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Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.11 15:51:00 - [1]
 

Edited by: Kallanagh Tellen on 11/11/2003 15:54:33


“Dammit!” shouted Terron as his laser welder fell from his grasp then plummeted to the floor of the docking bay, bouncing occasionally between the huge supporting sub structure that made up the chassis of the Apocalypse Battleship. The tiny unit bounced one, twice, then landed with a large bang onto the distant hard grating floor below.

It was safe to say that Terron didn’t like his job.

The recruitment station on Sarum Prime had boasted a life of adventure to the endless supply of youths, menial workers and low cast citizens of the Empire. The promise of a good wage as well as an escape from the dreary life of low caste living attracted millions from every corner of the Imperium to serve within the Amarr Navy, filling roles suitable to their personality and skills. He’d been a sub-structure welder in his brothers business but decided the life of a civilian wasn’t enough and so had wandered down to his local recruitment station. If only he knew about this. A year of indoctrination and training as an engineer, five years stuck on some asteroid repairing slave skiffs for loading onto “the Ladies” Bestower transports, then this new assignment getting the battleship ready for service. Perhaps they were hiring more engineers to maintain her whilst she goes into service? Too many fleet vessels were going into service without crews these days, relying on AI systems in droids to carry out the routine tasks whilst the pilot goes into pod stasis for the trip. What happens when a repair system goes offline? Hah! That’s right it’s the good ol’ manned repair ship that comes out to clean up the mess! He shook his head and rummaged into his pocket, fishing for a freeze-dried pack of insta-coffee. Perhaps the Captain of this lump might be smart and demand that its crewed with REAL Engineers. Some of the old school Commanders and Captains never left port without a good crew on “fleshies” on board. Sure the added annoyance of atmosphere processors, waste processing units and food rations was present but……… when the brown stuff hit the fan it was better to be resourceful.

He sat back and sighed, munching absent mindedly on the bar of coffee. There must have been a good thousand people working on this rig, everyone from cabling electricians, warp drive engineers and defence system technicians. Apparently this ship was something special, lots of rumours regarding “outside help” regarding its construction and installation. Still, that was fairly common when something this size was built, and with the present political situation virtually everyone was a conspiracy theorist. He looked down across the broad expanse that formed the top of the battleship at a crew of slaves heaving a massive platelet of armour onto its bearing. Lazy stupid animals, probably be another 50 killed today in careless accidents, but hey there’s always more where they came from.

“Oi fat boy, you chewing on those things again?” Shouted Jerrus, his skinny frame balancing atop a shoddy looking transport bike that was hanging 6 or 7 feet from Terron’s makeshift seat.

“Terron theres a bit of a commotion down on the deck, seems like CONCORD’s whining again about munitions transport loading in a ‘safety Zone’ or whatever the hell that means.”

“Why cant you deal with ‘em? I’m on break!” Terron whined.

“No can do mate, you’re the shift leader for F squads refit time so they wanna speak to you. Oh by the way, the bald one in charge of the conc’s was moaning about slaves dropping from the sky all the time and making the decking messy, shall we get some of the lads to lob a skinny one at ‘im?”

Terron pondered on this, it would give his men a bit of a break and would be amusing to tell the others that a whining CONCORD official got crushed by a falling Minnie, but… There were always consequences to these sorts of accidents. And anyway, he was short staffed as it was.

“Better not, we’ll just geddim in the bar after shift when he makes a smarmy remark about the Emperor like the last one. *Sighs* Gimmie a lift down I better go see what the problem is.”

The deck of the docking bay was littered with spare parts, as well as the odd flattened skydiving Minnie. Technicians and repair crews milled about in their hundreds, loading on necessary tools, equipment and materials onto the dock transports that would carry it up to the specified location of the huge leviathan being built. Beside the huge finished structure of tactical gun turret B, a small army of CONCORD inspectors had semi circled around a pair of arguing individuals.

Edit: Cropping story

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.11 15:53:00 - [2]
 

Edited by: Kallanagh Tellen on 11/11/2003 15:55:42

One of the men consisted of a short, squat, ugly little runt of a man wearing the official uniform of an officer of CONCORD (coupled with the appalling fact that he was a Gallentean, regarded mostly within the ranks of the Navy as the lowest of the low of all CONCORD personnel). The other man broad shouldered and slightly annoyed Amarr cabling engineer, battle scarred and worn with an obvious look of disgust at the little mans rantings.

“I don’t care what sorta big ‘n impressive title you’ve got, yer not entering this rig without my bosses consent, got that Gallent!” The large, annoyed man shouted.

“Do you know who I am! I’m in charge of this CONCORD station and I want to speak to your superior about all these armaments being moved into here! Do you know this is a safe Zone?!?!

The big man gave him a vacant stare, obviously having no idea about that the little man was screaming about. He gestured to the transport that had just neatly settled on the deck, to the lead-disembarking individual whose demeanour and clothing identified him to be a man whose regards to personal presentation were not in high regard.

“Get me the shift superior!!!” Screamed the little man.

“I am the shift leader, what do you want.”

The official stopped and stared at Terron, as if unsure that his statement was true. He looked again at the array of spanners, toolbelts, worn Amarrian engineering protective clothing and the disturbing array of freeze-dried meals dotted about the pockets of his person. He looked again at this apparent sorry state for an engineer, then to his waist where hung the distinctive shape of an Amarrian Officers pistol.

“What is THAT doing here in a Safe Zone?” Stated the official.

Terron shrugged, “Keeps me calm” he said with a grin.

“Well” the official cried with a hint of annoyance and dismay “This is a SAFE ZONE, I would’ve thought your officers would have told a grunt like you about….”

“I’m the chief engineering officer, don’t push your luck runt”

“As I was SAYING, I would have thought your SUPERIORS, would have informed you that it is against interstellar regulations to equip a military vessel with armaments whilst in a Docking bay. Do you understand THAT Mr Engineer?”

This upset Terron. It was fairly safe to say that CONCORD was never a popular group with those within the fleet. There were countless occasions where ‘peacekeepers’ had caused problems when dealing with terrorists, and with by no means a small proportion being made of Minmatar personnel the thought of dealing with them as equals was irritating to many. True, Captain Tellen did tell him not to load till after the remainder of the construction work had been done, and true he didn’t like to be wrong in front of his men, but the sheer ARROGANCE that this vermin of a man was showing him in front of his own men made his blood boil. He looked at the huge gun turret that was mounted and operational as a hint of a smile spread across his face.

“Very well… Sir” Terron said slowly, we shall in accordance with interstellar ruling disarm and bow to your ‘wisdom’ on this matter.”

“Its good you know your place as a visitor citizen” said the offical, a smug smile and a tone of victory in his voice. “Its good to know that the Amarr Navy knows what it is to be kept in check.

“shall we unload now sir?”

“This instant citisen! Tell your men to remove all munitions until departure within a designated loading bay.”

Terron bowed his head in acceptance, then turned to the loading engineer who was working the controls of the weapons interface command system. The engineer was watching the event intently, an obvious break from trying to decpyher the complex language of the ships main AI. “Run the gunnery unloading proceedure” Terron said calmy. “But the barrel…..” the engineer stammered, then went quiet as the light of truth appeared behind his tired eyes. The two stared at each other for a few moments as a huge grin began to play across the engineer’s face. “Of course Terron, proceeding with the station managers request at once.”

Everyone in the semi circle, infact everyone within visible range of the spectacle, turned his or her eyes to the huge turret.

At first… nothing.

Then a distant noise… Unrecognisable in the beginning.

The CONCORD contingent peered into the void that was the interior of the turret housing, curiously searching for what on earth that noise could be.

Edit: Croping story

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.11 15:56:00 - [3]
 

Edited by: Kallanagh Tellen on 11/11/2003 16:10:53
Edited by: Kallanagh Tellen on 11/11/2003 16:09:35

Mechanisms whined as the belts of ammunition began to feed back into the enormous magazines that were mounted onto the docking transports, as workers began to fold the munitions correctly for packing. The CORCORD crowd relaxed, a sea of smug faces as they gloated upon their enforcement of CONCORD law. The little station manager looked especially pleased with himself, giving Terron a look of triumph as he began to release yet another lecture on the proper loading practices of visiting vessels to his station…

…When the tidal wave struck.

A wall of mixed foul smelling coolant and globs of viscous cleaning fluid surged from the barrel of the turret, slamming into the crowd of shocked CONCORD employees that were scrambling for cover. The offical was blown clear off his feet and was sent hurtling with the flood of discharge, spluttering and flailing as he crested the wave surrounded by construction refuse. In the distance the ships AI chirped to inform that the emergency docking munitions clearing protocol was complete, as the last of the unfortunate individuals slipped and dragged themselves clear from the now collected pool of slimy mess. A chorus of hundreds of elated voices rolled throughout the docking bay as the construction crew, slave and servicemen alike, ceased their work to point and laugh at the unfortunate inspection team. Whoops and jeers commenced as the now soaking wet official, covered in a generous coating of white mucus waved his arms in anger at the Amarrians. The prolifant cursings eminated by the Gallente official were made in language that is better left un-described.

“Back to work lads, lets leave ‘em to it” shouted Terron as the observant and cheering mob began to return to their areas of work. “We done our bit fer politics, now lets get this thing running.”

He wondered how he would explain this to the captain, oh well, should be interesting anyway. he always thought that going to a shipyard contractor in Yulai was not a particularily great idea, but in light of the production costs and the minerals involved it was the only option to get a vessel of this class into service. He had a funny feeling that this little drama might throw his application to become a permanent crew member into question, but at least he got to half drown a Gallente in waste.

Quite fitting he thought really.

Edit: Slight change in spelling

Golan Trevize
Amarr
Body Count Inc.
Posted - 2003.11.11 16:36:00 - [4]
 

From:TES Broadsword Apocalypse class.
Location: Sarum Prime Jump in point.
To: Lieutenant Kallanaghn Tellen.

This engineer Terron is to be commissioned to active duty onboard a P.I.E. warship effective immediately!! .

Transmission ends.......




Wild Rho
Amarr
Silent Core
Posted - 2003.11.13 15:36:00 - [5]
 

hehe nice. There should be more short stories on here. Makes for some refreshing reading.

Moving Shadow
Minmatar
Brutor Tribe
Posted - 2003.11.13 17:06:00 - [6]
 

Nice story Kallanagh. Well told.Smile

----------------------------------------------

Vel Kyri
Amarr
Empire Assault Corp
Dead Terrorists
Posted - 2003.11.13 17:53:00 - [7]
 

Very good -

but why the stories in the summit - why not in the library?!?!?

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.14 14:23:00 - [8]
 

Kallanagh shook his head as he watched the weekly reports flood in across the various consoles on the observation deck, high above the docking bay itself. A myriad of graphs, images and text references sprawled across the wall like vast tapestry of light, displaying virtually every aspect of the Apocalypse Battleship’s construction and fitting.

He was not happy with what he saw.

The mortality rate from both slaves and shipyard crews was strangely high, with almost 200 men, women and children lost over the past month. Coupled with the construction process being behind schedule by over a week, meant that the overall process would be delayed considerably. He did not like to be kept waiting. Far below on the docking bay floor a vast dark tide of loading walkers, slaves and numerous other transports were hauling supplies, armaments and cargo into the battleships vast interior. It had already taken more then 3 days of none stop work to load the already stowed consignment of payload into the vessel, and with only a few hours to go till the due completion of loading deadline the work teams were working harder then ever. Aside from the innumerable rounds of shells, missiles and torpedoes, a large quantity of the cargo was actually foodstuffs.
The final authorisation to make provisions for an effective crew compliment ensured the need for vast freezer complexes to be built within the already overburdened depths of the ship. This added many days of delay by itself, but provided the crew with years of nourishment should the need arise. Modifications had been made to provide the vessel with the ability to support a “greenhouse” on the exterior were in effect, as a last ditch attempt at survival for the crew should complications arise. The crew, consisting of some 1000 officers and men, would have to undergo substantial training in order to be able to cope with the months in space. This with the need for suitable training skill packs and teaching equipment would prove to be yet another expense for his depleted budget.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.14 14:23:00 - [9]
 

The crew was large, very large in fact in support of a vessel that would in most respects run itself. The recommendation regarding the addition of a crew compliment was regarded initially with scepticism, but after careful negotiations over a few days the Ministry of Internal Order footed the bill. A surprising and swift move due to the Ministries previous ISK disposition. The crew was due to consist of:

20 Bridge Officers,
50 Security Officers,
30 Medical Staff,
50 Science Staff,
300 Slaves (suitably controlled),
200 Support Staff,
400 Specialist Engineering staff……..

Also serving on board ship was the entire 89th “Head-hunters” Ammatar Regiment: Consisting of 800 Ammatar marines, commanded by Amarrian NCO’s and commanding officers. As a fighting vessel, it seemed appropriate to carry a contingent of fighting men in order to deal with any problems that may arise whilst on active service. The 89th were known to be exceptionally efficient in carrying out their orders, if not a little overzealous in their execution of given commands. The Ammatar with their size and strength had performed admirably in their long lasting loyalty to the Amarr Empire, and with such impressive results a regiment was seconded to serve on board to carry out ground and boarding operations. Kallanagh turned away from his vigil of the sea of loaders in order to reflect on why they were called the “Head-hunters”. When the CO of the regiment was questioned on the matter, it was apparent that the regiment’s recent name was due to rather unsettling combat practices. The Ammatar with their constant war against their kin had developed a number of techniques, in order to play on the Minmatar’s somewhat base view that their Amarr-aligned kin had become somewhat lessened in the presence of their former masters. It was apparently common on the battlefield for the 89th regiment to take the heads of fallen enemies, in order to terrify would be aggressors who would dare to stand against them. A surprisingly effective tactic, one that is well worth such a somewhat distasteful and improper name for a regiment of the Imperium.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.14 14:24:00 - [10]
 

A chime appeared on the view screen, detailing the arrival of the full cargo manifest and the apparent end of the loading procedure, surprisingly ahead of time. “About time we were ahead of schedule for once” muttered Kallanagh, as he turned his attention to the commotion below. The swarm below turned like a great tide, flowing from the gaping entrance to the ship’s storage area and seeping through the many airlocks that separated the docking bay from the rest of the station.
A distant boom signalled the start of the ship’s reactor, followed by a roar of cheers as the engineering and construction teams congratulated each other on their work. The roar increased as the engines and warp drives were tested, the distinctive pre-test blue glow surrounded the rims of the rear engines as the pre-launch checks were commenced, in Ernest for the designated launch window. With less then 24 hours to go till the newly named ship HMS Cromwell was to be launched there was a lot to do, with a relatively long maiden flight to the Emperors Station in Amarr it was due to be a tense time over the coming day. At Amarr the ship was due to dock to pickup the 89th Regiment and her full compliment of crew, and then on to Kor-Azor in order to base with Kallanagh’s attachment within PIE Inc.

Still, it should be an interesting few days.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.17 14:54:00 - [11]
 

A sudden flash amid the vastness of space marked dropping of a vessel from folded space, a ring of plasma marking the arrival of a Golden monstrosity into the System of Amarr. The leviathan turned slowly, ports lights blinking on as power flowed once more from the critical systems and returned the ship to normal running capacity. The HMS Cromwell wallowed in its own shockwave for a moment, ponderously turning its massive bulk in order to prepare for a warp Jump to the Emperors station in order to finish to final leg of its maiden flight.
Deep within the protective embrace of the ship’s pod Kallanagh Stirred, his lifeless body kept in stasis as his mind was freed to empower his will his craft. To him it was indeed a strange feeling, his mind connected via a neural link from his fragile mortal shell into a body of metal. He felt invincible, the exhilarating feeling of power was at first overwhelming, but after the days of testing he felt he had at last mastered his new environment. With a wave of his hand we could exact death upon the enemies of the Imperium, from a single word he could grant safety to those would seek shelter within the safe harbour of his great frame. His eyes were filled with the wonders of his new perceptions, watching the flickering lights that marked the passing of his crew within the depths of his hull, feeling the raw power as his subconscious mind processed the facts and figures that denoted the status of his systems. Despite the great gifts that his new link provided him he felt tired, and was looking forward to the prospect of returning to his former self upon docking with the sanctity of the
Station.
The warp drives kicked in as the Apocalypse battleship was propelled with force into the warp-tunnel, marking the final leg of its journey home. Within a few moments the tunnel transcended from the glowing passage to starlines, to the familiar pinpoints of light as the ship slowed to cruising speed, the chatter of station traffic coming as a welcoming call to the vessels crew. The core Empire systems were always busy these days. Swarms of transport vessels from every race were coming to and from the station, transferring everything from vegetables grown on the plantation worlds, to slaves to supply the never-ending wheels of industry. With a flash of light a squadron of Maller cruisers sped by, carrying out the constant vigil against terrorists and would-be aggressors. Kallanagh felt the hailing request from the station come in, then with a simple though accepted the invitation. From deep within the recesses of his mind a voice appeared:

“HMS Cromwell, this is Docking Control. You have been designated clearence for Docking Bay 12, please release navigational control and prepare for docking procedure”.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.17 14:55:00 - [12]
 

He felt himself relax as the strain of piloting the massive ship was released, feeling the pull as the thrustors responded to the commands of the Station’s docking computer. The vessel began the trek towards the docking bay doors, slowly but surely coming to a stationary position within the docking bay itself. The massive doors shut, pressurising and creating the artificial atmosphere within the interior of the bay as the Cromwell went though its final docking shut down sequence.
Kallanagh felt the unusual intuition that was in two places at once, as the life support systems began to slowly re-animate his body the last vestiges of his presence with the ship itself ebbed away, leaving an unsettling emptiness as he found himself lying in the Pod pilot chair harness. The interior of the pod was lit with a faint green glow, the medical re-animation system registered a successful transition as he lay there pondering the previous few days. The new interface was undoubtedly a major success in regards to a increase of his pilot abilities. The battleship was far superior to anything he had ever flown before, with the humble Maller being dwarfed in its capabilities. The crew had performed admirably, far better then his previous expectations and suggested new and interesting possibilities to the commanding of an Imperial vessel.
The tap came from the other side of the pod hatch, as the hatch hissed through the pressurisation sequence that matched it with the rest of the vessel. The door opened slowly, lighting the pod with an iridescent blue glow, highlighting the familiar outline of a friendly face. “Good evening Sir, is the new rig performing well?” Terron enquired. Since his commission as the ships Engineering Officer, Terron had been working the engineers on board night and day in order to carry out the necessary repairs and modifications that were associated with the launching of a new Battleship of the fleet. Kallanagh rubbed the interface port on his neck, trying to shrug the thumping pain from his head. “I’ve had better days” Kallanagh replied, “what’s the ships status?” Terron looked suddenly upset, as if worried about a close relation. “Well… We’ve lost 3 separate power couplings on K deck, we have coolant leakage around engine 3, we have 28 men down in sickbay for radiation poisoning, 4 armour plates were ripped off due to warp sheers and our entire supply of Amarrian brandy has been lost when the cargo container came adrift in the hold.” Still” he grinned, “we’re doing quite well considering this vessels comprised mainly of new techniques”. Kallanagh grunted has he heaved himself out of the harness and into the cool atmosphere that was the Pod bay within the ship. He felt after is ordeal he would do with plenty of rest.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.17 14:55:00 - [13]
 

Far below on the bay floor the present senior officer formed up the 89th Ammatar regiment into parade columns, waiting for the daily inspection. Standing at about 8 feet tall, clad in dark armour with an impressive array of ammunition belts, equipment and weaponry, the average Ammatar marine was expected to be totally sufficient in a hostile combat environment. The armoured suit essentially was a self contained hazard suit, capable of sustaining life even to the extremes of exposure so the vacuum of space for days on end. Built into each suit was a remarkable waste processing and life support system, with a variety of comms gear, target identifier systems, close range micro shielding and distress beacon. Together with the standard issue pistol sidearm, short sword and standard issue VX-29 Assault laser rifle, even a relatively small regiment like the 89th could hold out in even the most desperate of situations. Commanding the group was Major Kishon Serrik, one of the few Ammatar to be granted a high ranking Officer position within the Amarr infantry service. Boasting an impressive 25-year long career, Serrik had personally led a number of the most daring raids on Minmatar terrorist positions in recently history. Although his commanding officer, an admiral of some reputation by the name of Terranus Marl, it was a well-known fact that, when the orders were needed, it was Major Serrik that gave the commands. The major examined the rows upon rows of marines, their featureless helmets displaying no hint of the worry each man was undoubtedly feeling. The Major was renowned for his punishments of men who did not conform to his high standards on the parade field, and no men present did not want to face the harsh punishments that Serrik carried out to “persuade” his men to redouble their efforts regarding presentation. The Major grunted in satisfaction, “Regiment dismissed! All platoons return to stand down status, I expect all men to be present on the field by 22:00 hours, no exceptions!” The ranks of men visibly relaxed, then rigidly stood to attention, realising their folly that they were still on the parade field. Major Serrik ignored this obvious mistake, they had performed well today. “Ladies and gentlemen” he boomed. “You have 8 hours left of R&R, make the most of it! Your expenses have been paid on behalf of the Empire for your new attachment to the HMS Cromwell, Shore leaves on boys!”. The entire parade field turned sharply to the left in a single stroke, bringing their boots down in unison before marching off the field. By the fifth step they had left the parade ground, and with a unified cheer sprinted for the nearest crew bar that was five miles away through the snaking tunnels of the stations corridors. The clamour of armour against equipment sent station personnel running for cover, as the entire 800 men strong regiment whooped and cried out in exitement for their first access to non-synthahol ale in months. The Major looked on at the quickly disappearing crowd and cheered. He hoped there weren’t any Minmatar traders having a quiet drink tonite.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.17 14:56:00 - [14]
 

A transport barge came to rest aside the docking platform where a variety of cargo was ready for embarkation. The cargo manifest for this particular load run was light, a few hours at most as loading walkers stomped about the dock, pickuing up the cargo containers before loading them in the bowels of the ship. The barge gently landed, and with a sweeping motion the loading arm swung round, depositing cage upon cage into the middle of a ring of slavers. The slavers had come prepared, covered in aprons and brandishing snare staffs to capture any would be escapees. The cargo had to be cleaned before further processing. The doors of the cages were thrown open, as the consignments of slaves were herded into the waiting cold embrace of a slaver’s water cleaning cannon. Each slave was in turn showered then thrown into a holding pen, clad in little more then the rags of servants uniforms, showing the wide ranging origins of the slave livestock. The numbers of slaves numbered at least 200, with each face displaying a similar picture of uncertainty and fear. “Move! In line!” Shouted a burly slaver as he opened the gate to the holding pen once more, slavers pulling and dragging the weary, petrified slaves to their feet, lined up in long, huddled rows. “Quiet!” Boomed a slaver, obviously the leader due to the marks of insignia on the collar of his thick jacket. “Officer on deck”.
Emerging from a Airlock leading onto the docking platform, flanked by two marines was an officer of the fleet, dressed in the black distinctive trenchcoat of an officer of notable rank. The gold bars upon his shoulders noted the rank of commander, and from his dark and piercing eyes came a glare that could shake the very foundations of even the most stalwart slave. Hanging from his waist was an officers pistol, the holster clasp undone sporting an apparent willingness to use the deadly weapon. “Minmatar slaves of the Amarr Empire” boomed the officer. “For you the chance to rise amongst your uncivilised kin to reach for true greatness is at hand.”. The slaves, wide eyed with fear looked on with awe and fear, giving quick glances amongst themselves in confusion. The officer observed them, noting the apparent change in mood as the unsure slaves began to understand that their immediate lives were not at stake. “Each of your lineage dates back ten generations of tireless service, service that has been recognised for this particular role which is open to you. The captain of this vessel requires the usage of those that have not yet understood or felt the blessing of the divine Lords countenance, and in recognition of the tasks achieved by those who have gone before you, you shall receive his divine blessing in this matter. Those with Amarr heritage are beyond your grasp as social equals, but… much like the lesser races before you blessed with the knowledge of the Amarr, you shall know civility. You each have a choice, you can stay and give glorious service in your mortal form through the purifying work of menial labour, or you may rise above your peers and learn more about God’s divine teaching.” The Minmatar looked about them, trembling with the fear that the personal choice had presented them with. For them choice was an Alien concept, the generations of direction had removed this strange yet exciting possibility from their lives. The very thought of choosing the path in which their life was about to take was just overwhelming. The officer pointed to a corner of the docking bay, “Those that wish to make to change to bring themselves to the glory of God’s wisdom, go there now.” The group went deathly silent, freezing to the spot as slaves fought to keep themselves from running under the strain of what was presented to them. A few minutes past… then… one, by one slaves began to creep over, looking back at each other in search for reassurance over the choice they were making. Within ten minutes only a handful stood where they were, frightened of the change they were offered.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.17 14:57:00 - [15]
 

As the weak willed slaves were herded back into the cages, the officer turned to the main group who had chosen to embrace the faith, a glint of interest in his eyes. “The first steps each of you has taken shall lead you to the path of salvation. Do not forget yourself, you are still but a slave, but in your further toil for the good of the Empire you shall be instructed in our ways. You shall be housed in a barracks with your kin, divided by sex but not by age. You shall know a simple life of comfort, no longer shall you live as animals but as something more, yet your journey is long before you are called citizen. You shall eat well, sleep well and treated well, dependent on your efforts to work hard and better yourself and your peers. All this we shall give you in exchange for loyalty and respect.” The officer leaned forward, staring at each and every one of the Minmatar placed before him. ”But know this, beyond the hull of ship your new chance at redemption of your very genes means nothing. Disobey us and you shall be expelled from this paradise, and left to rot in the failure of your ancestor’s work. Do NOT mistake generosity for weakness, or you SHALL be cast from the light.” With a final stare the officer strode back to the airlock, not even giving a final glimpse at the terrified and confused group
A slaver stepped forward, holding up his staff in order to drive the slaves into submission. “MOVE Slaves!” Screamed the Slaver, a tone of annoyance and outrage as he stared at the group with contempt. “You may have been “blessed” with this honour, but until this ship leaves dock you still belong to me! Geddin to line and stay there!” The slaver leader looked at the group being herded to the chasm like opening of the great ship’s cargo-bay, a sick feeling in his stomach. Trying to educated these cattle. Bah, whatever next.
The vidscreen in his quarter blinked off, the image of the corralled slaves disappeared as Kallanagh began to wearily remove his officer’s uniform and prepare to a well-earned rest. His suggestion regarding the Minmatar slave experiment was indeed not a popular one, if not with the Admiralty then definitely not with the officers on board ship, but in light with his years of experience within the fleet all had agreed with this test. He grinned as he settled in to rest, staring at the beautifully sculptured holographic model of the universe that lit his cabin in a serene glow. Yes, it should be an interesting test.

Hardin
Amarr
Imperial Dreams
Curatores Veritatis Alliance
Posted - 2003.11.17 15:15:00 - [16]
 

I watch your experiment with interest Kallanagh. Hopefully this group of Minmatar will be of some use to you and your faith in them rewarded.

My only fear is that at the height of battle some of these 'blessed' slaves will show weakness and put your ship in jeopardy.

But I suppose this is a risk Amarr such as ourselves have to live with in fulfiling our holy duty to uplift the Minmatar and set them on the right path.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.25 18:16:00 - [17]
 

The doors to the crew lounge burst open as the Ammatar marines surged forward, hollering and hooting as everyone made a dash got the bar. The Gallentian barman looked somewhat concerned, peering over the bar at the sea of grinning faces. "Ehh? wh? wh?. Wha?..What can I get for you er? Gentlemen?" the Barman stammered. "Beer. Cold." Demanded the grinning marine, his tattooed and battle scarred faced resembling the side of a well worn cliff in the gloom of the bar. "Ehhhhh??.. What measurement Sir? A pint perhaps?" the Barman replied. "Nah, just gimmie a case of it, the Empire’s payin taday. Best save yourself time an' give all da lads 'ere da same." The barman peered into the gloom. "How many colleagues do you have here sir if I may enquire?" The marine stared for a moment, trying to think who might not be present for lease. He scanned the crowd for a moment, the crew lounge a writhing mass of armoured figures skulking around in the dark, laughing and enjoying the freedom that leave provided from their normal duties. "Corporal Roff aint 'ere, he's got guard duty Sarge" stated a nearby marine. "Neither’s Grom, he's bin sent down to Amarr fer infantry duty." Shouted another. The Sergeant returned his attention to the slightly unsure Bartender, whose eyes were darting nervously for an escape route should the need arise. "Best give us all yer beer, its been an 'ard week fer the lads."
A sudden crash of glass, accompanied by the clatter of mugs and various utensils heralded the shouts and cries of activity, a circle of armoured bodies surrounding with grim focus a single table. An investigation was apparently in order.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.25 18:17:00 - [18]
 

A group of Minmatar in the garb of traders was on their feet, the looks of disgust on their faces apparent as they were eyeing a growing crowd wearily. One of the traders broke a bottle against a table's edge, the serrated bottleneck now waving slowly by his side. Upon the table the remnants of an unfinished meal, about the feet of the snarling group the smashed remnants of a dozen bottles could be seen. The largest of the traders, a grizzled veteran whose face was crossed by a deep scar stepped forward, puffing his chest out in a stance of defiance. "I thought this place was merely full of filthy Amarr, I did not realise they let this vile place to be lowered further with the stench of traitorous vermin." The mass of dark onlookers narrowed their eyes, as mutterings accompanied by the faint drawing of blades. One of the onlookers stepped forward, the Amarr crest displayed proudly on his chest plate as he drew a viscous looking short sword. "We have rid ourselves of the meaningless old ways, no longer do we scratch about in the dirt like your misguided kin!" He hissed. "The Amarr have shown us the true way of order, and while you fester in the so called 'Republic' we live in the glorious light of the Emperors will!" The Minmatar simply looked at him and laughed, the laughter turning to a sneer as he gestured to his men. "We Minmatar are free from the Amarr disease, unlike your submissive little band of half-breed traitors" he said, "It is you who are mistaken, and it is you who will fall with your masters when the Empire rips itself apart." The increasingly unsettled crowd took a unified few steps forward towards the agitated traders, marked with the much louder sound of dozens of blades being drawn. "Perhaps we should teach you a lesson in manners, Minmatar" cried the lead Ammatar of the crowd. "Perhaps it's time for you once again to feel the distinctive mark of Imperial teachings, we could always use more ‘guests’ in the Empire."
The Ammatar’s advance was halted as an Amarr strode from the crowd, his dress denoting him as a member of the Imperial Navy. He leaned against a heavy table that lay on the outskirts of the surrounding circle, his eyes resting firmly on the group of now huddled Minmatar in their predicament. He took a sip from a crystal goblet in his right hand, a look of interest playing across his face as he examined the lead trader quietly. A minute passed. “What do you want!” Snapped the trader, growing uneasy at the arrival of this new factor in the equation that was forming in his mind. He new trouble was coming. “Tell me, why ARE you here exactly?” the Amarrian asked, rolling the dark brown liquid in his glass before taking another sip. “We’re here to deliver foodstuffs to Pator from a dealer, is there a problem with that?” The trader replied. “No, no of course not, in light of our glorious soon to be Emperor it is seemingly our way to befriend our ‘inferior’ neighbours in the name of diplomacy” the Amarrian smiled. I’LL GIVE YOU INFERIOR!! Snapped one of the other Minmatar as he suddenly lunged, only to be stopped short by the lead trader with a sudden glare, “Don’t encourage the Amarr filth to do anything rash, now return to where you were!” The infuriated Minmatar spat at the Amarrian with a look of absolute hatred, storming back to his original position. The Amarr was not impressed, downing the remnants of his glass before casually throwing it on the floor. “ I was going to spend some of my precious time to aid you in your present situation” he said as he looked around, “but it is apparent you do not wish to use the ways of civility, even when you are offered the chance.” The Amarr sighed and turned his back, “Do what you want with them, I no longer want to be involved with the matter, use them as cattle for all I care”.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.11.25 18:18:00 - [19]
 

Edited by: Kallanagh Tellen on 25/11/2003 18:21:27

A faint click was heard as the youngest Minmatar, perhaps no more than twenty years of age had reached into his pocket, fear clearly visible in his eyes. The Minmatar leader had heard the click as well as the growing audience, and as he turned the youngest Minmatar withdrew a small but none the less deadly looking pistol. "Berrek, hold your fire! These filthy cowards wouldn't dare engage us here without provocation!" The leader shouted, putting out a hand in an effort to dissuade the young one from further aggression. "I'm not going back, please I beg you don't let them take me! Not after what they did to…." the young one trailed off, sobbing quietly as his drawn weapon began to shake The crowd examined the young one with interest, s******ing could be heard as they revelled in the apparent terror of one of their most hated Enemies. One of the crowd stepped forward laughing as he reached for the pistol.

The weapon discharged.

The marine looked confused for a moment, wondering what exactly was cooking before he realised that the small weapon had pierced his armour. It was him that was cooking. Before the dead marine had hit the ground shouts of fury abounded through the hall, as the chorus of furious shouts and abusive remarks signalled the flood forward of the Ammatar. A cry of "They killed Ferrix! Lets geddem!!!" signalled the start for the full blown rush for to kill. The young Minmatar, realising the folly of his actions turned to run but was cut down where he stood, barely being able to turn before a score of Amatar were upon him. The others, realising the hopelessness of fighting such a mob each began to make a break for the exit but in turn succumbed to the cold embrace of the marine’s swords. There were no Minmatar survivors.
The last of the marines marched on board the HMS Cromwell; the recent ‘scuffle’ within the station had meant the cancellation of their shore leave. The Amarr guards had put the actions down to a cultural misunderstanding, the station security officer himself stating that his offer of conversation and friendship was thrown in his face by an ‘unruly mob whose task was apparent for nothing more then violence and murder’. A report was dispatched to the Captain, one that was conveniently misplaced upon its arrival on board ship and the incident was forgotten. Nothing more then another day in service within the Navy, at least it kept the Minmatar in their place.

Edit: Spelling alteration.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.12.03 11:14:00 - [20]
 

The shallow depths of reality fell away, as all that Sarran was conscious of was the gleam of the drone target, sitting 200 meters away from him. The confines of his life was contained within the vision of his scope, all else was irrelevant. His heart rate, his breathing almost stopped as he exhaled a final breath, letting his mind clear of all thoughts.

A flash of light.

His assault rifle rocked in his hands, its ordinance released as the target drone shattered under the impact of the first round. A cloud of twisted metal floated by as Sarran lowered his rifle, the world around him flooding back to his senses. He watched as the largest fragment spiralled under the force of impact, its journey only beginning as it left the boundaries of the range and drifted into the void. A certainly short journey as its destination was no doubt the vast stretch of blue of the water planet above him. To Sarran it was almost surreal, the noiseless response to his constant weapons fire, only marked by the spreading of debris, the lazy summersaults of a dispensed casing or the gentle faint ping as his onboard system acknowledged the discharge. Not at all the deafening roars associated with the firing ranges back at home, an ever-present irritation to his near constant musings on the world at large. A gloved hand clasped his shoulder as a gruff voice sounded over his Helmet Commlink “Are you daydreaming again? Come on if the warrant catches us up here hanging about we’ll be scrubbing the engines AGAIN till the end of time, and I aint gonna do that fer anything less then shooting someone.” The voice laughed as Gorek turned for the santicty of the airlock, leaving Sarran to finish his musings. No wonder he got the nickname ‘Poet’, it was surprising he ever joined infantry at all. Sarran looked up again at the great expanse of blue, a welcome sight to the seemingly endless days trapped within the hulk of the huge Apocalypse class battleship, the wondrous sight of the water planet far below filling him with hope once more. The beautiful and inviting blue of the water planet (to which the name was unknown to him) was no doubt a mere mining site for future generations, a sad end he felt to such a beautiful jewel of the Universe. With a final sigh he turned to follow Gorek along the golden surface of this leviathan, his mind filled with inspiration for some more of his progressive works. Perhaps his service will provide the experience he so desperately required.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.12.03 11:15:00 - [21]
 

The galley was in its usual chaotic state, no doubt yet another fire blazing away Chef thought to himself. He heaved his massive bulk, a combination of Ammatar muscle and generous food portions, over to the source of the gagging black smoke, where kitchen porters and guards were desperately trying to put out what he guessed was the remnants of dinner. Chef sighed, it had taken him 6 hours to unload the necessary supplies for this coming dinner from stores.
The title of ‘chef’ is often a dubious term for those that are delegated the task of supplying the crew with their basic nutritional means. For many this particular vocation is somewhat of a learning curve, with many receiving no training prior to be assigned to their roles. The assignment to culinary duties is actually a form of punishment, taking serving personnel to perform the never-ending menial task of preparing tonnes of food and starve the individual of intellectual stimulation. This common practice presented an opportunity for those whose personal goals within the military to operate a role of relative safety, creating a general view by the rest of the Navy that galley staff were the lowest form of Imperial life. The side effect from this unfortunate sub culture within the Amarr Military service was that the food standards were by far the worst throughout all the major nations, with reports of boarding parties and assaults on enemy positions raiding food supplies for a more palatable meal.
The difference between what is served between the officers and men of an Imperial vessel were immense. Imperial Officers, representing the higher echelon of Amarr society would often expect nothing but the best in regards to what was served to them, in relation to both presentation and quality. Practically all vessels had a dedicated contingent of professionally trained chefs in order to provide them with the best that the Universe had to offer, with even specialist military transports rendezvousing en route in order to supply fresh produce. The men however…. Had a slightly different menu. Plantation worlds through the Imperium provided billions of tonnes of suitable and highly nutritious material for processing to approved Amarrian contractors. This material formed the basis for a variety of ready meal packs, fondly referred to as ‘the sludge’ by their consumers. Coloured and flavoured to impersonate foods from the homeworlds of Imperial citizens, the uniform texture made them highly unpopular, although extremely durable and effective.
Chef stared at the inferno, casually grabbing a porter by the ear and pointed to the continuing fire fighting operation. “What’s that burning” he said in a casual voice. The porter looked at him with wide eyes, giving occasional glances to the menacing looking meatcleaver hanging from a belt on the chef’s waist.
Its Important to note at this point, that the life expectancy of the average Imperial ‘chef’ was actually quite short on serving vessels, especially in wartime. The frustrations of the crew, aggravated from eating ‘the sludge’ found itself vented on the individuals who served the meals. It was not uncommon for beatings to take place on the kitchen staff on days where the quality of the meal was not particularly satisfactory, leading to the punishment factor of the assigned task. The person most at risk was in fact the chef, viewed commonly with a mix of awe, fear and pure hatred. Many chefs carried around a suitably large weapon in order to ward off any possible thoughts of retaliation by a passing member of the crew. Most carried a wide and varied selection of galley obtainable weapons, from rolling pins to skewers. The chef serving on board the Cromwell, rumoured to have been a Warrant Officer within the fleet, had obviously decided to take no chances with his choice of weapon.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.12.03 11:16:00 - [22]
 

Chef stared at the now large and blackened mass that filled the cauldron in the corner of the galley. It WAS going to feed the 89th. “Sc**** off the burnt bits ‘n serve it. Give ‘em a glass of rum with their dinner, hah that way they wont care what’s up wiv it” he grinned. The porter nodded repeatedly before scurrying off to carry out the orders, he didn’t want to risk being added to the menu, which disturbingly wasn’t unheard of. The ‘Sehmyian stew’ was sc****d into the dull grey dispensing trough and wheeled into the mess hall, a rather unpleasant smell of rotten onions left in the wake of its transit. “Get yer riot gear lads, the men might be upset today” Chef said casualty, I’m off to me quarters to get some rest fer a few hours”. The porters muttered amongst themselves and threw bags of “safety equipment” over their shoulders, it was going to be a rough day.

Hardin
Amarr
Imperial Dreams
Curatores Veritatis Alliance
Posted - 2003.12.03 13:33:00 - [23]
 

Lol - Good stuff Kallanagh!

Lucky I aint a chef!

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.12.12 13:59:00 - [24]
 

The distant toll of a church bell echoed throughout the courtyard of the abbey, marking the routine stir of Morning Prayer. Shadows of hooded figures played across the ancient, cracked, ivy covered walls that marked the boundaries of the faith. The abbey was a place of comfort the Amarrian citizens that governed the plantation world, a place of comforting reflection amidst the simple life.
The small community of Bellis Terr was the main principality of the Southern province of the farming world in the Ziona system, supporting little more then 50,000 people at any given time. Bellis Terr Had been founded a millennium ago, originally a retreat for the worshippers of the Amarrian religion, separated from society in order to keep away from the distractions of modern life. Soon after the world was converted for agricultural use, the vast rolling plains that made the majority of the world’s surface was utilised to grow necessary foodstuffs for the Empire.
The gentle warmth of the dawn spread lazily across the aged yet immaculately maintained walls of the township, the red tiled roofs illuminating as the suns rays passed over them. The solid stone structure of the abbey stood at the heart of the community, the citadel forming a haven for past generations in their times of need. High above the dwellings of the commoners stretched the governor’s villa, an island of white amongst the endless green of the surrounding vineyard. The villa, a veritable fortress in itself, stood visible to all throughout the settlement, a decree stating that all should be able to see its overwhelming presence. The high-ornate walls and permanent guard were a lavish and distinct note to demonstrate the ever-present powers of the Emperor’s representatives. Everyone knew their place.
A figure in Imperial Officer’s dress stood atop the governor’s balcony, a wine-filled crystal glass in hand as he viewed the serene, almost Mediterranean vista before him. Surrounding the township an endless sea of fields dominated the landscape, an endless expanse of waving corn tended to by an army of minuscule figures. The officer looked upon the view before him with critical eyes, it was rare that he ever made planet fall these days. He turned and strolled into the room, placing the now empty crystal glass upon an exquisite glass topped table as he once again examined the wonders of the suite offered to him on his visit. The walls were covered with intricate religious tapestries, as well as a variety of obscure trophies taken from various battlefields and places. Each object was lovingly mounted atop a pedestal, identified by a plaque describing a short history about the piece. The collector most certainly had an interesting collection.
The huge wooden double doors that formed the entrance of the Ambassadors suite opened wide as a plain dressed official stepped into the room, escorted by two guards in what appeared to be the local version of dress uniform. The imperial official waved a hand as the guards without command, turned and left the room, closing the doors behind them.

The official stared at the rank insignia on the officers tunic, then regarded the officer himself with a huge grin.
“Wasn’t infantry good enough for you Kall?” he laughed, refilling the officer’s glass before offering it to him once more.
“I go where my skills are required” Kallanagh replied in an authoritative as he took the glass “I see you have done well for yourself with becoming governor. Its good to see you again Rellin”
Rellin smiled, “Oh so your PLEASED to see your old friend after a good few decades, you must be getting soft. What happened to the hard faced man I used to know?”
Kallanagh sported a thin smile taking a quick glance at the cloudless sky outside, “I grew up”.
Rellin nodded, then led them both back out to the balcony. “So, what news of the Empire?” Rellin enquired, “As you can probably imagine we receive little news on these frontier worlds.”

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.12.12 14:00:00 - [25]
 

Edited by: Kallanagh Tellen on 12/12/2003 14:14:50
“The Empire is a mess” Kallanagh replied, “The new Emperor carries out his duty and still there are those who do not believe the legitimacy of his claim.”
“We’ve heard about that even here” Rellin stated, a tone of sadness in his voice. “It’s a fact of life Kall, there will always be those who would rather believe what suits them rather then face the truth. Luckily here there are apparently no such questions, or at least questions asked publicly.”
Kallanagh frowned, “I am still ashamed to say that there are those that I previously considered comrades who deny the will of the Emperor” he stated in disgust, taking a sip from his crystal glass.
“Ahh its always been the way Kall, there’s always been some vermin running around shouting about inequality or somesuch, leave them to whine on, the Ministry will get them in the end”.
Kallanagh stared at the abbey, watching the column of hooded robed men solemnly filed out of the great hall, a chorus of low voices sounding in the breeze. “Are there many of them here?” he said.
“Ahhh theres a few here, maybe a couple of hundred Rellin said casually, its more of a missionary station then anything important. You still at it?” he grinned, gesturing to the abbey with a casual wave.
“I continue to be faithful” Kallanagh replied with an accusing stare.
“Hey some of us have retired from the service Kall, and anyway…. I’m getting too old for all that charging around and enforcing the law. I did my bit remember? Saved your hide a few times from some NASTY situations.”
Kallanagh relaxed, swirling the contents of the glass before taking a further sip, “I haven’t forgotten” he said with a casual reply.
Rellin smiled and patted Kallanagh jovially on the back, “When are you going to retire?” He said, “I could always do with a hand down here ensuring the harvest is brought in on time.
Kallanagh gave him a grin, “Can you honestly see me as a farmer? To be perfectly honest I think I would be bored stiff if I stayed in one place too long.”
“Got command then?” Rellin asked with interest, nodding to the unrecognised golden patch that was displayed on Kallanagh’s arm.
“I’m a Diplomat these days” said Kallanagh.

Rellin Burst out Laughing.

“How are YOU a diplomat? Since when did you ever give the enemy time to talk?” he said with a grin. “As I remember things you were never that big on diplomacy”.
“Things change in time, there’s no longer the clear cut borders of who we’re fighting against. The old days are gone, we spend half out time looking over our shoulder to make sure we don’t get shot in the back. Sometimes retirement from the service seems like an all too tempting possibility.”

A gentle chime sounded at the door as a servant quietly opened the door.
“Sire, the captains vessel has been loaded with the requested food rations and is requesting that the esteemed captain return on board. Shall I grant the shuttle clearance to land?
“Of course!” said Rellin, raising himself to his full height as he addressed his lesser. I want an honour guard here to escort our most honoured guest to his vessel. Have a man bring a case of our finest wine for him to take as a gesture of our most humble good will.”
The servant bowed, then hurriedly left the room to carry out the commands issued to him.
“I apologise for the flying visit, but in these desperate times a battleship cant be left without purpose for long” said Kallanagh as he saluted Rellin, his honour guard lined up and waiting for him at the entrance of the chamber. “I am scheduled for some leave in the next few months, I’ll see if I can get a transport to spend a few days here”.
“Your more then Welcome Major…. I mean Captain…” said Rellin, looking slightly embarrassed at his mistake. “I’m sorry, old habits die hard” he grinned.
Kallanagh nodded, then turned silently and walked out of the room for the docking bay.

Edit: Spelling correction.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.12.12 14:01:00 - [26]
 

Edited by: Kallanagh Tellen on 12/12/2003 14:02:27

“SQUAD!” Boomed the voice of the duty warrant officer as lines of slaves suddenly jumped to their feet, dressed in the plain fatigues of crew hands. The cargo bay had been allocated for the month as a temporary parade ground and training area, a fitting place to start the education of these backward creatures. The nearest slave became the unfortunate victim for the warrant officers parade stick. Discipline WAS going to be enforced, and quickly.
“Did I SAY you could sit on the floor!” roared the warrant.
“Nnn..nnnnn……”Crack, yet another blow landed on the poor slaves thin frame.
“I’m Sooooooo sorry, I didn’t hear what you said!” sneared the warrant, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Now, let me say this slower for your feeble Minmatar brain to understand. DID I, TELL YOU, YOU COULD, SIT ON THE FLOOR!”
“N….. no”
Crack. “NO WHAT!”
“Nnn…. No sir!”
The Warrant Officer drew himself to his full height, regarding the slave with disgust. “That’s better. Attention vermin of the Empire! You have been brought on board in order to ascertain if your species is ready for the glories that the Empire can offer. I am here to ensure that you have the proper motivation in carrying out your tasks. I am sure many of you will grow to hate me, I frankly do not care! You have no name, you have no kin, you shall be known until you are told otherwise by the numbers you have been issued.” The warrant strolled past the long line of quivering wretches, their ID numbers stamped on the front and rear of their jackets. Just as well he thought, they all look the same to him. “For the next week you SHALL carry out ALL orders regarding the practice of drill commands. This will form the core of your education. ALL who do NOT comply will be summarily executed in front of all. Do I make myself clear?”

Silence.

“WELL?”
A meek chorus of “yes sir” greeted him. An adequate reply for their first day of instruction.
“back to your barracks!” the Warrant Officers shouted, “All up for 0400 tomorrow morning for drill instruction. Room inspection in 5 minutes! If I see ANY mess, I will flog the offender personally!”
The slaves scurried to the barracks, a group of bare essential quarters just off the ‘parade ground’. The Warrant Officer snorted as he looked at his schedule, displayed on a holo-pad. This whole experiment was going to be a waste of time, the animals would never learn.

Edit: Resized

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.12.12 14:03:00 - [27]
 

Edited by: Kallanagh Tellen on 12/12/2003 14:16:18

Deep within the recesses of the ships engine room, amidst the hiss of steam and the constant drone of the warp reactor shouting could be heard, accompanied for a rapid succession of beeping. There was a problem with the no8 coolant exchange system…. Again. The dim light of the engine room didn’t help with Terron’s situation, that damned welding droid wasn’t helping with its constant beeping much either. Being 50 foot off the ground on a ladder didn’t improve the situation.
“WILL YOU SHUT UP!” Terron shouted in his frustration, balancing the grip of his inspection torch with his somewhat loose grip of the ladder in the other hand. The inspection torch was huge, God only knows where the thing had come from and was obstructing his view. The little welding droid hovered beside him, its multi-lense eyes peering at the fissure in the side of the damaged units casing.
“beepbeepbeep…..beep……beepbeep…beepbeepbeepbbep….beep” was the droids replay. Terron sighed, lobbing the torch away with annoyance, momentary bangs accompanying the heavy units demise on the engine room floor.
“Look, I know you mean well but I DON’T understand what your saying!” pleaded Terron, he could already feel a headache coming on. The droid looked away from the fissure at the strange jibbering engineer in front of it, confused about why the engineer couldn’t understand what was a perfectly understandable command string. It twisted back to view the fissure, clucking quietly in irritation.
“helloooooo!” shouted a figure far below.
“Are you that blasted droid operator!” Shouted terron, wiping the sweat from his brow. He didn’t figure that the room was going to be this hot outside of operational hours.
“Err….. yes sir. That 4X model giving you grief sir?
“The blasted thing wont shut up! Why doesn’t it speak!”
“Well sir err……….. it was intended for operation by err…. ‘upgraded’ personnel.”
Terron paused his attempts to examine the fissure in order to look at the spindly man at the bottom of ‘his’ engine room.
“Are you trying to tell me something Midget?” he stated coldly. “I’ve got a round in the chamber of my pistol to relieve you of your life if you are.”
“Not at all sir!” the droid operator said hurriedly, “its just that… well….. Controlling these units takes a lot of effort, and if your controlling multiple ones well….. they ask a lot of questions you see. The ability to direct these units means that you need to learn their language…. It’s a bit complex.”
“I see…..” said Terron, scratching his chin. “Where exactly can I learn this skill?”
“Up on the drone deck there’s the main drone engineer, he arrived a couple of days ago with the new batch of scientists, might be able to help you Sir.”
“Right” said Terron as he began climbing down the ladder, “tell this flying bucket to weld that fissure shut!”
“Yes sir!” shouted the droid operator with a snappy salute, the 4X unit beeping wildly for a moment as it flew towards the damaged unit, welding the hole shut with ease.

Terron muttered to himself as he paced towards the lift doors, intent to go and see this ‘drone engineer’. He didn’t like the idea of being obsolete, and intended to do something about it.

Edit: Spelling correction.

Hardin
Amarr
Imperial Dreams
Curatores Veritatis Alliance
Posted - 2003.12.12 17:10:00 - [28]
 

Excellent as always!

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.12.17 15:18:00 - [29]
 

The assault Lander jerked and rolled in the darkened sleet filled skies, a cloud of its companions skimming low across the barren, rocky landscape of a long forgotten world, its face scarred by the unrelenting force of wind, rain and ice. The Lander’s twisted in the gale force winds, driving high to escape their likely fate of being dashed against the rocks. Much like a flight of birds, the Lander’s flowed about each other, veering left and right to avoid the darkened, blue streaked clouds that marked the boundaries of the planets electric storms.

The light from the storms lit up the interior of the cabin for a mere moment, the muffled booms of the enraged storms about them showing a double row of armour clad men, their backs resting against the hull as they prepared for war. The murky depths of the cabin was held within a dark embrace of almost total blackness, save only for the faint red glow of a host of Comm systems, status displays and various other equipment. From within the menacing armoured suit of the Leftenant, the young marine was afraid; it was to be his first jump outside into enemy territory. He looked about him franticly, looking for some kind of blessed relief to hold him firm against the horrors he was all too unprepared to face. The

Unnerved glances of his fellow students were reassuring; at least he was not alone in his fears. The "glory boy" platoon lander banked flew high above the alien landscape, the surface pock marked with the signs of war. The loyal forces of the Imperium had requested aid in their fight against 'the enemy', and in the name of the Emperor came the relief forces. "Helmets on!" barked the major ah the rear of the cabin, as each man placed the helmet upon their heads, the suit seals whining as the helmets were locked into place. The suits internal power systems kicked in as the major activated his combat systems, a flash of light signaling the activation of the suits head up display. The young marine felt reassured as the dull droning monotone voice of the suits onboard computer read through the final checklists, the steadily increasing adrenaline pushing aside thoughts of doubt and subtle emotion. His suit felt lighter now, the computer compensating the overburdened stores of ammunition, oxygen recyclers and blood supplies feeling as light as a feather against the power assisted movements of his power assisted bodies. "Comm system, online" droned the monotone voice as the short-range Comm system activated and connected to the lander’s systems, a wave of battle information and radio chatter flooded the young marines mind.


"Kersus division engaging enemy, speed 800mph, range 4000 metres, permission to engage."


"Requesting artillery! We're pinned down at grid.."


"This is Captain Lorix at Omega forward position, we're being overrun, requesting.."


“They’re on top of the tank, covering fire!”


"PULL UP! PULL.."


The radio chatter of the battle was gone, save only for the menacing voice of the major. "Alright gentlemen, your Emperor calls you to battle. I EXPECT 100% effort for you 'glory boys', lets see if that noble blood of yours is the same colour as the rest of us lowly servants.” The sound of laughter echoed throughout the commlink, the faint hint of a sneer playing about the Major’s words, “Daddies not going to save you now. Front rank, move to the door! Load!" The distinctive smack and click of power packs were loaded into the assault rifles, as the right rank of the cabin undocked from their drop harnesses and grabbed the handrails in the centre of the compartment, facing the Assault Lander’s ramp. The ramp began to lower, displaying the scene of carnage below as faint pinpricks of flashing light flashed faintly amid the gloomy mists of the world's floor. The world below was beyond even the wild imagination of even the most twisted mind, a virtual maze of jagged cliffs, spires of broken rock, the very surface of the land seemed to move with the passage of the fog. Atop the darkened spires snow and ice topped the landscape, the relentless fall of hail and sleet had turned the ground to slush. The sight was truly Hell in form.

Kallanagh Tellen
Amarr
Royal Fleet Auxiliary
Collegium Amarria
Posted - 2003.12.17 15:20:00 - [30]
 

"Alright ladies!" The Major shouted, standing at the now lowered ramp of the door, "We're to meet with Bravo Company at..."

BANG

A flash of burning plasma sheared through the side of the Lander, a gaping whole erupting in the rear of the compartment as the hull was ripped apart by a cataclysmic explosion. The cabin filled with smoke, the howling winds extinguishing the flaring fires that had erupted as the hit caused its fiery destruction. "We've lost the Major! He got sucked out the hole!" screamed one of the students as he desperately tried to shout over the screeching fire sirens. He clutched his harness for dear life as the expanse of space where the Major stood formed an ominous reminder of the actions a few moments before. A burn mark and a few strips of flesh and armour upon the twisted gash of the compartment hull were all that now remained. The Assault Lander shuddered, wrenching sideways as the port engine spluttered and died.
"Mayday, Mayday" shouted the pilot, his desperate callings flashing through the Leftenant’s helmet, “This is assault vessel 48, cane anyone here us? We’re going down!”
“R..gr As…..48….. be advised………overru……nega……assistance…… goodluck……out”

The battle chatter stopped, the line went dead.

"You in command now Sir!” The pilot shouted to the leftenant through his helmet, most probably a private connection. “I'll try and give you a soft landing?..".
"Eject! That's an order!" Screamed the officer above the static, "you know we're dead meat, this thing wont fly with this damage! There's no point losing you AND us!"
The pilots voice suddenly broke into unusual calmness, a slow yet decisive tone in his voice, "That's a negative Sir I’m staying, I'm expendable".
The Lander dived towards the ground, the emergency airbrakes screaching as the world below rushed up to meet the stricken vessel. The crash alarm sounded throughout the cabin as lights began to flash, the distant sound of artillery fire drawing nearer, the battle fading in on the short range suit system. "Hold on! Brace yourselves!" shouted the Leftenant, holding on for dear life at anything he could.

The ground raced to towards them, the alien landscape flitting past as vast spires of rock and ice past by either side of the terrifying view from the rear, where the ramp and the rear compartment once were. A bang sounded as something struck the hull, dislodging an unfortunate student who was flung screaming into the night, no doubt to a grisly end. The Assault Lander skidded then rolled across the ground, the squeal of tortured metal increased unbearably as the world seemingly spun, a final chorus of terrified voices over the commlink before the world faded into black, the sound of screeching and the tearing of metal fading away...

"Captain Tellen?" called the cool, collected voice of the advisor as Kallanagh awoke. “We shall be rendezvousing with the Emperor’s station in a few minutes Sire, shall I give the order to proceed with docking?”
“yes, yes” stated Kallanagh with a vague hint of confusion, the memory……. Or dream……… still fresh within his mind. The effects of cloning were well known, the copying of data to a fresh and unfilled mind often created the impressions that all information was real. The impression of past experiences, as well as dreams and fantasies as if they were yesterday was a common and unsettling occurrence.
The shuttle banked and prepared itself for warp speed, the lights dimming slightly as power was fed to the engines.
“Any word from the Ministry over the ‘Incident’?” Kallanagh enquired, a tone of concern in his voice.
“Not yet my Lord” the advisor stated matter of factly.
“Good…” Kallanagh turned to watch the stars turn to watch the beautiful sight of the warp tunnel, the phenomenon created when a vessel enters warp speed. He mused to himself, he never spent much time outside of that giant metal egg, even the simplest of wonders seemed to pass him by. The Ministry of Internal Order was often a concern in troubled times, the Ministry was unforgiving of failure. As much as he hated to admit it, Kallanagh knew that his recent experimentations with Diplomacy had gotten off to a bad start. The countless years of Military experience had instilled a… different personality, one that conflicted with the radically new way of life he had taken on. One that had cost him his life.


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