Adventures In Academia

Posted on Sat Apr 20th, 2019 @ 6:34pm by The Narrator & Lieutenant Commander Mara Ricci & Staff Warrant Officer Blaise Birch & Stephen Spires

Mission: S1E3: Moments Of Consolidation
Location: Campus of the White Tower, Carpathia, Carpathian System
Timeline: MD6 1830PM

Calhoon found it first, clicking his finger to draw attention. He shone his light onto the ground, where hidden behind a large tree trunk was a broken length of the branch. But impressed into the dirt beneath the broken bow, was a two-toed footprint. Angular thread's picked out the pads of the toes, suggesting a boot.

"Bootprint," Elias said, studying it under the light of his own torch. "So either we've got company, or someone thinks it's funny to put shoes on animals."

"Really? Shoes on animals is your go-to first assumption here?" Calhoon said in an understated tone of voice. Calhoon reached down, parting his fingers in the Vulcan salute style and placed them into the boot imprint. "Might be something from the tower, like one of those centipede things but...ya know. Smaller. Though they did-"

A rustling from above brought Calhoon's rifle up, the beam of light shooting up into the thick canopy atop their heads. It was only a momentary glimpse of something, the suggestion of long limbs, the glint of armour, and two pairs of red eyes that caught the light like distant lightning strikes. And then it was gone, the branches shifting aside to cover its retreat.

"Okay back to the boat," Calhoon said, keeping his rifle trained on the area he saw it. He turned to look back at Madrid. "Get going kid-"

Something leapt out of the underbrush ahead of them, tackling Calhoon off to one side in a tangle of limbs. The phaser rifle went off, but instead of a solid bolt of phased energy, a chaotic release of particles danced from the rifles emitter in an ineffectual spray. The bright embers touched off a few small fires, but even the fire seemed to lose its life within the silent forest. From the same brush, another of the long-limbed attackers appeared, this one looking right at Elias.

Willowy and tall, with the oddly jointed leg's that canted back at the knees into a second set of ankles, the armour it wore was streamlined for its narrow frame. Its triangular helm suggested an avian-like visage, and four armoured red slits glowered at him.

"Get back to the boat kid." It...said? It was Calhoon's voice, but instead of hearing it rattled within the Ops Chiefs brain like a half-remembered line of dialogue. It reached to its back, pulling out a long pole staff with a professional business-like grace of a seasoned fighter. "Get back to the boat kid."

"Calhoon!" Elias cried out. The rifle barrel came up. His finger was on the trigger, but uncertainty gnawed at him for a couple of agonizing heartbeats. He was about to send shots down range. Calhoon could still be there somewhere. But where? The blast from the other rifle had ruined his night vision. Dammit!

The choices were run or fight. Elias dropped to one knee and squeezed off two shots where those red eyes were staring him down.

The phaser bolt's shattered in the air, fizzing out into branching orange balefires that did nothing but a flash in the air. The slender alien stepped forward, a clacking sound echoing from its helmet, and brought the staff around in a sweeping strike. Upon connecting with the barrel of the rifle, the staff's tip flashed a dull violet, and a heavy scent of ozone and melting plastic's filled the air as the front six inches of the rifle vanished.

"Get going kid," the alien's mimicry of Calhoon's voice continued, the staff now pointed spear like as Elias. To either side, more rustling sounds reached his ears, as a half dozen of the aliens slipped out of the shadows in low crouches. That soon turned into a lopping run towards the runabout.

He hadn't felt right all evening. Or whatever passed for night in this blindingly bright nightmare. Discomfort, catalyzed by fear, turned to rage. These... creatures... mysterious attackers... bogeymen. Blaise would show them what a real monster looked like.

Hissing teeth protruded through black lips as Blaise charged the nearest creature. His gangling limbs gave him a spry, lumbering gait that set him upon the enemy in mere strides. Elongated black fingernails scratched against the crimson battle armor, digging for purchase. The shrieking war cry of forgotten primeval rage filled the air until Blaise at last wrenched free the face plate of the creature's helmet along with an armored pauldron. His cry cut short as his jaws clenched on the side of the feathery neck, biting through flesh and plummage for the sweet ichorous nectar that he craved.

The avianoid alien's screams became wet and frothy, the helmet it wore hiding a great deal of the gore. Two of its fellows dog piled onto Blaise, grabbing at arms and legs to restrain him with squawks of displeasure as some of their compatriot's blood smeared onto their armour.

Two of them jumped with surprising grace and power, landing atop the hull of the Runabout and screaming in joyous triumph.

With a shriek and a presence of mind that Mara didn’t realize she possessed, she raised her phaser and aimed for the creatures eye. She fired three times in rapid succession and without waiting to see if she’d hit anything, dove inside the shuttle for cover. “Rollins! Take cover!” she shouted.

The three phaser blasts branched out, smearing their energy until nothing remains to harm the creature. A burst of chittering laughter filled the air, and the two jumped from the hull down to box in Rollins and Mara. The crew chief stepped forward, his rifle held up like a club after seeing the effect Mara's fire had, swing it at one of the aliens. It dodged backed with each swing, before bobbing under and jabbing the staff into the man's foot.

There was a flash of purple light, a smell that really did smell an awful lot like seared pork. Rollins fell to the floor, his face ashen as he looked down at the smoking remains of his foot. Or at least where his foot had been moments before.

"Do not resist!" called a wet, guttural voice that rang on the air and not in the mind. The voice arose from a cobbled together speaker box hung from the belts of all of the aliens. "These Reka are not the most intelligent of beings, but they see equal value in cargo they can eat and cargo they can trade for. Lay down your weapons, or I will command them to end you all and pick your bones clean for scrimshaw. I'll give you 11 gek's to respond. 10 geks. 9 geks. 8 geks-"

With a defiant look Elias dropped his rifle. It was useless now anyway. The broken weapon made a thud as it hit the ground. "Who are you? Where is Calhoon?"

"I am the one asking questions," the speaker said with a phlegmy chuckle from the Reka's little vox boxes. "And you're at five geks. Four geks.-"

With a grunt of frustration, Mara tossed her passer to the floor. “What do you want?” She demanded.

Stephen groaned in wordless profanity and dropped his phaser as well. Dania muttered something similar and kicked her rifle away.

With all the weapons thrown to the ground, the Reka pounced on them. Gauntlet clad hands snatched the rifles away, tossing them to skitter across the smooth surface of the tower. The aliens then closed in, forming a loose perimeter with their staff's either being held or swung in lazy arcs. They looked less like guards standing watch, and more like bored children wanting a chore over and done with.

Another two walked up from the forest, carrying a limp Calhoon between them. They unceremoniously tossed him into the circle of lights cast by the tent and runabout, the unconscious pilot bleeding from a cut across one eye. Behind these two stepped another alien, this one shorter than the avianoids and the humans like. Smooth, glossy skin mottled in greens and greys covered a rounded head with folds of skin or gills around the neck. Black eyes shone back from behind a pair of complicated looking optics, with little scanning lenses flicking down from a headpiece. His manner of dress was one of a flight suit, stained here and there, with ports and valves set into it for air and water lines.

He squatted down, and his stubby webbed fingers picked up one of the confiscated rifles. He turned it over in his hands, nodding in approval.

"A compressed phased energy rifle?" he asked, his voice sounding lite it was bubbling up from a stagnant brook. He shook his head. "I'd have granted you more sense investigating a Prior relic with a tool like that. You're very lucky the Censor did not deem it worthy of its attention or you'd be spawn feed."

Mara struggled against the arms that held her. “What do you want?” she demanded again. “We didn’t come to hurt anybody. We’re explorers!”

The critter appeared to be cybernetic. Prior relics? Stephen could tell the dwarf knew more than he was telling. And at least he'd called off his horde of harpies. For now. "He's here for the same reason we are," Stephen said cannily. "Only he's only got eyes for live trophies. Which is why there's only one question here that really matters." He turned his gaze from Mara to the stranger, and palmed his handheld audio recorder from his sleeve and held it up. "And that question is do you wanna' go on living? This here is a subspace transceiver with a deadman's switch. Either you and your gaggle of fucksticks get on back to wherever the hell you came from, or I call in an orbital bombardment that turns this here jungle to a giant sheet of glass. Go on, now. I don't know what the hell a gek is, but I reckon you don't got many to get lost."

There was silence for a moment as the froggy sentient looked at Spires and then burst into a deep belly aching fit of laughter.

"Ho! HA! Oh, you really that new to the Sphere aren't you?" he began to say after getting control of his corpulent chuckling. "Many a civilisation has tried that you know, and many a civilisation has ceased existing right afterwards. The first lesson's going to be free mammal: Prior artefacts and relics are protected by the Censor. Think a very advanced quasi-sentient security system that can readily identify harmful intent and act against it. For instance, your rifles were designed to fire a coherent phased energy slug correct? Instead, the Censor mitigated the destructive potential so that nothing under its protection could be harmed. Its also why your anti-matter reactor doesn't work. The Prior's wanted to make sure that high energy events only happened when they wanted them to happen. Such as sudden spikes in sub-space radiation. So please, go ahead and activate your little toy. I always enjoy seeing how the Censor reacts to those foolish enough to gain its attention."

Spires pressed the button, which played back his own words. "--deadman's switch -- gaggle of fucksticks -- get lost." He threw an apologetic look to Mara and shrugged with his hands still raised.

"Now that we have the needless dramatics out of the way, your friend with the antic's is correct. My name is Academic 3rd Rank Gastarox," the folds of skin as his neck swelled slightly, a show of pride perhaps. "I am a collector and researcher of the Priors, and these are my hired mercenary guards the Ikarian Illuminat. Not the brightest stars in the sky, but they do enjoy their work with a certain savage zeal. Now the arrival of your Orbital in the sky has made me excessively late, and your arrival has necessitated certain steps and possible recompense. Consider yourselves my guests, or prisoners. Do I need to go into the whole thing about 'dire consequences'?"

"Dice. He make good dice out of his bones," one of the Reka nearest Gastarox said, pointing its staff at the fallen Rollins. Its voice sounded oddly like Sidims, shifting slowly into a mimicry of Dania's towards the end.

"If he expires yes," Gastarox grumbled with a wave of his webbed hand. "But until then its precious cargo. Speaking of which, pack up any necessary supplies you might need for an extended journey. I don't have the time to ponder your dietary requirements, and I'd rather you didn't starve."

Mara had to think fast. She couldn’t let everyone be taken. Someone had to escape so they could get word to Ingram about what had happened. So, she did the only thing that came to mind. “Please!” she said. “Please, he needs medical attention. Let the others leave so they can help him. I’ll go with you, but please, let my men go!”

"Huum...interesting, interesting yes. That's the word I want to use here," Gastarox said, stroking his wide chin as he stepped past his Reka bodyguards and waddled closer to Mara. There was a certain aroma coming from the amphibian, a mix of mildew and stagnant water. "I currently have...huum, let's see, seven captives. But because of an injury to one of them I should give them all away and take only one."

He reached to a holster on his wide hip and took out a wide-mouthed weapon, short and stubby in his webbed hands. He levelled it at Rollins.

"Counter offer: you all come with me now, with your supplies, or I shoot him and take you all by force. In that arrangement, I only lose one of you, not all of you bar the female who speaks for you. Are you their leader? What is your rank and station?" he croaked. He waved a hand, and a pair of the Reka manning the roof of the Runabout hopped down, and darted into the illuminated interior.

For a reason that Mara would never know, she glanced at Spires. “Chief engineer,” she answered, looking back to this bulbous character who reminded her of a Vogon. Just don’t let him recite poetry, she thought.

Another watery laugh, this time picked up in mocking counterpoint by the Reka.

"Chief Engineer? Chief!" Gastarox looked to Elias and Spires, waving the wide mouth weapon in the air. "Keep your female silent, or I'll cut her in two with the shard cannon the next time she talks. Now get packing!"

"Fuck you and fuck her!" Stephen shouted. "She's lying. I'm the Chief, the goddamn Head Honcho and fuckin' Imperial Governor of that station up there." He pointed a finger skyward to Canopus Station. "All these assholes do what I say, and I swear on my mother's holy grave that I will order them to kill themselves before they're taken away from me. If you want a guest, you take me, and I'll treat on behalf of my people. But only me, understand? I won't be insulted any other way, not with these... commoners."

It was a good thing Spires had spoken when he did and Mara would realize it later. She had been about to give this ass of a Vogon a piece of her mind and he probably would have made good on his promise to kill her. So now, instead of hotly telling an alien with the power to end her exactly what she thought of him, she stood rolling her eyes at Spires. She had no idea what he was after here, but what else could she do?

"Imperial Governor you say?" Gastarox said, and fired his weapon at Spires. A spray of energy drink blue goo shot out of the barrel, spattering across Spires torso in a fine web mesh. And then it grew. Then it grew a lot. The goo seemed to be foaming, spreading out, down arms and legs, over his head, forming into a tight net before hardening. Gastarox waddled closer and gave Spires a shove, pushing him over. "Your people will pay handsomely to get you back then, splendid! The others I'll put on the market. The Myriad are always keen to buy new species, and the Concordance are always looking for new recruits."

"Spires!" cried Mara before she could stop herself. Instinctively, she took a step towards him, but was yanked back by the arms that still held her. "What have you done to him?" she demanded angrily.

“Monomer cargo webbing. In its current state quite harmless. But should I apply a charge to it, the bindings will contract and crush his Imperial lordship into spawn feed,” he pushed out the gun again. “Now move. Or you’ll be next.”

Mara spent several moments looking from that menacing looking gun to the alien to those around her, her gaze lingering on Spires a bit longer than that others. She would never admit it, but what she did next was most for him than any of the others. "Do as he says," she snapped in a quiet sort of voice.

"Fgrbsmghrrgmphn!" Stephen's voice was muffled through the webbing.

"I assume your Lordship speaks for all of you as well?" Gastarox said, as sounds of breaking and smashing equipment filtered out from the interior of the runabout. "Good, we have a short march back to my ship, and then we'll be off to the market with the lot of you. Now get moving, or I'll have the Reka pluck out your eyeballs. They like eyeballs. Full of the valuable nutrients they can barely afford."

He stood over the two Reka holding Blaise down, who was himself pinning down a now very still and very clearly dead bird alien. Gastarox chuckled, and fired his webbing gun again, cementing Blaise and the corpse together into a single blue roped bundle.

"This one will go to the Watchers. They like their mentally unique ones, and this fellow is clearly not like the others," he chuckled.

“Can you order this one to let me go?” Mara asked the Vogon- nobody was ever going to convince her he wasn’t a Vogon. “I’m proven I’m going to cooperate by ordering my men to comply. I’m not going to cause any more trouble. Packing up will go faster with one more, and plus, I think he’s about to dislocate my shoulder.”

Gastarox’s black eyes narrowed into little oily beads, and then he nodded at the Reka holding onto her.

“Cooperate,” the Reka hissed in her mind, it’s use of her voice a added psychological bonus.

“Pack your supplies quickly. I would rather that one did not die, but like I said the Reka are not a picky group when it comes to their dietary requirements,” he threatened with a soggy chuckle. "Now get moving!"