Name: Nadja uhl
D.o.b: 778 as
Gender: Female
Eyes: Blue
Attire: Overalls, or Green leather, Casual denims, T-shirt, Satchel.
Height: 5' 8''
I've always been on the fringe; trying to stay off the radar: except when it served my purpose. When I heard about the recent troubles : I felt compelled to join the gathering.
Pappa was a shipwright, well, that's what he studied: but, after gaining a low level position at republican (where he met my mother) and fooling them beautifully; he revealed his true colours. After his grand-father had seen the light during the popular revolution in 703, and had raised his son to know the truth, pappa had become a what my mother described as "a charming revolutionary".
Mamma was a 'grease-monkey', as some might say. I call her a genius. Wherever we made port, she would work for a time as a mechanic; and when I was old enough, she brought me in on it, which made it easier to make ends meet. Momma taught me that sometimes, violence is the answer. This was reinforced by fathers stories of Alster in 512, which cut us to the core.
My nightmares at the time took place on a barren landscape, containing a sole unassailable fortress: *freezing rain crashes against grey stone, and we huddle and crawl toward the one possible sanctuary. Cloaked Figures, spectal and cruel, kick us with barbed feet, and retreat behind the metallic doors. The sound of the lock snapping into place is deafening, and we weep in unison & despair, thousands begging for salvation. None comes, we cannot wake. We stumble upon bodies, some go mad tearing and growling at each other. The hunger grows. Our begging goes unheeded, for years we rot as corpses surrounding the keep; the horror seems endless.*
I would wake from these visions sweating, sometimes screaming, it wasn't until i grewolder, that I learned to supress that fear.
My parents did the best they could for my education: but after a particularly visible incident that mother had, we were forced to re-locate. At our new home there were some tutors that were between employers, had left their facist instiutions, or had simply been disgraced. In short, it made for a varied educational journey, flecked with obscure and archaic information.
It was from these few, that we kids were able to get some kind of, albeit unstructured, education. Of course mother would set assignments based on her past work, and it wasn't long before my siblings and I got to know our way around a spanner.
Later we would play with multiplexors, tear machines apart and re-build them, smelt dangerously hot-alloys, and generally mess around with perilous items.
It was during my teens that we moved around the most, and it was on these journeys that we would often meet junkers. One junker in particular fell in with my dad, and started to expand my knowledge on the mechanics of engineering.
During this time I did my first ship strip and rebuild; from the plates to the heart: I crawled around in that rig for nigh on a three hundred days , knowing every inch of the damned thing by the end of it. On the final day of the build, i took her out to see if she was space-worthy - if she wasn't, well: I was meat. Luckily, She held true, Uriah merely nodded his approval once i'd brought the ship in; and I knew that was the best I could hope for from the stoic bastich.
With my new-found 'Uriah-approved-stamp' I had further faith in my skills, and decided to skip around to see what else I could pick up from the disenfranchised masters.
My first love though, has to be explosives: from that first day I looked out the port-side, with a childs eyes, and saw a transport igniting in a myriad shower of coloured power, bringing some kind of beauty to the big-dark. My eyes wide with wonder I gazed on, ignorant of the suffering behind such an event: "Daddy; fireworks!" Years later, I experienced the power of explosion again. We were all on ship, hauling a cargo of diamonds; which appealed to my still naive mindset. My parents started to utter to each other over the controls in urgent, quick exchanges. Some thing was wrong, the alarm sounded and the lights went red, i could feel the slight shift as the ship altered course. Pappa rushed over to me, told me everything was going to be ok, as he lifted me and strapped the rest of us securely into an escape pod. Rejoining my mother, he manned a console as the ship shook with cruel force, flashes of light crossed the aft, and it wasn't long before they both joined me in the pod, gripping each other fiercely as we flew away from our exploding ex-home. I stared out of the portal as we slid through the dark, catching the last moments of the ships life as shades of fire were born and suddenly quashed; a turbulent bloom so unique, it could only last seconds. I was entranced; I could have died, we'd lost our home, our trade; but none of it seemed to matter at that moment, only the god-like level of destruction outside did. Don't get me wrong, I'm obsessive about engineering and ships, but destruction is just..religious..or was it delicious..
I remember the nomad war, and the horrific infection that further seeped into society, even that alien presence managing to push its' demands on the pigs and proletariat both. And those inhuman pilots that blasted their way through pretty much, anything they liked. It was a difficult time, I lost a brother back then.
In the year of 813 as, there had been big talk going around which I had been following with some anticipation. Eventually my ranging found Klar, who had breathed new life into the cause; and of course I was carried into the current. After years of campaigning and preparation, the raid that would make history was underway. My orders were quite simple; retrieve anything of value or use, and destroy anything that we couldn't take. We went in behind the second wave; our P-trans was packed with crews wielding wrenches, torches, c-saws, crowbars, toolkits, and of course: there were lot's and lot's of guns.
The first wave tore at lazy defences, we watched the viewer as explosions lit the station, chaos erupting through precision. We made the dock and stormed on board, as the doors opened, the first rank simply opened fire: filling the corridor beyond with enough arms fire to sink a ship. The air was filled with the acrid-coppery smell of blood and smoke, the way forward was slick underfoot.
Our deployment was quick and brutal, preceded by soldiers clearing the path. I opened fire whenever seemed appropriate, whenever the guy next to me did; firing blindly at supposed enemy positions, I'm not sure if I killed anyone or not, all that mattered was ripping the guts out of this place. Surrounded by the ceaseless sounds of now-distant gunfire and screaming, we went to work; conferring briefly with each other, ensuring our dismantlement would allow us to extract the utmost from this dire monument. We became lost in the task, singly focused and elating in our bounty. We detonated charges and hauled the goods back through, with a number of converts who had decided to join our departure it seemed, at gunpoint of course.
We made our way to pacifica joyous and confident, the following hours were a blur of murderous delerium. We felt invincible; momentum carrying us as one.
When things had died down, we looked around to see smiling eyes behind blood spattered faces, bloody hands wiping away excess gore. We looked for Klar, but he was nowhere to be found: Klar had disspeared. There were rumours of course: that he died in the confusion, that he went on a 'spiritual' journey, he went to secretely lead other radicals in sirius, he went in search of stronger enemies to duel, etc.. I think he just decided to lay-low: I mean, there must be a kings bounty out on him.
Since then I've just been trying to make a few credits, whilst keeping the right people sweet, anticipating the next cohesive strike, the eventual fall of the barrow, and the inception of Profrock's plans. I am ranging out to see if I can contact his comrades and perhaps assist in the struggle.
I've managed to find a varied bunch of allies; in the LWB. They all seem a good bunch, and I've managed to do more for the cause with them; than in the previous few months with union. It even seems as though these cats might be able to turn a certain military officer!
Things are underway, and I'm glad of the new-found friends working against the corruption of the oppressive powers-that-be.
My name is Werner, I have decided to use my sisters communication frequencies; for sentimental reasons and in the hope that it will help unveil her killer. Nadja was cruelly torn from this world ; with the aid of a some genius techies we were able to draw this from the blackbox. It seems My sister had a run in with something worse than I had anticipated; Nevertheless I can do nought but search for the abomination and do what i can to inflict all manners of pain upon it. There were no traces of bone marrow or proteins within the cockpit, but I find it hard to imagine anything or anyone making it out of that sun-bleached ruin.
So; I have taken her place amongst the farmers rights movement, which has become a workers rights movement; I heard about the first joint action between the farmers and the union, and was pleased to hear that it the operation went especially well. I will update Nadja's logs with any findings about her murderer and of course I have to break this to the family. Things are difficult, but the work for the cause is proving to be helpful. Uhl out.
Werner shifted uncomfortably in his boots as the bustling crowd, pressed shoulder to shoulder, jostled for space in the undersized dance-hall. Getting to the bar was a lost cause so he stood, like a score of the other flight-suit clad bodies, facing the stage with its lone speaker fiddling with the microphone stand. Zank you all for coming, so much. Zis is a great day for Rheinland; as ve few take bold new steps tovard co-operation and success! Each of you here has been assigned za temporary ving-man for whose zafety you are responsible. Ve vud like each of you to study ze flight tactics, patterns and any-sing else you sink useful; of your partners. Zis iz eine information sharing exercise ant we do not vant you to hold any-sink back; Ve must set aside our differences in za spirit of co-operation, for freedom and for Rheinland!
A broken ripple of applause wove through the gathering, punctuated by a few suspect wolf-whistles, a few arms raised-glasses; spilling beer on the nearby folk as they went about finding the assignments board at a shuffling amble. Werner turned toward the bar and began a slow weave to a cool drink.
***
A few drinks later:
Sho wachasay we go unt rustle up some support my new besht comrade? Shpread the gut verd.. Werner slurred to Joes nodding head; The pair stumbled hopefully into the night air.
***
Unsure of how he got here: Werner stood with outstretched arm pointing at what appeared to be a police-man. Abruptly ceasing whatever he had just shouted: Werner regarded the arm as if to decipher its meaning; something wasnt right here, something had gone terribly wrong. Why was he pointing? What had he been shouting?
The officer turned to his left and reached for his stun-baton, as Werner turned to remark to Joe; his eyes went wide with alarm: as Joe was already in motion blurring toward the off-guard officer a drawn-blade trailing in his wake. It then dawned on Werner that he was committed to this situation for the sake of Joe, he cursed as he turned to the remaining officer who was shouting fervently into the communicator at his collar. ..Achtung! he awkwardly shouted as Werner picked up speed and drew his hefting-stick. A shriek issued from his right as he was about to strike; he glanced seeing Joe straddling the downed policeman, blood sprays evident on the ground around them. He turned back to see the standing officer fumbling at his holster and desperately swung, feeling contact as a firearm went off. Light flared between the officer and Werner, as a shockwave shook through his arms, he dropped the stick as his left arm went numb. The officer was down, a large bump already further deforming his face: ziet to go! Joe hissed, as Werner tried to untangle the fog that had lead here, he looked up; Ja doctor.., he staggered toward Joe, warm blood seeping down his limp arm. At the sight of the wound, Joe positioned himself to easily drag and support his confused cohort, and the red-stained pair shuffled back behind the curtain of night.
So, I've lost a fair few fights out there: some I've managed to get away from, others that have ended more violently. Apparently I took some major damage recently in a particularly bad explosion after the incident with the aliens in Frankfurt when they managed to pry me out of the pod.
My right side was mauled. They said something about nerve clusters and tendons: they just meant the arm was ruined. My memory of them patching me up is broken and foggy: bleary shapes slipped by in the background as I tried to focus through a drug induced haze. I passed out and dreamt of folk working the fields on a sunny autumn day: men lifted bales in the sun, as the women smiled on; carrying their baskets full to brimming with pretty blue. Now I have these unsightly tubes and plates holding the mess together, which the smoky junker fixer assured me was 'nearly as good as a real-arm'.
Fighting the good fight has not been easy. Sometimes the very people we are trying to help treat us like dogs and worse. A lot of days have passed with hunger knawing incessantly: it's not that I can't get a good meal at Kaiserslautern; just that I can't eat in good conscience at that kitchen without having something to return with. The few times I have been lucky enough to make home; I've heard rip roaring tales of our Unioner sisters riding into battle like the Valkyries of yore: smashing through the cosmos, leaving a splendorous wake.
Of course, all this has drawn a few fans in of femme-fatales, so we've had a few more tourists coming through, asking for an audience with the Bodicea types: their eyes bright with something between lust and obsession.
All of that got me and a few of the boys to thinking: what if we used this opportunity to rip-off a few gullible sots and make some money? So, I decided to kill time touring a few of the more upmarket bars around Berlin and Stuttgart looking for a fat target. It wasn't long before I found Tobias, some suit working for interspace who was a massive fan of Tanja apparently. I told him I could arrange a meet and had the suit follow me through the streets until I knew we were well out of the nice neighbourhoods. 'Is it much farther? It doesn't look too nice around here.'
'Not much further now Tobias, and you want to meet her don't you? Tanja can't just hang out at a high profile place like you were at you know - these dangerous women have to keep a low profile.' I re-assured the dupe, calming his nervous fidgeting a mite.
We arrived in an alley where I stopped as a women approached from the shadows, a mean-looking club tapping her left palm. 'Hold it right there fellas: that's far enough.'
Tobias stuttered 'Y-you don't look like Tanja.' He accused.
'That'd be because I'm not porky - now hand over your cash and cards or my boys here will break your legs'¦or worse.' Her deadpan voice was touched with amusement as three more figures emerged from the shadows, weapons glinting in the moonlight.
'I'¦I don't understand - none of you are Tanja?!' Tobias pitch rose in confusion. The grunt behind him didn't need any more provocation and cracked tobias in the back of the skull, sending the suit face down into the ground in a second. It didn't take long to rifle through his designer clothing and grab the goods. Jack helped me drag the fat Tobias back near the nicer part of town, where we left him to nurse a sorry head come the morrow. So thanks to the women of the AGS, who seem to have started a new tourist sport, and this can only be good for the cause.
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