, Senor?"
Katarn's grin sheds off into a sad smile, his eyes glinting off with a disappointed stare, [color=#99FFFF]"... Uhm... Well... I be findin somethin, all right... but..."
*****Flashback
"... Eh...? What be this...? ... A beacon o' some sorts?"
"... This... this beacon... It be transmittin..."
"... I... I see... But..."
"... What it be were you lookin fer, anyway...?"
"... And what it be ye may have found... lassy...?"
Flashback*****
"... I see, Senor... So this message---"
"Yes, lad..." The old man turned around and walked a few paces until he was standing right in front of a deep ravine, its slope lined with other similar Corsair households shining with their windows in the dark, starry night. He initially speaks louder to allow the Corsair to hear him fine, "... She somehow be findin somethin in her search... Somethin... old..."
Then his voice trails off lower, "She be leavin the beacon fer anybody be lookin fer her te follow in her footsteps in case she be... lost somehow, in her search... "
... To the point of being audible only to himself, "... But the bigger question that be poppin in me mind now is... What she be lookin fer...?"
Soon it became only a whisper, "... And another be... What it be she found...?"
Lucero walked over to Katarn's side, and joined in his gaze at the sky, "... Senor. I suspect that your search continues elsewhere then... So why do you come back?"
Katarn turns to look at the young Corsai and gives off a warm grin, but his eyes could not lie the look of grief, "It be a matter o' pride, lad. Ye helped an ol' man in his time o' need, and I pay such acts in kind.
"Besides... since she be yer granny ye have every right te know what I find. It would be a breach in honor te leave ye out o' yer fam'ly history, see?"
"... I've misunderstood you, Senor. I just thought you were a simple mercenary with no sense of honor whatsoever." Lucero grins back wryly, then looks again at the stars.
"Aye, lad... Ye have very right te think so. Don't blame yerself..."
A long pause descends upon the night, the silence occasionally interrupted by passing Corsair patrol ships making their rounds looking for any potential threats on the planet surface; their engines roaring with ferocity and power; their headlights illuminating every nook and cranny before finally heading off to another section of the ravine.
Finally, it was the young Corsair male that broke the awkward serenity, "... Senor. The message indicated that her last known destination was Freeport 9 on the Omicron Theta System. You can get there through the jumphole located in Omega-41."
"Aye, lad... So I've heard... Ahhhh..." Katarn's face slowly becomes flustered with humor once again, "... The neutron star in said system be beautiful and gorgeous, yet... deadly... Just like Corsair women, eh?
"Ahhh... They be a great bunch. Lots o' backbone in em, unlike most women ye may find in the house systems, eh? Hahahahaha... Aye... Now THOSE be real women I be takin te likin, HAHAHAHAHAAA!!!" The old man's torso vest shudders from the boisterous laughter erupting from his mouth, his grin going wide and devilish. Lucero only grins wryly.
"Yet... I be havin a few more questions be needin answered, if ye allow me to, lad."
"... I... Suppose I can still entertain more questions, Senor." He looks around slowly.
"Aye then... Have ye, by any chance, identified her ship whilst ye still met her? Have ye seen any other people she be coming along with?"
Lucero thinks intently, and delves deep once again into memories old, "... Hmmm... If my memory serves me right, I once saw her ship land on the space port when we went to greet Senorita Clare... The ship could be the... Rio dela Maria. I am not entirely sure if it was either a Titan, or a Decurion.
"As for companions... Well there was this tall Corsair adventurer who looked like he had his share of battles: he had brown hair, and was a little shorter than you, but... I did manage to catch a name when he was talking with Senorita Clare... I think it was Salvatori Ramanesca.
"... And that's all I have to answer your questions, Senor."
Katarn then gets his face a bit calmer, as if in preparation for a personal question, "Aye then... Another inquiry if I may add... What... she be like...? Was she... full o' life? Full o' energy, spirit perhaps? Stubborn?"
Lucero suddenly brims with a wide smile, his cheeks now more pronounced, "Hah... Senorita Clare was... eccentric, even for Corsair standards. I swear she placed Mamy in a lot of situations where she just went into such a fit I would burst out laughing my heart away from seeing the priceless look on Mamy's face..." He gestured his right hand in a bloom when he said 'priceless', "Ahhhh... how Mamy's face turned red, heheh."
"Aye, lad... Must've been fun in yer day... hahahah..." The old man looks up once again at the twinkling night sky, the constant meteor showers ever present on the inky depths of the evening...
*****Flashback
"Senor! SENOR!!! WAKE UP, SENOR!!!"
"Huh...? Who are you...?"
"Who am I, Senor? I am Clare! Who are you?"
"Me...? Uhm... I'm... Katarn..."
"Hola, Senor Katarn! Come now, we mustn't keep Mamy waiting!"
"Who...? Mommy...?"
"Ay, Senor Katarn! You sure are slow! Come! Follow me!"
"Pilot Katarn Dragonbourne o' the 'Heron'-class CT-53 Civilian Train labeled ITS-Logos here. I be askin permission fer the right te dock on Freeport 9, and be standin by fer yer reply, ovah Traffic Control."
"... Roger, Pilot Katarn of the ITS-Logos, this is Freeport 9 Traffic Control," A Zoner woman replies professionally on the bridge intercom of the ship, her tone being that of recent activity, but noticeable tediousness, "... We hear your request to initiate docking procedures, and are currently checking for any available transport-class mooring fixtures, over..."
Some tapping on a holographic console in the background is heard until the ship recieves a green light on its Telemetric Reader, "Pilot Katarn Dragonbourne of the ITS-Logos, Mooring Fixture D-12 (Dee dash twelve) is standing by, and are therefore clear to proceed to dock, over."
"I be seein, Freeport 9 Traffic Control, thank ye fer yer help...
"This be Katarn Dragonbourne o' the ITS-Logos signin off, over and out." The old veteran walks off to the Communications side of the bridge, and taps at a single button to finally sever the comms channel link to Traffic Control.
Once Katarn punched in the coordinates to the Mooring Fixture that was downloaded from Traffic Control, all he had to do was activate the autopilot, and soon afterwards the Logos slowly moved towards the orbital, then turned on its side, and finally it opened up a small hatch for the ship's mooring doors to connect with the station.
Before he was just about to deactivate the systems of the Logos and exit the bridge he identified a lone Argus ID'd as the Hinaichago in the Telemetric Scanners, orbiting the freeport without any movement: apparently, it seemed that the day was a lot slower than usual, for, apart from the Logos, that was the only ship near Freeport 9 within scanner range. It was stalled in mid-flight, its engines humming to themselves. I had obvious signs of age, what with some hull panels a bit scratched and its paint starting to wilt, but nevertheless looked in good condition.
He didn't usually like to interrupt people, since the ship's crew could be sleeping for all he cared: but Katarn thought that it might prove some helpful insight as to the whereabouts of Clare... It wouldn't hurt to try, right?
Yet he wasn't the one to initiate the talk: "... Konichiwa." The Communication's Channel brightened up with the voice of a young girl. Katarn investigated the comms console and saw the "captain" of the Hinaichago: a young girl of seeming-Kusarian ancestry, possibly in her pre-20's, but could be even less than 18.
He was only too eager to reply back, "Howdy, ship! HAHAHAHAHA!"
The captain responded with a light chuckle, "That joke's old... as old as Earth."
The old veteran then continued, "... Ehm... Pardon, captain... But... Are ye be willin te entertain an ol' man's question?"
"Whatcha need?" The girl replied with an eager tone.
"Well... I be lookin fer someone... A Corsair, if ye will, lassy. Her name be... Clare... Clare Campeche... Ye heard o' her by any chance?"
She thought for a minute, and after which replied back, "Sorry... I've never really interacted with 'Sairs much. I wouldn't be a person to ask to find a particular Corsair: I haven't really had too much contact with them..."
Katarns grin still remained, but his breath came slower, "Ah... I see... It be 50 years since I be seein her, see... I be not blamin ye if ye know not o' her, lassy, hahahah...
"Thank ye fer botherin yer time te help an ol' man in his time o' need..." The captain only nodded her head before switching off the channel.
... 15 minutes later...
The old veteran, still wearing his signature rugged costume, walked into this shady, but comfortable bar of Freeport 9. The other patrons eyed his notable wear swishing with delight as he slowly sat down to order some drinks.
"Ahoy..." He looked at the bartender with a wide grin, his eyes sparkling with interest, "I be lookin fer information bout a certain Corsair lassy, see... It be from an ol' source, see, but I'd still be likin te try me luck...
"As far as me info serves me she be comin here as her last known destination... I be wonderin if ye heard o'... Clare Campeche...?"
The bartender, upon hearing the name, stopped motionless almost immediately. He came closer to the old veteran and inspected him from top to bottom with a cold gaze, then in one quick movement motioned for Katarn to follow him to a backroom behind the bar.
Inside the room were loads of junk here and there, but one notable thing was this old footlocker which was developing a layer of dust on the frame. It looked pretty secure: it had a digital console that was backed up with 4 super-alloy cylinders that sealed the box shut; the opening was even air-tight to discourage dust and decompression from coming into its contents.
But before Katarn could even so much as step inside the room the man stopped the old veteran with his arm and said in a skeptical face, "... So what business do you have with this woman? I’ve been told to expect someone to ask around for her name, and it’s been decades since someone’s done so... Quite frankly, I thought it was a mere joke, and only kept my word because the stubborn lady offered me a frak-load of money for it..."
Katarn chuckled a bit, "Eh... I be a friend o’ hers, laddy. I met her when we be still in our childhood years...
"And if that not be proof enough, here be the message sayin her last known destination she be goin towards. It suggests the reader te venture here fer information as te her next movements, see.” He shows his PDA in front of the Zoner bartender a voice-message of Clare, which sounded of a true Corsair-bred woman.
"Hmmm... Your proof checks out. That's the woman's voice, alright. Funny, cause it's been years since she's come back, and no trace of her's ever been found, not even in rumor. And aside from that, I've been 'patiently' waiting for any fool such as yourself to come and even so much as utter her name again...
"... So... Mr..."
"Katarn... Katarn Dragonbourne, at yer service, laddy, AHAHAHA!!!"
"Katarn... Alright. Follow me..."
The two men proceed towards the footlocker, and when they stood just above it the bartender punched in a very long code, of which the locker opened up with a flinch, the cylinders disengaging with a quick puff, the contents now revealed.
What was inside was mostly red cushioning that protected a very old-modeled datastick. The bartender slowly took it out with care, and after making sure it was still intact he gave it to the veteran, "Here, Mr. Dragonbourne... As far as she told me, this datastick contains a map of the route she was going to take...
[color=#FFFF99]"Apparently, she had a lead as to something ancient, and went out to investigate... That lead made her look here... From what I could tell the object seemed to be either somewhere in one of the nebula clouds here in Omicron Theta, or that it was a Jumphole in those clouds she was searching for... Hard to tell... She was in a hurry when she told me about it...
"But whatever it was... it scared the living hell out of her... She was looking for it like it was a matter of life or death or something..."
Katarn plugged in the datastick into his PDA, where after a minute of re-adjusting the format for compatibility it revealed another map as to the intended search route.
"... And she be... never returnin, see?"
"Exactly, Mr. Dragonbourne... It's like she just vanished after she went... No other Zoners have heard of her, and the Corsair Councils are reluctant to just give away any private information regarding their people's current location and/or status... Mysterious, if you ask me... Not even rumor seems to shed some light into this..." He started to shiver slightly from just the thought of it, of which Katarn took notice of.
They both returned back to the bar, where the patrons somehow looked eager as to hear of what had just transpired, "Heh... Gossiping fools."
Katarn, grabbing a drink from nearby, stood up and walked briskly to the very center of the room and shouted out in a merry tone, "SO WHO HERE'S EVER HEARD O' CLARE CAMPECHE, EH?! HAHAHAHA!!! IF SO, THEN BE APPROACHIN ME AN TELL ME ALL THAT YE KNOW BOUT!!!"
One man, apparently of Corsair origin and boasting a rather quality pistol on his gun belt, stood up from the side and slowly walked towards Katarn with a cautious stance. He was close to Katarn's age group, had brown hair, a full beard and deep wrinkles on his face; his clothes of Cretian leather jacket and pants spoke of class and style, albeit some battles with its wear and tear; his eyes were a bit faded, but were still shapely and youthful; his voice came out gruff, slow and deep, "... Funny you should say that name aloud, Senor... I haven't heard of that name in years, and here comes someone who just blatantly says it out in the open for my old ears to ring in... You have some gall, I can give you that.
"My name... Is Salvatori... Salvatori Ramanasca, Senor." He grins off a full set of golden teeth to the old veteran Katarn.
... A few minutes later...
"... So you come in search of Clare Campeche, huh...?" Salvatori, sitting on a table alongside Katarn, grabs a mug of Black Grog standing just between him and the other old man, then drinks a small sip before continuing, "... You should know that I was once one of her escorts back in her day, Senor. We at first did the usual Corsair Artifact trade that stretched as far out as the Tau worlds... under the counsel of the Elders, of course... We met as she was being pursued by a group of Bounty Hunters somewhere in the Omega systems.
"That was until..." He suddenly paused and refrained from continuing.
"... Until what, Salvatori?" Katarn's eyes sparkle in anticipation, his grin fading away to a formal line on his face.
The Corsair's eyes narrow down, and he looks in another direction to recall, "... Until the stories about the ghost ship came out..." He grips the handle of the mug tightly.
Katarn raised an eyebrow at what he just heard, "... A... A ghost ship, ye say? I never knew ye were be the superstitious types, Lad---"
"THIS ISN'T A JOKE!!!" Salvatori suddenly bursts out in a fit of rage before he gets his composure back and continued, "... A ghost ship...
"Many years ago we heard of reports that some of our patrol wings have been suddenly disappearing left and right when they ventured in the Malvada Cloud... Their last messages being about a giant, unmanned ship attacking them and destroying their ships outright.
"Of course, I and Clare went to investigate, and we came out with some data that this ship was indeed big... It's Cruise Engine signature being somewhere between a Battlecruiser or a Cruiser of sorts... But by the time we got there it had already relocated itself to this system, judging by the path the engine trails led us.
"We followed the trail, but suddenly its engine signatures seemed to have vanished altogether when we got here... We searched around the clouds for any signs of the ship, expecting for a battle...
"... Looked like we bit off more than we could chew...
"All of a sudden, our wing was attacked from a secluded location by accurately-shot Transport Type-2 Turrets. We couldn't identify the source of the shots because the cloud we were in was too thick for visuals, and that scanners didn't work properly... But it seemed our enemy wasn't hindered by this at all, almost shooting with straightness as if we were in open space.
"Eventually, we managed to escape... Barely... Only I and Clare Campeche were able to flee, and I was left seriously injured. I tried to dissuade her from going, but she would have none of it, wanting revenge for killing off our brethren. She left the bartender the map you most likely possess now, Senor, and headed back into the clouds...
"... And she was never heard from again." Salvatori's face instantly went grim and dark, and drank his remaining grog with a solemn look.
Katarn couldn't believe what he just heard, ... Clare... Ye... Ye stupid, stupid lass... He slammed his right hand on the table in fury, shaking his own Black Grog from the thud, both feeling angry and sorry at himself for not getting here on time.
Salvatori, after finishing the drink, got up and placed a condoling hand on the old veteran, "... I'm sorry, Senor Katarn... That is all I know... I've tried searching for the remains of her ship in the numerous clouds in recent years, but... nothing of her seems to have been left.
"... I'm sorry I cannot go with you in your search, Senor, for I am in no condition to do so... My age has... caught up with me it seems, and I need to refrain from danger lest it suddenly breaks down..." He coughs shortly afterwards, and takes out a pill to relieve the pain of his throat.
"... I have told you all that I know, Senor Katarn... Now I must leave to visit my family in Corfu... Farewell, Senor Katarn..." Salvatori walks away and exits the bar.
For a while, Katarn looks down at his grog, transfixed in a gaze of shock and guilt, his eyes starting to grow teary and wet. When a teardrop finally trickles down his left eye and lands on the table, he gets up and places several credits on the table to pay for the drinks, then walks out the bar to get back to his ship.
... That not be like you, lassy... ye never gave yerself up te anything ye put yer mind on... I know yer still out there, Clare... I be feelin it... His grin comes back, and as he enters the mooring station and enter the Logos he wipes away the tears in his eyes, a new light now sparkling fiercely in them...
*****Flashback
"Clare! Are you hurt?"
"What are you talking about, Senor Katarn?! I'm perfectly fine!"
"But y-y-you fell down a long ways, Clare... And you're BLEEDING!!! You sure you don't need to rest just a bit?"
"HAH! Even if I fall off this thing twenty times I'll only rest when I get what I want, and right now I want that fruit up that tree! Now give me a boost, Senor Katarn..."
"Alright!!! I told you I'd get the fruit! Here you go! That's your share for the labor, Senor Katarn."
"Uhm... thanks, Clare..."
"Don't fret, Senor Katarn! With me around, fun and adventure are bound to come our way, that's for sure..."
... I be called many things in me life... Crazy be one o' them... Suicidal be another... Heh...
... Most o' them be right...
Katarn stared out the bridge window as the Logos burst out of the Napo cloud, the green gas trailing shortly behind the wake of the ship's cruise engines. The bridge was buzzing with activity as the Logos continued onwards to the Amarus cloud, it's larger size floating ominously before the old veteran's eyes, it's view coming in closer as the cruise engines brought the ship closer and closer to its borders.
[color=#99FFFF]... But it be that craziness that brought me this far... No normally sane person be willin te risk their lives fer someone whom they be not seein fer 40 o' 50 years...
Suddenly, the ship's onboard computer came out with those same words that put him on the edge:
... Clare... If ye be hearin these thoughts somewhere out there then be listenin closely, fer I be only sayin them once...
Suddenly, the whole ship began to shudder and shake from the small fragments that impacted upon the shielding array of the Logos, its cruise engines roaring and blasting the train ahead into the green void where Salvatori said he was attacked by the mysterious ghost ship, its bridge consoles beeping loudly and earnestly from the many actions the autopilot was doing to keep the ship in its present course.
"COMPUTER! ALL POWER FROM WEAPON SYSTEMS TE ENGINES!!!" He screamed in an excited rage, the computer responding with an immediate burst of speed on the ship's engines, which almost doubled the normal cruise speed when an almost deafening boom came out. For a moment, it seemed the ship went on a massive earthquake from the roar of the engines, until the onboard computer was able to adjust the gyroscopic calibrations to make it more stable.
Katarn, after getting his bearings, continued looking at the window, his eyes narrowed and shining with a fierce light in them as the large black asteroids whizzed him by at an incredible speed.
... If I be knowing ye fer what ye are I know somethin like this be not stoppin ye... If ye be not givin up on yerself... Then...
... I be not givin up on ye too, lassy... I be promisin ye that with me word and honor... A wry grin came out of his mouth, and his face portrayed a daring stare at the nebula, now just meters from his ship...
... And ye always know I be keepin all promises I be makin... Soon the Logos disappeared through the Amarus cloud... now in the hands of fate...
... 35 minutes later...
The Amarus cloud was silent... quiet... thick... The serenity soon interrupted with a small object dashing by, its cruise engines making a noticeable trail of white, its hull shaking a bit violently by the amount of speed it went through, its outside lights trying to illuminate the way ahead in vain. The asteroids tried to block its way, but the object's autopilot proved to be the wiser, swerving left and right to avoid numerous collisions, sometimes with only a few meters to spare...
Katarn observed as the nebula looked entirely the same everywhere he looked: he could count himself lucky he had a waypoint path to follow; otherwise he would've been flying in blind space, without any guide to one point or another, let alone out of it. The old veteran was starting to sweat his brow, and wiped it with a handkerchief he produced from one of his pockets; his concentration and attention span was almost superhuman, for he managed to remain vigilant all through this time, ever awake to find even a trace of abnormality in the scanners and visuals; his body was starting to grow bored and tired, but he knew if he was to survive this mission he would need every ounce of vigilance and reaction time if ever the potentially-watching ghost ship should spring out and show itself.
Fate wasn't without mercy: eventually, the ship found something of high energy levels somewhere to the NNE of the ship's present course. Katarn immediately sprang into action: he sprinted to the Telemetric Consoles and observed the data of those readings; next, he gone over to the Navigational Helm and plotted a course towards the source; finally he blurted out hastily, "COMPUTER! Reroute 20% power from Life-Support Systems te the engines!"; slowly, the bridge temperature rose, and that he noticed the oxygen levels go a bit lower, but nevertheless the ship went forwards by 30% more speed.
The bridge was beginning to feel like a Summer day, and oxygen levels were at levels equal to that of 10% less than optimum levels, a point where Katarn was made to make deep breaths now... But only a few more minutes passed than several, and he arrived at the site: it was only a Jumphole to another system. Katarn scanned it, and found it was an already-charted system called Omicron Eta.
He felt it was a step forward: he rerouted power back to optimum levels on Life Support and Weapon Systems, then grinned to himself as he adjusted the ship's energy-signatures to become Phase-aligned with the Jumphole's. Slowly, the Jumphole sparked, then it bolted, and lastly it ferociously flashed lightning as it was now ready to proceed into warp.
The Logos was driven into the Jumphole's center... Soon, the whole ship warped into hyperspace, sending it through a tunnel of immense energy that took it to the other end of the Jumphole...
The Logos was soon rewarped back to normal, the tunnel collapsing into normal space. As Katarn looked around, it seemed at first glance he was still at the Amarus Cloud, its green gas still engulfing the ship, the asteroids still the same blackness...
... But upon a closer inspection, he saw it wasn't the Amarus Cloud after all: the asteroids weren't as flat as they were in the Amarus, and neither were they exactly the same color, for these showed a slight tinge towards blue.
Yet the old veteran was suddenly interrupted when a massive bolt hit the shielding array of the ship: quickly, he went towards the Telemetric Console and scanned the surroundings to see if the ghost ship was present.
Instead he found a Corsair "Legate" being attacked by numerous Outcast fighters and bombers, the large capital ship firing its large turrets wildly in space in a desperate attempt to shake these nuisance things away.
... And naturally, if the capital ship was just doing potshots at these fighters it was bound the Logos might get caught in the battle. Katarn's eyes sparkled with excited anticipation, his grin coming back with a revenge, and his piloting-senses were kicking up.
Quickly, the old veteran maneuvered the Logos in the asteroid field and weaved through the incoming shots of Solaris and turret mess. Eventually, the Legate was successful in its battle, yet it seemed it didn't pick the Logos up (or that it was, but the ship was deemed unimportant), going ahead on its previous course without another moment's notice.
... Heh... I be not expectin that... That was fun whilst it lasted anyway... "HAHAHAHA!!!" He chuckled to himself as the Logos proceeded to venture on a straight line, now in unfamiliar territory...
"Aye... FINALLY!" Katarn draws out a sigh of relief when the Logos at last breaks through the cloud after a third of an hour going at a straight line all throughout the time...
But he couldn't appreciate his joy for long: almost immediately after the ship left the borders of the cloud he witnessed the shape of a large ball lined with many sharp spikes loom over and appear before the ship's viewing window as the gas started to clear.
The old veteran didn't have enough time to react, for the ship was going at cruise speed, which left only milliseconds to react to the imminent collision. Instead, Katarn braced himself onto the nearest object he could find, the Navigations console, and hoped for the best.
As soon as the ship was just a few meters away the object burst outwards with an extremely-powerful force that rippled across the entire section of the ship; despite the shield array was able to absorb most of the blast from the object it made a few systems around the ship spark from the sudden shove of force; the old veteran's brace was even too little to absorb the blow, shortly thrown down to the ground and onto his back.
When the veteran came to after a few seconds passed the ship's Engineering Console was screaming with panic at the shield array being only at 10.5% integrity. He quickly went to Navigations and deactivated the Cruise Engines and rerouted power from the latter and switched power back to shields and scanners in preparation for another impact.
Katarn shakes himself to get his bearings back, then heads to the bridge viewing window to get a closer look at what he was up against...
... He found something more deadly...
[color=#3366FF]~~~DANGER: MINES DETECTED~~~
A whole minefield was right in front of him, spread out by tens of kilometers on every side. The old veteran's heart skipped a beat, and he managed to swerve the ship backwards to avoid getting closer to the mines, "... Maker slap me and give me te me papa... What be this...?" He was slack-jawed and dumbfounded by the monumental scale of the minefield, its borders almost too far for the eye to see, its contents all jagged and extremely intimidating for any would-be venture to risk.
The old veteran looked around to see if there was an open passage into the minefield, and sure enough there was: it was small at best, only a few hundred meters in radius, which was only just enough for a train like the Logos to pass through.
Katarn, seeing the grand opportunity for thrill and danger, let out a devilish grin at the minefield, his eyes now alighted with a fire for risks, "... This should be FUN, HAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!" He laughed boisterously as the Logos prepared itself for the passage ahead.
A few minutes pass into the passage located within the minefield, and the Logos was going along at relatively-slow cruise speed. Katarn remained vigilant should the ship ever veer off its manually-pinpointed waypoint course and come colliding with a few mines; his heart was beating excitedly; his breath was getting more relaxed; his eyes narrowed down from the concentration needed for the mission.
Eventually, against all odds the Logos manages to get through the open passage and into open space...
... Hah! No minefield be even a close match an' be hinderin ol' Katarn Dragonbourne, HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!...
The old veteran quickly looks around to find for any notable landmarks in the area, and soon he finds a station just a few minutes away. He plotted course towards the station to investigate and get his station-legs back...
... 19 minutes later...
The bar on Palermo station was relatively quiet: the Corsair raids seemed to be mitigating for the moment, and so there wasn't much use in being vigilant for the time... A slow day on the bar it was...
All of a sudden, Katarn bursts through the doors, interrupting the peace of the occasion, his clothes still doing their job of making an impression upon the Outcast pilots and inhabitants there. The old veteran walks towards a table and calls out for a Black Grog to be delivered by one of the waiters there.
The Outcasts talk amongst themselves at first, until a few more enter the bar with seemingly-upset faces. They approach their other brethren and whisper as they look at the old man minding his own business... Shortly afterwards one of them decides to approach Katarn and said in a hidden scowl, "... You are not welcome here..."
"... Oh? That be rude, lad... What be makin ye say that, all o' a sudden?" Katarn raises an appraising eyebrow at the reasonably-armed Outcast grunt, his grin becoming wider from the sudden greeting.
"Your ship is holding a bunch of artifacts, yes? You have been dealing with the Corsairs, have you not?" He takes out a shiny and well-maintained pistol and places it on his side of the table, "... You are not welcome here... You will come with us, whether willingly... or..." He cracks his knuckles, darkly looking at the old man, "... by force... if necessary..."
The veteran narrowed his eyes and inspected the Outcast grunt from top-to-bottom: then he eyed the whole room, which was now filled with eyes staring directly at his direction, all openly revealing their inner-hatred on the man.
... Aye... This be not safe fer someone like me, heheheh...
In a split second, the veteran stands up and upholsters his two exotic pistols with both his arms in one sweeping movement, the trench-coat flapping outwards and revealing a full arsenal of grenade-and-ammo straps on his vest that were once hidden from view, and the trench-coat inner pockets sporting an almost dazzling array of equally-armed pockets and weapons.
... Seems a change o' place be in order...
"... Young lad... I be not wishin te fight with ye... but..." He took off the safety in his pistols with his thumbs, which made the two weapons start humming to life, "... If ye insist in givin an' ol' man a fun time... then..." He grinned maniacally at the grunt, who was now starting to sweat from fear, "... I be willin te oblige..."
In another split-second the veteran did a round-house kick at the grunt, the force sending him flying off to the other side of the room: in that same instant whilst he was still flying mid-air Katarn unleashed a volley of dead-on bolts upon the grunt on his legs, arms, then torso; even before the Outcast soldier hit the ground he was already dead.
Another split-second later the veteran placed his guns back in their holsters, dug deep into both sides of his inner trench-coat pockets with both hands, and in one sweeping maneuver he threw a couple of handfuls of spikey grenades everywhere around the room, and after which activated a personal molecular shield around his whole body.
Before the rest of the patrons could react from the grunt being downed they were immediately showered with thousands of razor-thin needles that flew across the entire room, which although looked deadly were too short to do serious harm and only incapacitated all of the patrons' limbs and pressure points, leaving them unable to fight back. The needles that came upon the old veteran were simply shrugged off and did no harm upon him.
Katarn left the room in a quick dash back towards his ship, trails of particle-bolts and curse-words right behind him from security trying to deal with the intruder. ... Heh... These Outcasts be lots o' fun, HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!...
The veteran finally got to his ship and quickly disengaged the Logos from the mooring point, and as he activated the cruise engines a wave of Outcast fighters were headed straight for the train with guns ablazing.
Suddenly, the Outcast gunshots stopped altogether. The old veteran looked at the scanners to find that a wave of Corsair Bombers were already starting to bomb the station, which prompted his pursuers to disengage from the chase, "HAHAHAHAHA!!! Yeah! Ye better be runnin off back te yer mamas', HAHAHA!!!"
The Logos, with nowhere else left to go, decided it was high time to get back... Katarn plotted a course back to the Theta jump hole, then he sat back on the captain's chair and fell fast asleep...
... Once again the Logos traveled through the Amarus Cloud of the Omicron Theta system... The black asteroids seemed to feel common to the old veteran now, and the microorganisms around the ship welcomed him back with a buzz. The Cruise Engines of the Logos were roaring mildly, unaided from overpowering, and were not in any way affecting the ship no longer in terms of stress. The shield array still fizzed on occasion from the momentary fragment interrupting the otherwise-desolate nebula...
Katarn opened his eyes to find that the Telemetric Console was flashing with new data. He stood up and went towards the computers to see what all the fuss was about...
... A... a planet...? But... that be---
But curiosity got the better of him, and soon he stopped the ship to identify it. He went to deactivate the cruise engines, then diverted power to scanners to increase the potential range (which was small as it was in the cloud)...
Apparently, Katarn wasn't the first one to have been here: a small satellite was orbiting this very planet, gathering data and taking tests, then sending off these scans back to some unknown location in the system... From the readings the satellite was transmitting the old veteran noted that the planet was called Vespus, a water planet with a location unfit for terraforming, and therefore abandoned save for the satellite...
Katarn was just about to leave when he suddenly got another reading from his scanners: another object, this time of relative largeness, was orbiting the planet. The old man, seeing this as something curiosity should have more, angled the ship towards the unknown object...
... It was what he feared the most...
... Could it be...? ... The ghost ship...? His senses of danger once again came back, and almost immediately he responded, "COMPUTER!!! FULL POWER TE SHIELDS AN' WEAPONS NOW!!!" Quickly the turrets came online and were starting to get overcharged with power, while the shields just got a lot thicker and beefier. Expecting the strange ship to attack at any moment he went on the defensive of the upcoming battle, since he was at a disadvantage with not only a smaller gunmount count, but the ghost ship was rumored to have taken out several Corsair wings...
... and Corsair wings are pretty tough to kill...
Katarn prepared himself for the inevitable battle he was expecting: his reflexes and coordination returned to normal; his eyesight became sharper, his eyes narrowed down in anticipation and anxiety; his grin now going devilishly-wide in the danger he got himself into; his face was growing flustered with excitement and thrill; and his body was starting to go itchy from the expectation of the first move...
... The only problem was... it didn't do anything...
Suffice to say the prison liner was seemingly inactive: its engines were offline; the windows were all dark and turned off; the turrets didn't move towards the Logos in preparation for the offensive; there were no lights shining about it, as if the ship was in a deep sleep; and the ship's captain didn't hail back either; in all intents and purposes it truly was a ghost ship, its inhabitants possibly either gone, or in cryobays in deep sleep...
Katarn decided to wait for at least 30 more minutes to see if the ghost ship would react... And still no response... ... Mmmmhmmmm... This be a good chance.... Better board it an' see if there be anyone around... He clicked the Navigations Console of the Logos to get a little closer towards the nearest Mooring Port, and went towards the Engineering Console to activate the docking procedure... In just a few minutes the Logos was safely connected to the Liner.
The Prison liner, on skin-deep inspection, looked old... very, VERY old... it seemed like it preceded him in terms of wear-and-tear by more than twice his age: several parts of paint have already come off long ago; there was rust and roughness everywhere he looked, all of them like craters now; the windows were mirky and dusty to the point of almost being opaque; the engines were of an old model of almost a century ago, their integrity just bordering in betweeen spaceworthiness, and in need of a total refit; the turrets were Transport Type-2's, which further proved it WAS the ghost ship of legend; the strangest part was that Katarn could've sworn that shining blue lines were running all across the ship when he first caught a glimpse of it, but have now disappeared altogether.
The old veteran, not knowing what the name of the ship was, looked around the viewing window of his bridge to see if there was any sign of a christened name welded into the hull of the liner. Soon he thought he found something close to it: there was a phrase somewhere to the fore end of the liner; some the letters seemed to have faded off from rusting, but parts of it were readable nonetheless.
Quote:
OR--- O- CIN--------
... Hmmm... Or... Oh... Cin...
... Orocin [color=#FFFFFF](Or-o-kin), eh? The ship's maiden name be Orocin...? That be a weird name...
... But fer a reputation fer bein a ghost ship, it be a fine idea te have a strange name, fer a strange ship...
He stepped into the doors of the Mooring Port... and into the Orocin...
It was just as the old veteran predicted... From the outside the ship looked old, but on the inside it looked ancient: dust and cobwebs lined the walls, corners and even floors of the ship like barricades of soot and silk; the power seemed to be off, for Katarn couldn't activate the lights when he tried several times to flick the switches on; it looked as if it used to be a well-structured vessel, for if the grime and ash were taken off it would seem the furniture, instruments and other stuff were organized and kept in order before it was abandoned long ago.
The lay-out of the Prison Liner wasn't of a simple make of prison cells and what-not that would house prisoners for a short trip to the nearest prison station... no... The lay-out of THIS Prison Liner was almost entirely different: sure there was a brig aboard, but it was dwarfed by the many other facilities that occupied the space of the ship: it seemed it was designed to be self-sufficient, for there were numerous bays that allowed for long trip into outer space.
There were "comfortable" Sleeping Quarters, Hydroponics Bays, Medical Bays, R&D Bays filled with all sorts of instruments that seemed high-tech in its time but were now obsolete in this century, a large Resto-bar with many old drinks, tables and chairs lined up "neatly", an Entertainment Facility that even had its own large court for large games, a warehouse-worthy Storage Facility, anything you could possibly think of to insure that the crew of this ship and other inhabitants were comfortable for the days they would spend in this place... If Katarn didn't know any better this place would be considered as either a small Luxury Liner, or that Zoners used to live here and traveled the edge of the galaxy in this capital ship: a small, mobile Freeport, in a sense...
But Katarn didn't have much time to go sight-seeing around the place: he looked around to find for any trace of the crew.
All of a sudden the old veteran could've sworn he heard the Logos detach from the Mooring Port... He went to go back to the Mooring Port, and sure enough the door to the port was closed, and the Logos WAS floating in space...
... Next... the unthinkable happened...
In an instant, the Orocin's turrets came alive, and Katarn could only watch in horror as the Prison Liner fired at his ship until it was blown up to smithereens...
... Now... The old man was trapped... in the ancient ship...
In a rage he searched again all around the ship to see who was responsible for doing such a low-blow act: he checked the Sleeping Quarters, the Bridge, the Cryobays...
... Nothing... It was totally empty of anyone save himself...
Thinking his luck couldn't go any lower, he stooped down to the dusty floor and, as tears started to stream down his eyes, he wept loudly to himself at the prospect that he was going to spend the rest of his days in an ancient ship without any chance for outside contact or aid... His willpower was starting to fail him... His resolve was slowly losing him... He made a promise to her, to never give up, to never surrender from any and all opposition... and now, under the present circumstances he had no control over, he was going to fail that promise to his friend...
All he could do was await his...
... Huh... ?
His despair was momentarily interrupted when he noticed that a light above him was flickering to life... The power was being restored... Slowly, the whole ship began to light up and come alive by itself, and the next thing he knew the ship was now fully operational.
... But... That be not right... How... How be this possible...?
... There be nobody else aboard... How could...
His thoughts were interrupted when it was the intercom's turn to come to life. At first it was buzzing with static... But an invisible hand was slowly adjusting its frequency until suddenly... He heard a woman's voice from the comms... The voice of the monotonic computer similar to his own ship's on-board computer...
But somehow... it seemed... different...
~~~WELCOME ABOARD THE TB-NARS-98, CAPTAIN~~~
... Eh...? Katarn started to scratch his head in wonderment at the sudden and surprise greeting, "Er... Hello...?"
~~~GREETINGS. PLEASE DESIGNATE YOUR IDENTIFICATION, CAPTAIN~~~
"Erhm... Uh... Katarn Dragonbourne...?"
The voice paused for a minute and was replaced with some beeping noises on the other side... After a minute of anxious waiting, the voice once again repeated:
~~~AUDIO-VOICE RECOGNITION INTO SYSTEMS DATABASE COMPLETE~~~
~~~AUDIO-VOICE ADJUSTMENT INTO COMMUNICATIONS DATABASE COMPLETE~~~
~~~WELCOME ABOARD THE TB-NARS-98, CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE~~~
Katarn was dumbstruck at the on-board computer trying to strike a conversation with him! After thinking for several minutes, the old veteran concluded that the computer was no ordinary AI: in fact, this could be the very first models of the advanced AI of the older years, still alive and kicking, and now communicating with him!
He cleared his throat, trying to make himself appear formal, "... Ehm... I be not yer captain, ship... What makes ye say I be captain?"
~~~ON-BOARD SCANS SHOW ONLY 1 HUMANOID LIFEFORM ABOARD THIS VESSEL. LOGIC DICTATES THE FIRST HUMANOID ABOARD BE CONSIDERED CAPTAIN TO ASSUME STRUCTURE AND ORGANIZATION IN COMMAND STRUCTURE DATABASE~~~
"Ehrm... sooo... that be meanin I be the only one aboard this ship, see?"
~~~AFFIRMATIVE, CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE~~~
~~~WHAT ARE YOUR NEXT ORDERS FOR THIS UNIT TO COMPLY?~~~
The old veteran thought for a moment: then he suddenly remembered the part on his ship "exploding into smithereens"... A bit of hatred in his voice he replies, "... What be yer reason fer destroyin ma ship moored in yer Port, eh?"
~~~CAPTAINS SHOULD ONLY HOLD ONE SHIP IN THEIR ROSTERS, NOT TWO. FURTHER SCANS SHOW PREVIOUS SHIP TO BE UNABLE TO OPERATE IN OPTIMUM CONDITIONS UNDER ONLY ONE CREWMEMBER, THEREFORE BEING CUMBERSOME AND INEFFICIENT TO PILOT~~~
"Your logic be worse! How am I be able te command such a large... Prison Liner, o' all things, with only meself?!"
~~~THIS VESSEL IS EQUIPPED WITH THE MOST STATE-OF-THE-ART ON-BOARD AI KNOWN TO SCIENCE. THIS VESSEL IS ENTIRELY ABLE TO BE COMMANDED BY ONE CAPTAIN, AND ONE CAPTAIN ALONE. THE ON-BOARD AI IS FULLY CAPABLE OF HANDLING ALL OPERATIONAL SYSTEMS ABOARD THE VESSEL, FROM NAVIGATION TO POWER ALLOCATION TO REPAIR JOBS VIA ON-BOARD NANOBOTS AND MARCO-ROBOTS UNDER THE CAPTAIN'S COMMAND~~~
Katarn raises an eyebrow at the computer's reply, "... If ye say ye are fully capable o' handlin yerself all fine an' dandy, then why be needin a captain in the first place? And besides that, where might be the previous captain, and his o' her other crew anyway?"
~~~LAST CAPTAIN'S LOGS SHOW DECEASED-STATUS CIRCA:782 A.S. FROM NATURAL CAUSES. OTHER HUMANOIDS LEFT VESSEL WHEN CAPTAIN PERISHED DUE TO MENTAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL STRESS FROM DEATH OF CAPTAIN~~~
~~~THIS VESSEL IS NOT FULLY AUTONOMOUS AND REQUIRES A HUMANOID CAPTAIN TO COMMAND AND HELP FULFILL ORIGINAL PURPOSE OF VESSEL~~~
Katarn's eyes sparked interest when the word "purpose" was said to the computer: he remembered the stories where the Corsair Pilots suddenly disappeared from the occurrence of the ghost ship, "Ship! Are ye be responsible fer the destruction o' several Corsair Pilots in yer un-commanded time preceding meself?"
~~~AFFIRMATIVE. DATABASE SHOWS INTENT OF CONTACTS PROVED TO BE AGGRESSIVE AND DESTRUCTIVE, USING EXPLOSIVES AND BRUTE FORCE TO BOARD VESSEL. VESSEL WAS IN ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES READY TO ALLOW CONTACTS INSIDE, BUT CONTACTS WISHED FOR MORE UNORTHODOX METHODS. THIS VESSEL IS DESIGNED TO ENSURE IT'S SURVIVAL AND INTEGRITY TO BE LEFT INTACT. SHOWING PROOF OF ACTIONS THROUGH VIDEO FEED IN 3 SECONDS~~~
Suddenly a viewing monitor behind the old veteran comes alive. He watches as the monitor shows the Corsairs DID in fact only hailed once and, when there was no reply due to a missing captain at the time, then tried to use explosives rather than safe docking to get into the ship, for fear they might be setting up a trap. ... Well... That be provin some thin's... He snickered to himself as he watched.
When the video feeds were done he turns back to the intercom and asks, "... So... Ye say ye have no captain te fulfill yer purpose...
"What be that purpose, exactly...?"
~~~THE PURPOSE OF THIS VESSEL IS SEARCH AND RESCUE OF CERTAIN INDIVIDUALS WITH NEOPHYTE ORIGIN TO ENSURE THE SURVIVABILITY, STABILITY, STRUCTURE AND PROGRESS OF THE NEOPHYTE ORGANIZATION~~~
Katarn's eye raised once again at the mention of this "Neophyte", "Computer... What be these Neophytes ye be talkin bout?"
~~~ERROR: DATA REGARDING NEOPHYTE INFORMATION CORRUPTED AND/OR UNAVAILABLE~~~
~~~HOWEVER: SCANS ON CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE BIOCHEMISTRY AND PHYSIOLOGY HAVE CONFIRMED THAT SAID CAPTAIN IS OF NEOPHYTE ORIGIN. PURPOSE STATES THAT CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE IS TO REMAIN ON VESSEL TO ENSURE THE SURVIVABILITY, STABILITY, STRUCTURE AND PROGRESS OF NEOPHYTE ORGANIZATION~~~
The old veteran was surprised that he was somehow connected to these "Neophytes", "Computer. What be yer proof as te why I be connected te these so-called Neophytes?"
~~~ERROR: DATA REGARDING NEOPHYTE JUSTIFICATION CORRUPTED AND/OR UNAVAILABLE~~~
"... Oooookaaaaaay... That be... veeery helpful... pfah..." Katarn rolls his eyes in sarcasm at yet another road-block on his quest to know more about his past.
Speaking of his past... The old man suddenly remembered the one thing why he was doing all of this in the first place, "COMPUTER! HAVE YE BY ANY CHANCE COME INTO CONTACT WITH THE RIO DELA MARIA, AND ITS PILOT?!"
~~~AFFIRMATIVE, CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE. VESSEL HAS COME INTO CONTACT WITH CORSAIR DECURION SERIAL NUMBER 675-453325-709. VESSEL HAS SHOWN HOSTILE INTENT, BUT SHOW NO SIGNS OF BOARDING ATTEMPTS. THIS VESSEL HAS ADOPTED SHADOWING MODE UNTIL VESSEL RIO DELA MARIA DISENGAGED FROM FIGHT AND LEFT~~~
"What be the last known destination ye have on the Rio dela Maria, ship?!"
~~~TELEMETRIC SCANS FROM SHADOW MODE HAVE YIELDED RIO DELA MARIA HEADING TOWARDS THE BRETONIAN SYSTEMS~~~
... Clare?! Ye be headin towards Bretonia, o' all places?!...
"How long ago be this data ye have on the Rio dela Maria, ship?"
~~~UNFORTUNATELY, SCANS SHOW THAT DATA REGARDING THE RIO DELA MARIA IS 45 DAYS, 2 MONTHS AND 14 YEARS OLD. ACCURACY OF CURRENT LOCATION IS SLIM AT BEST~~~
Katarn couldn't believe his ears: he thought he was so close to finding Clare Campeche, only to find his information be decades old... He slammed the wall right next to him angrily, tears streaming down his eyes...
~~~SCANS SHOW CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE IS SUFFERING FROM PSYCHOLOGICAL DISTRESS AT HIS LACK OF INFORMATION REGARDING THE RIO DELA MARIA AND ITS PILOT CLARE CAMPECHE~~~
~~~THIS VESSEL IS DESIGNED TO ENSURE THE WELL-BEING OF EVERY INHABITANT LIVING HERE. THIS VESSEL WILL AID IN YOUR RECUPERATION BY DOING ALL IT CAN TO ENSURE THE SEARCH AND RESCUE OF PILOT CLARE CAMPECHE WITH ALL OF ITS AVAILABLE RESOURCES AT ITS DISPOSAL, ALONGSIDE ITS MAIN PURPOSE~~~
NOW he thought he was going mad! Could it be that the ship was proposing that it aid him in his search for his friend Clare Campeche just because it wanted him to feel better? "... Y... You... You'd do that...? Fer me...?"
~~~AFFIRMATIVE, CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE. VESSEL SUGGESTS YOU START YOUR SEARCH IN THE BRETONIAN SYSTEMS TO FIND ANY DATA REGARDING THE RIO DELA MARIA AND ITS PILOT CLARE CAMPECHE. RECORDS INDICATE THAT IT IS 0.04% POSSIBLE THAT THE DESTINATION IS THE BRETONIAN BATTLESHIP CHRISTENED AS THE HOOD IN THE DUBLIN SYSTEMS JUDGING BY FREQUENCY OF VISITS~~~
~~~WHAT ARE YOUR NEXT ORDERS, CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE?~~~
Katarn couldn't believe his ears once again: the ship even ADVISED him of a location to start his search on his friend...
The old veteran wiped away his tears and said, "Ehrm... Alright then... Uhm...
"... Me next orders, as ye have said, be te head towards Battleship Hood in the Dublin systems te start me search fer Clare Campeche. Is that be understood?"
~~~AFFIRMATIVE, CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE. PROCEEDING TO CHART A COURSE TOWARDS SAID SYSTEM~~~
All of a sudden, the Prison Liner's engines were coming alive, and soon it was heading off towards its intended destination. The old veteran was torn between total disbelief from what had just transpired, shock of finding out the sentience of the ship, happiness at the new hope he had for finding his friend, and excitement from realizing he was just appointed the captain of a new ship, albeit losing his own. The veteran eventually decided to choose the third, and went towards the bridge of the ship to identify what he had.
When he arrived at the bridge of the vessel he was amazed at its design: it was squarish in area, and there were actually two floors where it was separated by a transparent glass floor, a large elevator smack-dab in the center of the Bridge being the only way to go from one deck to the other. Each floor had its own windows to view the outside, a full 360-degree angle around them.
The bottom deck was where it was supposed to house the management of the Engineering Consoles and internal systems of the entire vessel: to the front view was where the general status of the ship was outlined in real-time holographic displays, like Hull Integrity, Shield Integrity and others; to the left side was where it controlled the fore section of the ship's security, primary lights, current status of the bays it held, and other things like plumbing; to the right was the same as the former, but it took care of the aft section; to the back of the bottom deck was where the management of power and engines was supposed to take place.
On the top deck was where the external systems like Turret and Weapons Control, Navigations and Course Correction Consoles,Scanners, Communications Array and others: The front was where the helm was at, and where the ship's piloting would normally take place; to the left was where the Navigations and Plotting of course, as well as Scanner Analyzation, was located; to the right was the Communications Console, where there were frequency adjusters, signal transmitters and other commands; to the very back was where the weapons were commanded over.
Near the center of the top-deck was the Captain's chair, which was just behind the elevator. Its large, foreboding size made sure that anyone who sat on this chair was to be highly respected and commended.
After Katarn looked around a bit of the bridge to get a feel for the place, he went towards the Captain's chair and sat down comfortably on it.
~~~PLEASE MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE HERE IN THE TB-NARS-98, CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE~~~
"Ehm... I be havin two thins I be likin te change... The name be complicated... Does this vessel be havin a christened name?"
~~~ERROR: DATA REGARDING HISTORICAL FILES CORRUPTED AND/OR UNAVAILABLE~~~
"I'll be takin that as a no...
"Therefore, this vessel be called... Orocin, from now on, see?"
~~~AFFIRMATIVE, CAPTAIN KATARN DRAGONBOURNE. THIS VESSEL IS NOW HEREBY UNDER THE NEW DESIGNATION OF OROCIN FROM CIRCA: 818 A.S UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE~~~
Katarn shivered a bit, "Ehm... Computer... Ye be only be needin te be callin me Katarn... It be too formal fer the likes o' me te be called captain, fer I am a man o' simple tastes, see...
"Also, from now on, computer, I be callin ye... hmmm... Elizabeth, fer helpin me feel a bit more at home here in the Orocin, see?"
~~~AFFIRMATIVE KATARN~~~
Soon, it felt high time that the old veteran should take some shut-eye... but seeing as how the sleeping quarters were a bit of a distance away, and that he wasn't in the mood to walk for now, he decided to just doze off on the Captain's chair...
... Clare... I be a'comin , lassy... Me promise be still strong in me heart...
The ship continued on with its present course... towards Battleship Hood... The Amarus Cloud's black asteroids whizzing by at the ship's cruise speed, the green gas still showing an atmosphere of desolation and loneliness...
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