Title: Late Night Drink
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Ivan, Tabby, Rick, Calvin, Solomon
Prompt: Table 5 - 014: Fill
Word Count: 1344
Rating: G
Summary: The Nephilim share a drink.
Warnings: Drunkeness.
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
A bottle filled with a clear liquid rested on the wrought-iron table next to a glass jug dripping with condensation. A hand placed a glass on the table, lifted the pitcher, and sloshed water into the glass and over the tabletop.
“Hey, careful there. Maybe Ivan should pour for you,” Rick said, sipping from his tumbler.
“I can pour my own damn drink,” Calvin slurred as he set the pitcher down.
“Ivan’s got his hands full anyway!” Tabby chirped from her position sprawled over Ivan’s lap.
“I wouldn’t mind.” Ivan made a half-hearted attempt at dislodging the Khatronian.
“Ahh, lookit ‘im,” Tabby said, pointing at Ivan’s face. “He’s all red!”
“Just the alcohol,” Ivan muttered and succeeded at pouring Tabby to the flagstones. The four of them were sitting on a patio overlooking the Klein mansion’s spacious acreage, where they’d been relaxing since the party at Iolaphos had wrapped up and they’d gone off their shifts.
Calvin watched blearily as Ivan poured the bottle’s contents into his glass, the liquor mixing with the water and turning a milky white. “S’weird. Weird stuff. My head feels full of ... of... what’s that black candy from Earth?”
“Licorice,” Rick said, smirking.
“You’ve probably had enough.” Ivan eyed Calvin as he set the bottle down.
“Not had enough ‘til I get that sight outta my mind.” Calvin noisily gulped from his glass and winced. “Ugh. Why Daegal of all people?”
“Coulda been worse!” Tabby pulled herself back onto the bench next to Ivan. “Coulda been...” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “Solly-man.”
Calvin gave her a bleary look of horror and Rick pointed two fingers at her, derringer-like. “Don’t call him that.”
“Heehee, sorry.” Tabby grinned and proceeded to refill her own glass.
“I dunno,” Calvin muttered. “Might not be so bad with uncle. Sorta... stayin’ in the family, y’know?”
“Staying in the family? What, you’d share her with your brother?” Tabby gestured at Rick.
The violinist smirked. “Technically we’re not brothers. Besides, women aren’t my preference.”
Tabby stared at Rick for a moment as if trying to decide what to do with the new information, but decided to chug the contents of her glass instead.
Rick narrowed his eyes at the Khatronian. “Speaking of having too much, aren’t you and Ivan about ready to pass out? You were sharing a bottle of vodka when we came out here.”
“She drank most of it,” Ivan said, pointing at the giggling Khatronian who was again refilling her glass.
“Hey, Calvin. I’ll race ya.” Tabby held up her tumbler.
“Don’t,” Rick warned.
“You’re on.” Calvin held up his glass in salute, then the two began guzzling their drinks. Rick rolled his eyes.
Two glasses slapped down on the table and Calvin slumped back in his chair. “You got the light... from the console to keep you... lifting you up... they shine like... little angels.” He made half-hearted grabs at something invisible.
“Ooookay, when he starts quoting classic sci-fi shows, it’s time to quit.” Rick stood and reached down to Calvin to get an arm around his shoulders. “Do you remember what you were drinking about?”
Calvin screwed up his face as Rick pulled him into a more-or-less standing position. “Obviously... to see catgirls fall over.” He pointed at Tabby, who’d fallen over into Ivan’s lap and was now snoring.
“Good. Time to go in, then.”
“Aww....”
“You’ll be all right out here?” Rick asked Ivan.
“Yeah.” He waved at Tabby. “This is the quietest she’s been all night. Think I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”
Rick smirked and he and Calvin disappeared into the mansion. Ivan leaned back against the bench, gazing out to the horizon. The sky was lightening, the eastern edge growing rosy. After the bustle of the evening, the pre-dawn morning was soothingly calm. Absently he scratched Tabby behind one ear and she made a sleepy noise that might have been a purr. Ivan tilted his head back, enjoying the breeze as he allowed his mind to sink into the haze left by the alcohol.
A door further down the patio opened and closed, and Ivan roused himself reluctantly. He opened his eyes, then straightened his head when he saw Solomon walking across the flagstones. The mafia boss glanced at him for a moment, dropped his eyes to Tabby, then met Ivan’s gaze again before turning away. Ivan carefully lifted Tabby and slid out from under her, resting her gently on the bench. He stood and walked over to join Solomon at the edge of the patio overlooking the pool and garden.
“Sir,” Ivan greeted cautiously.
“Ivan.” Solomon’s voice was at its usual cool level. “Is our little thief asleep?”
“Yeah, the sleep of the dead drunk.”
“Good.” The older man brushed his fingers over the reed-like thalla flowers. “I have a request of you. Do you think you would be able to calculate the trajectory of the bullet that struck me?”
Ivan rubbed his stubbly chin. “Possibly. I could get a rough angle from the difference in entry wounds from you and Tabby, but I’d need to get some of the surveillance feeds of the plaza to get more detailed ballistics.”
“What about the file that the Homeguard undoubtedly have created regarding the incident?”
“It would certainly help,” Ivan said. “But how? Could Ishan pick up a copy?”
“I doubt Ishan could get access to the entire file--he’s not highly enough placed in the department.” Solomon turned to look back at the bench. “But we do know someone who excels at getting her hands on things that don’t belong to her.”
Ivan also turned to look. “Tabby? You think she could pull it off?”
“She’d better. As soon as she’s sober, I want her to start working on getting the files.” Solomon offered Ivan a grim smile. “About time she started earning her pay, yes?”
Ivan shifted on his feet slightly. “Sure. I’ll let her know when she wakes up.” Solomon nodded and turned to go back inside. Ivan took a deep breath and said, “Sir, about this evening....”
Solomon paused, his body stiffening noticeably. “Yes?”
Ivan’s courage flagged, but it was too late to back out now. “Would... you like to talk about it?”
Solomon hesitated for such a long moment that Ivan thought he would never reply, but finally he sighed deeply. “There’s really nothing to talk about. I had simply forgotten how zealous youth can be.” He turned to offer the younger man a wan smile and Ivan was shocked to see how old Solomon suddenly appeared. “After all, I’m one of the ‘bad guys,’ am I not?”
“Not to those who know you,” Ivan said loyally.
The smile softened a little, becoming a bit more genuine. “Thank you, Ivan. Get Tabby inside before she catches a cold and get some rest yourself. We have busy days ahead of us.”
“Yes sir.” Ivan watched Solomon enter the mansion before stepping back over to the bench. He wasn’t wholly surprised to see Tabby’s eyes open and gazing at the sky above. “You heard?”
She nodded slightly. “Yeah, I heard. Not going to be easy.”
“This from the woman who decided to rob the headquarters of the Nephilim?”
Tabby smiled faintly. “I got caught, remember?”
“I remember. My life’s not been the same since.” He offered a arm to her. “Here, I’ll help you inside.”
“You’ll have to carry me. My balance is shot. Something in that last bottle did it to me.”
Ivan raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but tucked his arms under her back and knees anyway. He lifted her with a grunt and began making his way to the back door.
“You know,” Tabby murmured as she rested her head on Ivan’s shoulder, “under that scary exterior, there’s a very troubled and lonely soul in that man.”
“Solomon?” At her nod, Ivan shrugged slightly. “I guess that’s not surprising, considering where he is and how he got there.”
Tabby didn’t reply, and Ivan glanced down to see that she had fallen asleep again.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Prompt 036 - Regret
Title: Impending Storm
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: J. Daegal
Prompt: Table 5 - 036: Regret
Wordcount: 1455
Rating: PG
Summary: Daegal visits his wife’s grave
Warnings: Some adult language
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Huge thunderclouds overshadowed the cemetery, compressing the air before them with heat. The bruised light cast a strange pallor over the rows of graves and the lone visitor striding among them. The tall man wore the dark gray uniform of a Gray Guard, a member of the armed force that protected the people of Altena. But right now there was only one thing on his mind as his feet traced a familiar path to the mausoleum. He stopped at the middle of the wall and his hand reached out to rest against the marble. Fingers lightly traced the words that read, “Katherine Daegal.”
Guardsman Daegal studied his indistinct reflection in the polished stone. Had it really been six years? His mirror image didn’t look like it, the polished stone blurring the signs of age on his face. Katherine wouldn’t have liked the changes. But then again, those six years had been spent hunting the ones he held responsible for her death.
The voices laughed and chatted, belonging to friends and comrades that had come to celebrate the Gray Guard’s 90th anniversary and Daegal’s promotion. Katherine smiled at him and leaned close to whisper in his ear, promising their own private celebration later in the evening.
He drew his handkerchief from a pocket and carefully wiped away the dust and pollen. At this time of year it got everywhere, blown in from the wide plains around Angelli. The light continued to drain, swallowed up by the lumbering storm. Daegal shook the dust from the cloth and used it to wipe his face. The air was stifling, laying on the world as heavily as stone.
The conversations stumbled and Daegal glanced up to see what caused it. A figure stood in front of him, one arm raising. The party-goers twisted out of the way as they realized the newcomer had a gun. Daegal gaped in disbelief, and then he saw the mask. Two dead snake eyes stared back at him. A Guild Assassin.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling over the plain to the city. Daegal used his reflection to adjust his uniform cap, ensuring that it rested perfectly over his hair. He also used it to spy the figure approaching him from behind. His hand dropped to the steel shield pinned on his jacket, tapping it once. A second tap followed lower down, against a slight bulge at his waist.
The figure didn’t speak, but the startled cries of those around it spoke for it. Daegal’s hand reached for a weapon but he had none, he never thought he would have needed one here. Katherine shouted and pushed him. The gun barked once, twice. She fell against him, gasping, and the figure, the Assassin, melted away into the crowd.
Daegal turned as the newcomer reached him and wasn’t wholly surprised to see the robes and face-wrap of an Antarean monk.
“Peace, brother,” the monk greeted. His voice was gravelly and bore a strange accent. “I saw you from the chapel and thought I would offer a word of comfort.”
“Thank you, but that isn’t necessary,” Daegal said, shifting uneasily. The monk’s eyes were an unusual acid-yellow, slitted like a snake’s. There was something else about the monk’s covered face that bothered him, but he couldn’t pin down what it was.
“Comfort is hard to find these days, is it not?” The monk peered at the inscription. “Your wife, I take it?”
“Yes,” the Guardsman answered, his brow furrowing.
“I am sorry for your loss.” The monk inclined his head slightly. “It is troubling times, is it not? The attack in the plaza....”
“Terrible,” Daegal conceded, his voice guarded. “Terrorists will stop at nothing to disrupt the lives of innocents.”
“Ah, but not all who were wounded were innocent, were they?”
Daegal paused, his sense of unease growing. He adjusted his jacket, and the tiny bulge moved surreptitiously up his chest to his sleeve. “As far as I know they were.”
“Ah, you consider Solomon Klein to be an innocent then?”
“Of course not. What does he have to do with anything?”
The monk shrugged. “He was wounded in the attack, curiously enough. Though I suppose it could happen to anyone, innocent or not. But did you know they did not catch the gunman who shot him?”
“You are making some wild claims,” Daegal said, his voice carrying a warning tone. Just how much did this man think he knew?
“I think they did not catch the gunman because they could not see him. An assassin, one would think. But would it not interest you to know that Solomon Klein has been marked as Untouchable? Who would be so bold as to wear an assassin’s skin?”
Daegal turned on the monk. “Just what are you--?” He stopped at the inexorable pressure of a blade at his throat. Impossible, the monk’s hands were still resting at his sides. Then Daegal saw the tail that extended from under the robes, arced up along the guardsman’s body and hooked over his shoulder. He returned his attention to the monk and realized what was wrong with his face. There was no bump where a nose should be, just a flat plane. Flat, like a mask. A mask with snake eyes, made of living flesh.
“Who the hell are you?” Daegal growled.
The monk slowly lifted a hand and pulled down the cloth covering his face, revealing a grin made of ashen fangs. “Does it matter? But I suppose it does to you. You already guessed as to my nature, yes?”
“Assassin,” the Guardsman hissed.
“Correct. But did you guess that I am Siko, lieutenant to the Guild Master?”
Surprise washed over Daegal, followed by anger and no small amount of fear. The second-in-command of the Assassin’s Guild didn’t reach that position by sitting around doing nothing. The blade at his throat was testament to that.
Siko’s grin widened. “No, I do not plan to kill you today, Guardsman J. Daegal. I find you... interesting.”
A shiver passed down Daegal’s spine at the way the assassin lovingly hissed the word. “Then what do you want with me?”
“I wished to pass on the message that you have been deemed Untouchable. You interest me, as I said. In six years you have eliminated more assassins than any other living being.” The yellow eyes narrowed. “And you have learned some tricks, have you not?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Siko chuckled. “I am sure you have kept a memento or two from my Snakes. And the fact that you were an accomplished sniper in the Guard is not hidden knowledge. I wonder if anyone will be able to put the pieces together?”
Daegal pursed his lips, glaring at the assassin. “If there’s a point to your rambling, please get to it.”
“But you would rather wait until your comrades arrived, yes?” Siko slowly reached out and rested a talon on the shield. “No doubt you hope that one of your snipers will shatter my skull.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed, no.”
Siko flashed another grin. “Not today. My schedule is full.” The tail and the blade attached to it pulled away.
Daegal hissed a breath out, forming a command word as he extended his arm. A white-scaled snake shot from his jacket sleeve and sunk fangs into Siko’s tail. The assassin hissed and slapped his tail against the wall of tombs, knocking the medriki free.
“Sneaky indeed, Guardsman!” Siko cried as he stepped back. “I admire it!” He gathered his legs under him and made a leap to the top of the mausoleum.
A shout reached Daegal and he looked over his shoulder to see Guardsmen running to his position. “Shoot him!” he screamed, gesturing to the dark figure.
Siko’s amused laugh floated down, followed shortly by the cracks of gunfire and the rumble of thunder. Daegal rushed away from the building, craning to see the top. Nothing.
“He vanished, sir!” one of the Guardsmen said.
Daegal bit off a curse. “Make a sweep. Get the forensic teams out here and cover the whole damn area.”
“Yes sir.”
Daegal strode back to the marble wall and reached down. He scooped up the dazed medriki, stroking its head gently. Inevitably his gaze was drawn back to his wife’s tomb as another peal of thunder rolled. Why today, of all days? Did the bastard know?
I wonder if anyone else will be able to put the pieces together?
No, he’d been very careful. Siko was right, he had picked up some tricks. But more importantly, he knew how both the Gray Guard and Homeguard worked, and knew how to circumvent their procedures.
The situation had indeed become more interesting.
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: J. Daegal
Prompt: Table 5 - 036: Regret
Wordcount: 1455
Rating: PG
Summary: Daegal visits his wife’s grave
Warnings: Some adult language
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Huge thunderclouds overshadowed the cemetery, compressing the air before them with heat. The bruised light cast a strange pallor over the rows of graves and the lone visitor striding among them. The tall man wore the dark gray uniform of a Gray Guard, a member of the armed force that protected the people of Altena. But right now there was only one thing on his mind as his feet traced a familiar path to the mausoleum. He stopped at the middle of the wall and his hand reached out to rest against the marble. Fingers lightly traced the words that read, “Katherine Daegal.”
Guardsman Daegal studied his indistinct reflection in the polished stone. Had it really been six years? His mirror image didn’t look like it, the polished stone blurring the signs of age on his face. Katherine wouldn’t have liked the changes. But then again, those six years had been spent hunting the ones he held responsible for her death.
The voices laughed and chatted, belonging to friends and comrades that had come to celebrate the Gray Guard’s 90th anniversary and Daegal’s promotion. Katherine smiled at him and leaned close to whisper in his ear, promising their own private celebration later in the evening.
He drew his handkerchief from a pocket and carefully wiped away the dust and pollen. At this time of year it got everywhere, blown in from the wide plains around Angelli. The light continued to drain, swallowed up by the lumbering storm. Daegal shook the dust from the cloth and used it to wipe his face. The air was stifling, laying on the world as heavily as stone.
The conversations stumbled and Daegal glanced up to see what caused it. A figure stood in front of him, one arm raising. The party-goers twisted out of the way as they realized the newcomer had a gun. Daegal gaped in disbelief, and then he saw the mask. Two dead snake eyes stared back at him. A Guild Assassin.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling over the plain to the city. Daegal used his reflection to adjust his uniform cap, ensuring that it rested perfectly over his hair. He also used it to spy the figure approaching him from behind. His hand dropped to the steel shield pinned on his jacket, tapping it once. A second tap followed lower down, against a slight bulge at his waist.
The figure didn’t speak, but the startled cries of those around it spoke for it. Daegal’s hand reached for a weapon but he had none, he never thought he would have needed one here. Katherine shouted and pushed him. The gun barked once, twice. She fell against him, gasping, and the figure, the Assassin, melted away into the crowd.
Daegal turned as the newcomer reached him and wasn’t wholly surprised to see the robes and face-wrap of an Antarean monk.
“Peace, brother,” the monk greeted. His voice was gravelly and bore a strange accent. “I saw you from the chapel and thought I would offer a word of comfort.”
“Thank you, but that isn’t necessary,” Daegal said, shifting uneasily. The monk’s eyes were an unusual acid-yellow, slitted like a snake’s. There was something else about the monk’s covered face that bothered him, but he couldn’t pin down what it was.
“Comfort is hard to find these days, is it not?” The monk peered at the inscription. “Your wife, I take it?”
“Yes,” the Guardsman answered, his brow furrowing.
“I am sorry for your loss.” The monk inclined his head slightly. “It is troubling times, is it not? The attack in the plaza....”
“Terrible,” Daegal conceded, his voice guarded. “Terrorists will stop at nothing to disrupt the lives of innocents.”
“Ah, but not all who were wounded were innocent, were they?”
Daegal paused, his sense of unease growing. He adjusted his jacket, and the tiny bulge moved surreptitiously up his chest to his sleeve. “As far as I know they were.”
“Ah, you consider Solomon Klein to be an innocent then?”
“Of course not. What does he have to do with anything?”
The monk shrugged. “He was wounded in the attack, curiously enough. Though I suppose it could happen to anyone, innocent or not. But did you know they did not catch the gunman who shot him?”
“You are making some wild claims,” Daegal said, his voice carrying a warning tone. Just how much did this man think he knew?
“I think they did not catch the gunman because they could not see him. An assassin, one would think. But would it not interest you to know that Solomon Klein has been marked as Untouchable? Who would be so bold as to wear an assassin’s skin?”
Daegal turned on the monk. “Just what are you--?” He stopped at the inexorable pressure of a blade at his throat. Impossible, the monk’s hands were still resting at his sides. Then Daegal saw the tail that extended from under the robes, arced up along the guardsman’s body and hooked over his shoulder. He returned his attention to the monk and realized what was wrong with his face. There was no bump where a nose should be, just a flat plane. Flat, like a mask. A mask with snake eyes, made of living flesh.
“Who the hell are you?” Daegal growled.
The monk slowly lifted a hand and pulled down the cloth covering his face, revealing a grin made of ashen fangs. “Does it matter? But I suppose it does to you. You already guessed as to my nature, yes?”
“Assassin,” the Guardsman hissed.
“Correct. But did you guess that I am Siko, lieutenant to the Guild Master?”
Surprise washed over Daegal, followed by anger and no small amount of fear. The second-in-command of the Assassin’s Guild didn’t reach that position by sitting around doing nothing. The blade at his throat was testament to that.
Siko’s grin widened. “No, I do not plan to kill you today, Guardsman J. Daegal. I find you... interesting.”
A shiver passed down Daegal’s spine at the way the assassin lovingly hissed the word. “Then what do you want with me?”
“I wished to pass on the message that you have been deemed Untouchable. You interest me, as I said. In six years you have eliminated more assassins than any other living being.” The yellow eyes narrowed. “And you have learned some tricks, have you not?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Siko chuckled. “I am sure you have kept a memento or two from my Snakes. And the fact that you were an accomplished sniper in the Guard is not hidden knowledge. I wonder if anyone will be able to put the pieces together?”
Daegal pursed his lips, glaring at the assassin. “If there’s a point to your rambling, please get to it.”
“But you would rather wait until your comrades arrived, yes?” Siko slowly reached out and rested a talon on the shield. “No doubt you hope that one of your snipers will shatter my skull.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed, no.”
Siko flashed another grin. “Not today. My schedule is full.” The tail and the blade attached to it pulled away.
Daegal hissed a breath out, forming a command word as he extended his arm. A white-scaled snake shot from his jacket sleeve and sunk fangs into Siko’s tail. The assassin hissed and slapped his tail against the wall of tombs, knocking the medriki free.
“Sneaky indeed, Guardsman!” Siko cried as he stepped back. “I admire it!” He gathered his legs under him and made a leap to the top of the mausoleum.
A shout reached Daegal and he looked over his shoulder to see Guardsmen running to his position. “Shoot him!” he screamed, gesturing to the dark figure.
Siko’s amused laugh floated down, followed shortly by the cracks of gunfire and the rumble of thunder. Daegal rushed away from the building, craning to see the top. Nothing.
“He vanished, sir!” one of the Guardsmen said.
Daegal bit off a curse. “Make a sweep. Get the forensic teams out here and cover the whole damn area.”
“Yes sir.”
Daegal strode back to the marble wall and reached down. He scooped up the dazed medriki, stroking its head gently. Inevitably his gaze was drawn back to his wife’s tomb as another peal of thunder rolled. Why today, of all days? Did the bastard know?
I wonder if anyone else will be able to put the pieces together?
No, he’d been very careful. Siko was right, he had picked up some tricks. But more importantly, he knew how both the Gray Guard and Homeguard worked, and knew how to circumvent their procedures.
The situation had indeed become more interesting.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Prompt 040 - Glass
Title: Why Minions Need Alcohol
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Ivan, Tabby, Solomon, Victoria, Daegal
Prompt: Table 5 - 040: Glass
Wordcount: 1639
Rating: PG
Summary: (see title)
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Silver eyes moved from screen to screen, watching the gathering of people. “That’s one hell of a party,” Tabby remarked.
“It’s the biggest at Ialophos in the past five years,” Ivan replied as he adjusted the feed on another monitor. “Solomon doesn’t often feel the need to throw parties.”
“I’m surprised he allowed this one, what with all the government security strutting around out there.”
“Solomon and mayor Danski go back a long way, unofficially, of course. And Iolaphos is the biggest, best restaurant in Angelli.”
“I think you’re biased.” Tabby smirked.
“Perhaps.”
“Think we’ll get some of the food before it’s all gone?”
“We have another hour before the shift changes.”
“Aww. I wanted some shrimps.” She drew out the sibilants and Ivan winced.
A series of knocks rapped from the door and Calvin stepped in, adjusting the collar of his suit. “Is she here yet?”
“Who?” Ivan asked.
“You look pretty,” Tabby complimented.
“Heh, thanks. I heard-there she is!” Calvin pointed at a monitor.
The other two looked, seeing a tall woman wearing a silver dress step through the security checkpoint. She glanced around, taking in details before heading towards a refreshment table.
“Oooh, going after the good captain, are we?” Tabby asked.
“Wouldn’t you?” Calvin gave the Khatronian a wink. “Wish me luck.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on the floor?” Solomon’s dry tones interjected from the door.
“Yes sir!” Calvin grinned and stepped past his boss, closing the door to the monitoring room.
“Luck!” Tabby called after him.
“What was that about?” Solomon asked as he stepped up behind them to study the monitors.
“Ssshrimpssss.”
“Don’t mind her,” Ivan said.
“Ah, yes. I am reminded of why I don’t speak to her.”
“So mean,” Tabby mock-sulked.
“How does everything look?” Solomon asked Ivan.
“Calm, as parties go. Their security hasn’t found any of our installments,” Ivan replied, rubbing the stubble on his chin.
“Good.”
“Are you going to go mingle, too?” Tabby asked, glancing at Solomon’s typical nondescript suit.
“I’d prefer not to,” he replied, scanning the feeds. He paused at one, studying the image intently. After a moment he said, “But perhaps I shall make an exception.” He turned on his heel and departed the room.
“That was unexpected,” Ivan mused, looking at Tabby.
“So is the object of his attention,” she said with a nod to the monitor.
Ivan followed her gaze, spotting Captain Blake neatly framed in the screen. “Oh man….”
“Poor Calvin.”
“Well, maybe he just wants to talk to her,” Ivan offered diplomatically.
“Maybe.”
“You think differently?”
“Mr. Hotpants, I read emotions like other people read faces. There was definitely something different about Solomon’s focus.” Tabby grinned at her companion. “And you’re cute when you turn red like that.”
Ivan grumbled and looked attentively at the screens. Tabby did also, then suddenly pointed at the screen showing Blake.
“Hey, who’s that guy?”
------
“Captain Blake?”
Victoria turned at the cultured voice and the man to whom it belonged. He was taller than her by a few inches with a spare but toned frame. Olive skin spoke of being no stranger to the sun, his black hair gleamed under the lights, and icy blue eyes peered over antique glasses perched on his crooked nose. He wore a simple, black suit with only a single adornment: a steel-gray shield on his lapel. “Yes?” she asked, wary.
The man smiled pleasantly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guardsman Daegal, at your service.”
She took his offered hand, surprised when he gave it a hearty squeeze instead of kissing it as everyone else of rank usually did at these functions. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
-------
“Ugh, I didn’t expect him to be here,” Ivan groused.
“Oh? An enemy of the Nephilim?” Tabby asked.
“Not so much as that. He’s more of an arrogant jackass, not to mention a damned fanatical lunatic.”
Tabby blinked. “As bad as all that?”
“Worse, if all the rumors are true. And the rumors that have been confirmed are bad enough.” Ivan leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “About six years ago Daegal was happily married and a rising star in the Gray Guard. Then his wife was assassinated. There were all kinds of stories flying about, like how she took a bullet for him or some such, but whatever happened, it changed him. Now he’s a ruthless, sadistic bastard who’s determined to root out and exterminate any and all assassins.”
Tabby absorbed all that. “Even the Guild?”
“Especially the Guild.”
She shook her head. “You’re right. He is a lunatic.”
“On top of that,” Ivan added, motioning to the figure approaching the Captain and Guardsman, “Solomon hates him with a passion.”
-------
Daegal offered Victoria a cracker with some sort of shellfish perched atop it. “Try the villini. I hear it’s imported direct from Nabani.”
“Thank you.” She took the hors d’oeuvre and tried to nibble it delicately. The cracker immediately broke and she wolfed it down as neatly as possible before it had the chance to drop down the front of her dress.
“The best way to eat them,” Daegal chuckled and followed suit. “I wanted to tell you how much I admired you, captain.”
“Is that so?” Victoria studied him, vaguely reminded of a similar conversation she’d had some months ago with another man.
“Indeed. Your valor at the incident at the Angel is commendable.” He smiled at her, then glanced over her shoulder. “Your willingness to stay firm in the face of danger, even while ‘wounded,’ truly shows your loyalty.”
Victoria turned, following his gaze, and felt her expression cool as Solomon Klein stepped up to them. The mafia boss glanced at Daegal with a vile expression and gave Victoria a more respectful one. “Captain. Guardsman.”
“Mr. Klein,” Daegal greeted brightly. “Still avoiding the attorney general’s subpoenas?”
Solomon sneered briefly at the guardsman before returning his attention to Victoria. “I heard of your courageous act during the attack, Captain. I wanted to offer my admiration.”
“Thank you, Mr. Klein,” Victoria said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. A prickly sensation crawled up her spine and settled on her neck as a patch of heat. “I’m surprised you weren’t there to witness it.”
“After all,” Daegal interjected, “a colony only turns 150 years old once, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Solomon replied guardedly. “But sometimes there are more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Very true,” Victoria conceded as she picked up a glass of champagne and sipped from it. “Perhaps Calvin was there, then? Or the nice young man who is currently providing the violin music?”
Solomon’s expression closed while Daegal’s grew wolfish. “Perhaps so,” the older man said warily.
Victoria switched the glass to her right hand reached out to place her left on Solomon’s shoulder. “It truly would have been a shame to miss seeing the HOUNDs in action, wouldn’t it? Given how important they are to the safety of Titian 1?” She moved her hand to his upper arm and pressed inward with her thumb.
A flicker of pain crossed Solomon’s face. The flesh had healed, but the nerves were still tender. He met the taller woman’s steely gaze, his expression unreadable.
He never saw the champagne glass come up, its contents aimed for his face. The liquid splashed against his chin and jaw, dripping onto his suit as he jerked away reflexively.
“I will not let you turn my city into a war zone,” Victoria declared, her voice soft and deadly, her eyes blazing. “I don’t give a damn who you think you are.” She slapped the glass on the table and stalked away, heels clacking on the tiled floor.
“Poor turn of luck,” Daegal remarked glibly as he held a handkerchief out to Solomon.
Solomon glared at the Guardsman and walked away, snagging a napkin from the table as he passed.
Daegal smirked at his retreating back before turning to pursue Victoria.
-------
Tabby and Ivan stared at the monitors, mouths hanging open.
“Oh my God,” he said, stunned. “Did you see?”
“I saw,” she answered. “And he is angry. I can sense him from here.”
Ivan glanced at her. “Is he coming up here?”
“Yes,” Tabby answered stiffly, keeping her eyes pinned on the screens.
Ivan did likewise, and soon the door to the security room opened. Neither of them looked back as a brittle silence descended. Tabby did her best to be as unobtrusive as possible, knowing she’d be an instant target for Solomon’s ire the moment she opened her mouth. Ivan stayed busy with the screens, wincing as he saw Daegal catch up to Blake and resume conversing.
After an eternity of silence, Ivan took a deep breath and looked back to say something. He was just in time to see the door close again, Solomon gone.
“Whew,” Tabby gasped as she slumped in her chair. “He’s scary when he’s all quiet like that.”
Ivan rubbed his forehead, letting out a deep breath. “I’ll try to catch him later this evening. I’ve known him a long time. He just needs some time to vent.”
“As long as he’s not venting anywhere near me. How much longer until our shift is done?”
“Another forty minutes here, then another hour on the floor.”
“La, that long?”
“That long.”
Tabby paused, thinking. “You have some liquor, yes?”
“When we’re done, I have a bottle of vodka with our names on it.”
“Perfect.”
Images flickered across the screens, and despite themselves, the two watched Blake and Daegal. They were approached by Calvin and a short exchange followed. It cut off abruptly when Blake took Daegal’s elbow and allowed him to escort her to the door, anger evident in the movement of her body.
“Hey, Ivan?”
“Yes?”
“I think we’re going to need two bottles.”
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Ivan, Tabby, Solomon, Victoria, Daegal
Prompt: Table 5 - 040: Glass
Wordcount: 1639
Rating: PG
Summary: (see title)
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Silver eyes moved from screen to screen, watching the gathering of people. “That’s one hell of a party,” Tabby remarked.
“It’s the biggest at Ialophos in the past five years,” Ivan replied as he adjusted the feed on another monitor. “Solomon doesn’t often feel the need to throw parties.”
“I’m surprised he allowed this one, what with all the government security strutting around out there.”
“Solomon and mayor Danski go back a long way, unofficially, of course. And Iolaphos is the biggest, best restaurant in Angelli.”
“I think you’re biased.” Tabby smirked.
“Perhaps.”
“Think we’ll get some of the food before it’s all gone?”
“We have another hour before the shift changes.”
“Aww. I wanted some shrimps.” She drew out the sibilants and Ivan winced.
A series of knocks rapped from the door and Calvin stepped in, adjusting the collar of his suit. “Is she here yet?”
“Who?” Ivan asked.
“You look pretty,” Tabby complimented.
“Heh, thanks. I heard-there she is!” Calvin pointed at a monitor.
The other two looked, seeing a tall woman wearing a silver dress step through the security checkpoint. She glanced around, taking in details before heading towards a refreshment table.
“Oooh, going after the good captain, are we?” Tabby asked.
“Wouldn’t you?” Calvin gave the Khatronian a wink. “Wish me luck.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on the floor?” Solomon’s dry tones interjected from the door.
“Yes sir!” Calvin grinned and stepped past his boss, closing the door to the monitoring room.
“Luck!” Tabby called after him.
“What was that about?” Solomon asked as he stepped up behind them to study the monitors.
“Ssshrimpssss.”
“Don’t mind her,” Ivan said.
“Ah, yes. I am reminded of why I don’t speak to her.”
“So mean,” Tabby mock-sulked.
“How does everything look?” Solomon asked Ivan.
“Calm, as parties go. Their security hasn’t found any of our installments,” Ivan replied, rubbing the stubble on his chin.
“Good.”
“Are you going to go mingle, too?” Tabby asked, glancing at Solomon’s typical nondescript suit.
“I’d prefer not to,” he replied, scanning the feeds. He paused at one, studying the image intently. After a moment he said, “But perhaps I shall make an exception.” He turned on his heel and departed the room.
“That was unexpected,” Ivan mused, looking at Tabby.
“So is the object of his attention,” she said with a nod to the monitor.
Ivan followed her gaze, spotting Captain Blake neatly framed in the screen. “Oh man….”
“Poor Calvin.”
“Well, maybe he just wants to talk to her,” Ivan offered diplomatically.
“Maybe.”
“You think differently?”
“Mr. Hotpants, I read emotions like other people read faces. There was definitely something different about Solomon’s focus.” Tabby grinned at her companion. “And you’re cute when you turn red like that.”
Ivan grumbled and looked attentively at the screens. Tabby did also, then suddenly pointed at the screen showing Blake.
“Hey, who’s that guy?”
------
“Captain Blake?”
Victoria turned at the cultured voice and the man to whom it belonged. He was taller than her by a few inches with a spare but toned frame. Olive skin spoke of being no stranger to the sun, his black hair gleamed under the lights, and icy blue eyes peered over antique glasses perched on his crooked nose. He wore a simple, black suit with only a single adornment: a steel-gray shield on his lapel. “Yes?” she asked, wary.
The man smiled pleasantly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guardsman Daegal, at your service.”
She took his offered hand, surprised when he gave it a hearty squeeze instead of kissing it as everyone else of rank usually did at these functions. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
-------
“Ugh, I didn’t expect him to be here,” Ivan groused.
“Oh? An enemy of the Nephilim?” Tabby asked.
“Not so much as that. He’s more of an arrogant jackass, not to mention a damned fanatical lunatic.”
Tabby blinked. “As bad as all that?”
“Worse, if all the rumors are true. And the rumors that have been confirmed are bad enough.” Ivan leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “About six years ago Daegal was happily married and a rising star in the Gray Guard. Then his wife was assassinated. There were all kinds of stories flying about, like how she took a bullet for him or some such, but whatever happened, it changed him. Now he’s a ruthless, sadistic bastard who’s determined to root out and exterminate any and all assassins.”
Tabby absorbed all that. “Even the Guild?”
“Especially the Guild.”
She shook her head. “You’re right. He is a lunatic.”
“On top of that,” Ivan added, motioning to the figure approaching the Captain and Guardsman, “Solomon hates him with a passion.”
-------
Daegal offered Victoria a cracker with some sort of shellfish perched atop it. “Try the villini. I hear it’s imported direct from Nabani.”
“Thank you.” She took the hors d’oeuvre and tried to nibble it delicately. The cracker immediately broke and she wolfed it down as neatly as possible before it had the chance to drop down the front of her dress.
“The best way to eat them,” Daegal chuckled and followed suit. “I wanted to tell you how much I admired you, captain.”
“Is that so?” Victoria studied him, vaguely reminded of a similar conversation she’d had some months ago with another man.
“Indeed. Your valor at the incident at the Angel is commendable.” He smiled at her, then glanced over her shoulder. “Your willingness to stay firm in the face of danger, even while ‘wounded,’ truly shows your loyalty.”
Victoria turned, following his gaze, and felt her expression cool as Solomon Klein stepped up to them. The mafia boss glanced at Daegal with a vile expression and gave Victoria a more respectful one. “Captain. Guardsman.”
“Mr. Klein,” Daegal greeted brightly. “Still avoiding the attorney general’s subpoenas?”
Solomon sneered briefly at the guardsman before returning his attention to Victoria. “I heard of your courageous act during the attack, Captain. I wanted to offer my admiration.”
“Thank you, Mr. Klein,” Victoria said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. A prickly sensation crawled up her spine and settled on her neck as a patch of heat. “I’m surprised you weren’t there to witness it.”
“After all,” Daegal interjected, “a colony only turns 150 years old once, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Solomon replied guardedly. “But sometimes there are more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Very true,” Victoria conceded as she picked up a glass of champagne and sipped from it. “Perhaps Calvin was there, then? Or the nice young man who is currently providing the violin music?”
Solomon’s expression closed while Daegal’s grew wolfish. “Perhaps so,” the older man said warily.
Victoria switched the glass to her right hand reached out to place her left on Solomon’s shoulder. “It truly would have been a shame to miss seeing the HOUNDs in action, wouldn’t it? Given how important they are to the safety of Titian 1?” She moved her hand to his upper arm and pressed inward with her thumb.
A flicker of pain crossed Solomon’s face. The flesh had healed, but the nerves were still tender. He met the taller woman’s steely gaze, his expression unreadable.
He never saw the champagne glass come up, its contents aimed for his face. The liquid splashed against his chin and jaw, dripping onto his suit as he jerked away reflexively.
“I will not let you turn my city into a war zone,” Victoria declared, her voice soft and deadly, her eyes blazing. “I don’t give a damn who you think you are.” She slapped the glass on the table and stalked away, heels clacking on the tiled floor.
“Poor turn of luck,” Daegal remarked glibly as he held a handkerchief out to Solomon.
Solomon glared at the Guardsman and walked away, snagging a napkin from the table as he passed.
Daegal smirked at his retreating back before turning to pursue Victoria.
-------
Tabby and Ivan stared at the monitors, mouths hanging open.
“Oh my God,” he said, stunned. “Did you see?”
“I saw,” she answered. “And he is angry. I can sense him from here.”
Ivan glanced at her. “Is he coming up here?”
“Yes,” Tabby answered stiffly, keeping her eyes pinned on the screens.
Ivan did likewise, and soon the door to the security room opened. Neither of them looked back as a brittle silence descended. Tabby did her best to be as unobtrusive as possible, knowing she’d be an instant target for Solomon’s ire the moment she opened her mouth. Ivan stayed busy with the screens, wincing as he saw Daegal catch up to Blake and resume conversing.
After an eternity of silence, Ivan took a deep breath and looked back to say something. He was just in time to see the door close again, Solomon gone.
“Whew,” Tabby gasped as she slumped in her chair. “He’s scary when he’s all quiet like that.”
Ivan rubbed his forehead, letting out a deep breath. “I’ll try to catch him later this evening. I’ve known him a long time. He just needs some time to vent.”
“As long as he’s not venting anywhere near me. How much longer until our shift is done?”
“Another forty minutes here, then another hour on the floor.”
“La, that long?”
“That long.”
Tabby paused, thinking. “You have some liquor, yes?”
“When we’re done, I have a bottle of vodka with our names on it.”
“Perfect.”
Images flickered across the screens, and despite themselves, the two watched Blake and Daegal. They were approached by Calvin and a short exchange followed. It cut off abruptly when Blake took Daegal’s elbow and allowed him to escort her to the door, anger evident in the movement of her body.
“Hey, Ivan?”
“Yes?”
“I think we’re going to need two bottles.”
Prompt 045 - Last
Title: Those Left Behind
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Alan Miller, Vega Tahann
Prompt: Table 5 - 045: Last
Wordcount: 1288
Rating: PG
Summary: Nothing left but revenge.
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Alan Miller stepped out of the building and squinted against the bright sunshine. At any other time the day would have been gorgeous, but the lingering stink of ash and death cast a pall over the small colony town. His gaze tracked to the west of the town, past the damaged buildings to a hill carved into terraces. Several figures moved along the terraces, either carrying wrapped objects or digging in the soil. Miller patted his pockets, idly searching for a cigarette.
Movement caught his eye and he looked to see one of his comrades approaching, her black body armor hanging over one shoulder. Katrina Taylor, the doctor of the small mercenary unit, looked wan and sunburnt. Miller finally found a cigarette and tucked it in the corner of his mouth as he began the search for a lighter.
“Those things will kill you, you know,” Taylor said as she reached him.
“There’s plenty of things that will kill me faster, Nine,” Miller replied. “Besides, I’d rather have this than the stench in my nose.”
“Here.” She pulled a lighter from a belt kit and handed it over.
“Get out of the sun for a while,” Miller ordered as his lit his vice. “We don’t need you collapsing on us.”
Taylor snorted but sat down on the sidewalk in the shade. “I know to avoid sunstroke. You weren’t the only one living in the South, Crowleader.”
Miller smiled faintly, bittersweet memories rising at her words. English words, at that, not Standard, the common language of the Confederacy. English, Earth, the United States, and other things that had changed or disappeared long ago. He exhaled noisily as he sent the memories back to the recesses of his mind. “How many more?”
“The last graves are dug. We just have to fill them,” Taylor said as she opened a bottle of water.
Miller scanned the figures on the hill. “How’s the kid holding up?”
A deep sigh answered him. “Despite the fact that he refuses to get any rest, he’s doing okay, physically. The antibiotics are fighting off the infection in his wound. Mentally, however....”
“He’s a wreck?”
Taylor nodded. “I can’t get him to talk to me, but you’ve seen the carnage around here. I don’t know if I can help him with that level of trauma.”
Miller grumbled a curse. “Where is he?”
“Up at the top.”
Miller nodded and started walking. He passed through the quiet town, though somewhere far off a bird (or the planet’s equivalent) was singing. He passed the ruins of five large trees in the central square, their amputated limbs tangled in a pile nearby. Miller did his best to ignore the dark stains that colored the trunks’ stumps and the dried puddles on the pavement beneath. A faint breeze stirred, kicking up dust and ash. Sweat was already gathering along his spine and Miller grumbled, eyeing the climb up the terraces.
He stamped out his cigarette and started up the path, nodding to his Crows as they worked their grisly task. Too many dead, he thought. What was it, over three hundred? Even the afternoon heat couldn’t melt the sick cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Eventually he reached the topmost terrace and the graves planted there. The boy - well, young man - kneeled in front of them, eyes pinned to the stone markers.
Miller crouched down by the boy and glanced at the markers. He blinked and took a better look at the middle one, the one the kid was facing. Two different sets of characters had been cut into the stone, the strange glyphs of Vkkuz and the swooping letters of Standard, both saying the same thing.
Vega Tahann.
“You plan on staying?” Miller asked, digging his pack of cigarettes out again.
“Everyone else has died. I may as well be dead also,” the dusky youth replied.
“Do you really believe that?” Miller balanced the cigarette pack on his knee and his hand dipped back to his belt.
“I have nothing left.” Vega’s voice was soft, hollow.
“Sure you do. But do you want to find out what it is, or just give up now?” He drew his pistol and held it out hilt-first.
Vega looked over, his dark eyes falling on the mercenary’s weapon before returning to Miller’s face. “What do you mean?”
“If you want to be dead, then you might as well take this and put another hole in your head.” Miller’s eyes burned coldly into Vega’s. “Or you can pick yourself up and keep going.”
“Going for what? I don’t have anything.”
“Revenge. You have revenge.” Miller nodded towards the rest of the terraces. “If you give up, then the Masadii win. But you’re still alive. You can do something with it. So what’ll it be?”
Vega stared at the gun for a long moment, but Miller saw a smoldering in the young man’s gaze. A faint spark burned there, needing only a bit of care before it would erupt into flame.
“How?” Vega asked softly.
“We’ll teach you. Me and my Crows. We’ll give you everything you need to take what was done to you and throw it back in the face of those bastards.” The kid didn’t seem inclined to take the gun, which Miller took as a good sign as he replaced it in its holster.
“Why?”
Miller studied Vega, turning the question over in his mind. Why did he want to help the kid? Finally he smirked. “I’m a sucker for the underdog.”
“Underdog?” Vega repeated the English word uncertainly.
“That’s what we are. The ones that are left behind, stepped on, and seen as no threat. Then we bite back, like a mad dog.”
The young man dropped his gaze to the ground, his brow furrowed as he considered Miller’s words. “Underdog,” he murmured. He looked over to the pack balanced on Miller’s knee. “Can I have one of those?”
“It’s not a good habit to start,” Miller cautioned as he pulled a cigarette out and handed it over to Vega.
Vega didn’t reply as he took it and let the older man light it. But instead of bringing it to his mouth, he carefully planted it in the ground butt-first before the gravestone, an unusual substitute for incense. Vega stood slowly, a grimace crossing his face as the wound on his back pulled. He began murmuring in the alien language of Vkkuz, the words susurrating in the hot air.
Miller watched him thoughtfully. It should be raining, the mercenary decided. At least that’s the way it was in the movies. The character would stand in the rain, gaze down at the grave or body or whatever, and make some oath as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. He swept his gaze past Vega to the stark blue sky and the shimmering heat waves. The heat and the brightness almost made it worse, making Miller’s head ache and Vega’s words sound all the sharper.
He looked back at Vega and for a moment he saw what the young man would become. A dark expression of hatred masked Vega’s face and every muscle of his body was drawn taut with rage. There was no doubt that he was determined to be hell on earth for the Masadii. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished again, a fleeting moment under Vega’s exhaustion. He turned to the mercenary, looking lost and alone.
Miller stood and looked down at the younger man. “C’mon kid. There’s a lot of work to be done.”
“Yes,” Vega agreed quietly and walked to the path leading down the hill.
Miller glanced at the gravestone one last time, his lips pursing before he moved to follow Vega.
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Alan Miller, Vega Tahann
Prompt: Table 5 - 045: Last
Wordcount: 1288
Rating: PG
Summary: Nothing left but revenge.
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Alan Miller stepped out of the building and squinted against the bright sunshine. At any other time the day would have been gorgeous, but the lingering stink of ash and death cast a pall over the small colony town. His gaze tracked to the west of the town, past the damaged buildings to a hill carved into terraces. Several figures moved along the terraces, either carrying wrapped objects or digging in the soil. Miller patted his pockets, idly searching for a cigarette.
Movement caught his eye and he looked to see one of his comrades approaching, her black body armor hanging over one shoulder. Katrina Taylor, the doctor of the small mercenary unit, looked wan and sunburnt. Miller finally found a cigarette and tucked it in the corner of his mouth as he began the search for a lighter.
“Those things will kill you, you know,” Taylor said as she reached him.
“There’s plenty of things that will kill me faster, Nine,” Miller replied. “Besides, I’d rather have this than the stench in my nose.”
“Here.” She pulled a lighter from a belt kit and handed it over.
“Get out of the sun for a while,” Miller ordered as his lit his vice. “We don’t need you collapsing on us.”
Taylor snorted but sat down on the sidewalk in the shade. “I know to avoid sunstroke. You weren’t the only one living in the South, Crowleader.”
Miller smiled faintly, bittersweet memories rising at her words. English words, at that, not Standard, the common language of the Confederacy. English, Earth, the United States, and other things that had changed or disappeared long ago. He exhaled noisily as he sent the memories back to the recesses of his mind. “How many more?”
“The last graves are dug. We just have to fill them,” Taylor said as she opened a bottle of water.
Miller scanned the figures on the hill. “How’s the kid holding up?”
A deep sigh answered him. “Despite the fact that he refuses to get any rest, he’s doing okay, physically. The antibiotics are fighting off the infection in his wound. Mentally, however....”
“He’s a wreck?”
Taylor nodded. “I can’t get him to talk to me, but you’ve seen the carnage around here. I don’t know if I can help him with that level of trauma.”
Miller grumbled a curse. “Where is he?”
“Up at the top.”
Miller nodded and started walking. He passed through the quiet town, though somewhere far off a bird (or the planet’s equivalent) was singing. He passed the ruins of five large trees in the central square, their amputated limbs tangled in a pile nearby. Miller did his best to ignore the dark stains that colored the trunks’ stumps and the dried puddles on the pavement beneath. A faint breeze stirred, kicking up dust and ash. Sweat was already gathering along his spine and Miller grumbled, eyeing the climb up the terraces.
He stamped out his cigarette and started up the path, nodding to his Crows as they worked their grisly task. Too many dead, he thought. What was it, over three hundred? Even the afternoon heat couldn’t melt the sick cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Eventually he reached the topmost terrace and the graves planted there. The boy - well, young man - kneeled in front of them, eyes pinned to the stone markers.
Miller crouched down by the boy and glanced at the markers. He blinked and took a better look at the middle one, the one the kid was facing. Two different sets of characters had been cut into the stone, the strange glyphs of Vkkuz and the swooping letters of Standard, both saying the same thing.
Vega Tahann.
“You plan on staying?” Miller asked, digging his pack of cigarettes out again.
“Everyone else has died. I may as well be dead also,” the dusky youth replied.
“Do you really believe that?” Miller balanced the cigarette pack on his knee and his hand dipped back to his belt.
“I have nothing left.” Vega’s voice was soft, hollow.
“Sure you do. But do you want to find out what it is, or just give up now?” He drew his pistol and held it out hilt-first.
Vega looked over, his dark eyes falling on the mercenary’s weapon before returning to Miller’s face. “What do you mean?”
“If you want to be dead, then you might as well take this and put another hole in your head.” Miller’s eyes burned coldly into Vega’s. “Or you can pick yourself up and keep going.”
“Going for what? I don’t have anything.”
“Revenge. You have revenge.” Miller nodded towards the rest of the terraces. “If you give up, then the Masadii win. But you’re still alive. You can do something with it. So what’ll it be?”
Vega stared at the gun for a long moment, but Miller saw a smoldering in the young man’s gaze. A faint spark burned there, needing only a bit of care before it would erupt into flame.
“How?” Vega asked softly.
“We’ll teach you. Me and my Crows. We’ll give you everything you need to take what was done to you and throw it back in the face of those bastards.” The kid didn’t seem inclined to take the gun, which Miller took as a good sign as he replaced it in its holster.
“Why?”
Miller studied Vega, turning the question over in his mind. Why did he want to help the kid? Finally he smirked. “I’m a sucker for the underdog.”
“Underdog?” Vega repeated the English word uncertainly.
“That’s what we are. The ones that are left behind, stepped on, and seen as no threat. Then we bite back, like a mad dog.”
The young man dropped his gaze to the ground, his brow furrowed as he considered Miller’s words. “Underdog,” he murmured. He looked over to the pack balanced on Miller’s knee. “Can I have one of those?”
“It’s not a good habit to start,” Miller cautioned as he pulled a cigarette out and handed it over to Vega.
Vega didn’t reply as he took it and let the older man light it. But instead of bringing it to his mouth, he carefully planted it in the ground butt-first before the gravestone, an unusual substitute for incense. Vega stood slowly, a grimace crossing his face as the wound on his back pulled. He began murmuring in the alien language of Vkkuz, the words susurrating in the hot air.
Miller watched him thoughtfully. It should be raining, the mercenary decided. At least that’s the way it was in the movies. The character would stand in the rain, gaze down at the grave or body or whatever, and make some oath as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. He swept his gaze past Vega to the stark blue sky and the shimmering heat waves. The heat and the brightness almost made it worse, making Miller’s head ache and Vega’s words sound all the sharper.
He looked back at Vega and for a moment he saw what the young man would become. A dark expression of hatred masked Vega’s face and every muscle of his body was drawn taut with rage. There was no doubt that he was determined to be hell on earth for the Masadii. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished again, a fleeting moment under Vega’s exhaustion. He turned to the mercenary, looking lost and alone.
Miller stood and looked down at the younger man. “C’mon kid. There’s a lot of work to be done.”
“Yes,” Vega agreed quietly and walked to the path leading down the hill.
Miller glanced at the gravestone one last time, his lips pursing before he moved to follow Vega.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Prompt 023 - Flash
Title: Sowing Suspicion
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Victoria Blake, Bethor, Corporal Nesda, Dr. Bajere
Prompt: Table 5 - 023: Flash
Wordcount: 1571
Rating: PG
Summary: Aftermath of the attack at the Plaza
Warnings: Violence, language
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
The crowd cheered, the noise sounding dull and distorted through Bethor’s auditory pickups. Victoria smiled to herself, absently patting the control bar her hand rested on. That was very good, Bethor.
The phrase received a 99.3 percent confidence level of being most appropriate in regards to the subject matter of your speech, the HOUND’s AI replied.
Excellent. The AI for each armorsuit wasn’t perfect, but they could learn with constant human contact. Bethor often reminded her of a grizzled old cop, logical to a tee yet often brusque. She ran the scanners over the crowd idly, curious if she would be able to spot a particular face....
The alert rang out and the neural implants immediately accelerated her thought processes. Bethor showed her a direction, a probable target, time to impact, and request for orders. Her command came at the speed of thought.
Intercept!
The armorsuit moved smoothly, artificial muscle and tendon propelling the front half of the HOUND into the air. The rocket reached Bethor a second later, detonating with a roar that Victoria could hear even through the insulated suit. For a brief moment the connection hiccuped, the optical displays vanishing into blackness. For that same moment, Victoria entertained the idea that the armor had failed and her brain matter was vaporized.
Then it passed, the optical displays returned, and she sucked in a deep breath. Her mental processes were still artificially accelerated, making everything outside seem to move slowly. Instinctively she commanded the HOUND to catch its balance, one huge paw slamming through the corner of the stage. Safety protocols kicked in, putting all of the unit’s forward weight onto the undamaged leg. A schematic appeared, damaged sectors flashing.
Pilot life support: stable. Central AI unit: stable. Sensor web: left coverage reduced to 85%. Structural integrity: at 92%. Damage to left shoulder joint: crippling. Forward motion reduced to 25%.
Send the trajectory information to Duma and Jael, Victoria ordered. She gave a mental command and the progression of time returned to normal. Over the comlink she barked, “Damara, Jackson - assist the Homeguard with your sensors.”
“Yes sir!” the other two HOUND pilots replied. Duma and Jael had been stationed nearby, in anticipation of some sort of attack occurring.
Victoria carefully moved Bethor, turning it to face the direction the rocket had come from. She wouldn’t be able to dodge another shot, but she could at least provide a smaller target profile - provided there weren’t shooters on other roofs. Her comlink crackled, the Homeguard advising her to move off the field due to the damage Bethor had sustained. She swept her gaze over the plaza, noting that the Homeguard had their hands full trying to control the panicked crowd. Med teams were moving through the stampede as best they could, trying to get to the wounded.
Anger bubbled up in her, her teeth grinding. Terrorists - they dared to attack now. They dared to challenge.
Damn the target profile! Bethor, give me as much forward mobility as you can.
Acknowledged. I must advise that such action will lower structural integrity.
This isn’t about structural integrity, Victoria replied, ignoring the objections over her comlink. This is about showing them that we aren’t afraid.
Bethor limped out into the plaza, turning to face the Angelo delle Spade and setting its feet. There wasn’t anything she could say to calm the people, but she could stand there, unafraid and challenging. She ran her sensors at full strength, sending information to the Homeguard and aiding them in their search.
She stood there for nearly two hours, a silent guardian. The wounded were moved to hospitals, reporters ran amok to find the latest news, and five shooters were located, including the one that had fired the rocket. She stood there until a large transport rumbled into the plaza, a vehicle big enough to carry a HOUND unit. Bethor slowly limped to it and climbed inside the protected cargo area, finally ending its vigil.
~~~~~~
The command center was a hurricane of activity, following a set order yet full of frantic energy all the same. Victoria walked into it, still in her pilot’s uniform with Dr. Bajere hovering behind her. She had a massive headache that the medics thought was a result of the jarring explosion affecting the neural implants, but she refused to rest until she had checked in on the investigation.
“Captain Blake, good to see you in one piece,” greeted a uniformed Rythul with short-cropped blue feathers.
“Corporal Nesda - I’m glad to be in one piece,” she replied, managing a crooked smile. “What have we got so far?”
“A damned mess,” Nesda answered, motioning to the activity. He paused, eyeing Dr. Bajere suspiciously. “Civilians aren’t cleared for this area.”
“Don’t worry, I’m just here to ensure that the good captain doesn’t have a psychotic episode,” Bajere replied smoothly.
“He has clearance,” Victoria stated, shooting the scientist a dirty look.
“Right. Nothing you hear leaves this room, understood? Now, two of the five shooters - including the one whose rocket you caught - are proclaiming their allegiance to Reshco and declaring that we as an oppressive fascist colony will fall.”
“Great,” Victoria growled. Reshco was the anarchist organization that had spawned the Masadii. “What about the other three?”
“They aren’t talking. The interrogators feel that they aren’t part of Reshco, though.”
“Mercenaries hired for the job?”
“Possibly. There may be another answer.” Nedsa moved over to a console, murmuring to the tech sitting at it. The woman tapped keys on her console, bringing up ballistics and paused camera feeds. “We think we missed a shooter.”
Victoria blinked in surprise. “How? I watched as the ‘Guard canvassed the area, not to mention all the sensor sweeps.” She paused, mind running through the possibilities. “An assassin?”
“That’s what we suspect, since the data is pointing to the fact that he or she only shot once, and at a very interesting target.”
“I’m not interesting enough?” Victoria quipped.
“Only mildly,” Bajere remarked. “Not very.”
Nesda snorted. “It took us a while to find a good feed of the first shot. It happened at the same time as the rocket attack, and most of the news cameras were of course turning to look at that. We were able to pull a feed from l’angelo.”
“The statue has cameras?”
“They were installed to catch vandals,” Nesda explained, then nodded to the tech. “Start it, normal speed.”
The video began playing, showing a viewpoint from somewhere above King Blackjack’s head and looking out into the crowd. Silently the crowd cheered until a flash of light flickered in the left field of the view. There was a confused pause before the crowd began surging to the sides, turning away from the camera’s view. On the very edge of the screen black smoke drifted across from the explosion.
“Stop. Zoom in on the section you showed me and play it again, at 50% speed,” Nesda ordered.
Keys clacked and the view focused deeper into the crowd until the faces were large enough for recognition. Victoria scanned the faces, trying to figure out who it was Nesda was trying to show her. The people clapped and cheered - and Victoria recognized two faces suddenly. Calvin Rashaad and the violinist from the Point. Their faces registered sudden surprise and confusion - at the same time a young woman behind them threw her shoulder into the person standing behind Calvin. The movement pushed the man into view of the camera - and Victoria felt her breath catch.
“You recognize him, yes?” Nesda asked.
“That’s ol’ Devil Eyes himself, isn’t it?” Bajere replied brightly.
“Son of a bitch,” Victoria growled, her fists clenching. Solomon Klein’s face twisted in pain, as the people around him crowded close and began moving him out of the plaza. The technician paused the playback and looked at Nesda.
“We’ve studied the data and have concluded that Klein was indeed shot. Possibly the girl that pushed into him was shot also,” Nesda said.
“Thus why you think there was an assassin there,” Bejara said.
“Yes.”
Victoria took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to unclench her teeth. The surging anger was making her headache worse. “You are following up on this, I presume?”
“Quite closely. We’ve been trying to catch Klein for years, and this may open up an opportunity.” Nesda paused, his expression worried. “I just can’t help thinking of the ‘40’s and the gang wars before things settled underneath the Nephilim.”
Victoria growled softly. “I was a child then, but I remember the stories. The riots, the shootings, the danger of just stepping outside. Klein climbed to the top of the fighting and stayed there. And I’ll be damned if I let that man turn this city into a war zone again. Please keep me informed.” She turned on her heel and stalked to the door, her steps matching the pounding of her head.
“Captain,” Nesda called after her. When she turned to look at him, he said, “There... had been rumors, you know? Will they be affected by this?”
Victoria studied him coldly, noting the shush around them. “I wouldn’t care if il Diavolo himself had given me the HOUNDs. They - and I - serve the people and Titian 1. If Klein has decided to put himself above the people, then the HOUNDs will set upon him as an enemy of the state. Nothing will change that fact - do I make myself clear, corporal?”
“Yes sir,” Nesda replied, saluting her.
Victoria returned the salute and strode out the door, Dr. Bajere following behind with an amused smirk on his face.
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Victoria Blake, Bethor, Corporal Nesda, Dr. Bajere
Prompt: Table 5 - 023: Flash
Wordcount: 1571
Rating: PG
Summary: Aftermath of the attack at the Plaza
Warnings: Violence, language
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
The crowd cheered, the noise sounding dull and distorted through Bethor’s auditory pickups. Victoria smiled to herself, absently patting the control bar her hand rested on. That was very good, Bethor.
The phrase received a 99.3 percent confidence level of being most appropriate in regards to the subject matter of your speech, the HOUND’s AI replied.
Excellent. The AI for each armorsuit wasn’t perfect, but they could learn with constant human contact. Bethor often reminded her of a grizzled old cop, logical to a tee yet often brusque. She ran the scanners over the crowd idly, curious if she would be able to spot a particular face....
The alert rang out and the neural implants immediately accelerated her thought processes. Bethor showed her a direction, a probable target, time to impact, and request for orders. Her command came at the speed of thought.
Intercept!
The armorsuit moved smoothly, artificial muscle and tendon propelling the front half of the HOUND into the air. The rocket reached Bethor a second later, detonating with a roar that Victoria could hear even through the insulated suit. For a brief moment the connection hiccuped, the optical displays vanishing into blackness. For that same moment, Victoria entertained the idea that the armor had failed and her brain matter was vaporized.
Then it passed, the optical displays returned, and she sucked in a deep breath. Her mental processes were still artificially accelerated, making everything outside seem to move slowly. Instinctively she commanded the HOUND to catch its balance, one huge paw slamming through the corner of the stage. Safety protocols kicked in, putting all of the unit’s forward weight onto the undamaged leg. A schematic appeared, damaged sectors flashing.
Pilot life support: stable. Central AI unit: stable. Sensor web: left coverage reduced to 85%. Structural integrity: at 92%. Damage to left shoulder joint: crippling. Forward motion reduced to 25%.
Send the trajectory information to Duma and Jael, Victoria ordered. She gave a mental command and the progression of time returned to normal. Over the comlink she barked, “Damara, Jackson - assist the Homeguard with your sensors.”
“Yes sir!” the other two HOUND pilots replied. Duma and Jael had been stationed nearby, in anticipation of some sort of attack occurring.
Victoria carefully moved Bethor, turning it to face the direction the rocket had come from. She wouldn’t be able to dodge another shot, but she could at least provide a smaller target profile - provided there weren’t shooters on other roofs. Her comlink crackled, the Homeguard advising her to move off the field due to the damage Bethor had sustained. She swept her gaze over the plaza, noting that the Homeguard had their hands full trying to control the panicked crowd. Med teams were moving through the stampede as best they could, trying to get to the wounded.
Anger bubbled up in her, her teeth grinding. Terrorists - they dared to attack now. They dared to challenge.
Damn the target profile! Bethor, give me as much forward mobility as you can.
Acknowledged. I must advise that such action will lower structural integrity.
This isn’t about structural integrity, Victoria replied, ignoring the objections over her comlink. This is about showing them that we aren’t afraid.
Bethor limped out into the plaza, turning to face the Angelo delle Spade and setting its feet. There wasn’t anything she could say to calm the people, but she could stand there, unafraid and challenging. She ran her sensors at full strength, sending information to the Homeguard and aiding them in their search.
She stood there for nearly two hours, a silent guardian. The wounded were moved to hospitals, reporters ran amok to find the latest news, and five shooters were located, including the one that had fired the rocket. She stood there until a large transport rumbled into the plaza, a vehicle big enough to carry a HOUND unit. Bethor slowly limped to it and climbed inside the protected cargo area, finally ending its vigil.
~~~~~~
The command center was a hurricane of activity, following a set order yet full of frantic energy all the same. Victoria walked into it, still in her pilot’s uniform with Dr. Bajere hovering behind her. She had a massive headache that the medics thought was a result of the jarring explosion affecting the neural implants, but she refused to rest until she had checked in on the investigation.
“Captain Blake, good to see you in one piece,” greeted a uniformed Rythul with short-cropped blue feathers.
“Corporal Nesda - I’m glad to be in one piece,” she replied, managing a crooked smile. “What have we got so far?”
“A damned mess,” Nesda answered, motioning to the activity. He paused, eyeing Dr. Bajere suspiciously. “Civilians aren’t cleared for this area.”
“Don’t worry, I’m just here to ensure that the good captain doesn’t have a psychotic episode,” Bajere replied smoothly.
“He has clearance,” Victoria stated, shooting the scientist a dirty look.
“Right. Nothing you hear leaves this room, understood? Now, two of the five shooters - including the one whose rocket you caught - are proclaiming their allegiance to Reshco and declaring that we as an oppressive fascist colony will fall.”
“Great,” Victoria growled. Reshco was the anarchist organization that had spawned the Masadii. “What about the other three?”
“They aren’t talking. The interrogators feel that they aren’t part of Reshco, though.”
“Mercenaries hired for the job?”
“Possibly. There may be another answer.” Nedsa moved over to a console, murmuring to the tech sitting at it. The woman tapped keys on her console, bringing up ballistics and paused camera feeds. “We think we missed a shooter.”
Victoria blinked in surprise. “How? I watched as the ‘Guard canvassed the area, not to mention all the sensor sweeps.” She paused, mind running through the possibilities. “An assassin?”
“That’s what we suspect, since the data is pointing to the fact that he or she only shot once, and at a very interesting target.”
“I’m not interesting enough?” Victoria quipped.
“Only mildly,” Bajere remarked. “Not very.”
Nesda snorted. “It took us a while to find a good feed of the first shot. It happened at the same time as the rocket attack, and most of the news cameras were of course turning to look at that. We were able to pull a feed from l’angelo.”
“The statue has cameras?”
“They were installed to catch vandals,” Nesda explained, then nodded to the tech. “Start it, normal speed.”
The video began playing, showing a viewpoint from somewhere above King Blackjack’s head and looking out into the crowd. Silently the crowd cheered until a flash of light flickered in the left field of the view. There was a confused pause before the crowd began surging to the sides, turning away from the camera’s view. On the very edge of the screen black smoke drifted across from the explosion.
“Stop. Zoom in on the section you showed me and play it again, at 50% speed,” Nesda ordered.
Keys clacked and the view focused deeper into the crowd until the faces were large enough for recognition. Victoria scanned the faces, trying to figure out who it was Nesda was trying to show her. The people clapped and cheered - and Victoria recognized two faces suddenly. Calvin Rashaad and the violinist from the Point. Their faces registered sudden surprise and confusion - at the same time a young woman behind them threw her shoulder into the person standing behind Calvin. The movement pushed the man into view of the camera - and Victoria felt her breath catch.
“You recognize him, yes?” Nesda asked.
“That’s ol’ Devil Eyes himself, isn’t it?” Bajere replied brightly.
“Son of a bitch,” Victoria growled, her fists clenching. Solomon Klein’s face twisted in pain, as the people around him crowded close and began moving him out of the plaza. The technician paused the playback and looked at Nesda.
“We’ve studied the data and have concluded that Klein was indeed shot. Possibly the girl that pushed into him was shot also,” Nesda said.
“Thus why you think there was an assassin there,” Bejara said.
“Yes.”
Victoria took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to unclench her teeth. The surging anger was making her headache worse. “You are following up on this, I presume?”
“Quite closely. We’ve been trying to catch Klein for years, and this may open up an opportunity.” Nesda paused, his expression worried. “I just can’t help thinking of the ‘40’s and the gang wars before things settled underneath the Nephilim.”
Victoria growled softly. “I was a child then, but I remember the stories. The riots, the shootings, the danger of just stepping outside. Klein climbed to the top of the fighting and stayed there. And I’ll be damned if I let that man turn this city into a war zone again. Please keep me informed.” She turned on her heel and stalked to the door, her steps matching the pounding of her head.
“Captain,” Nesda called after her. When she turned to look at him, he said, “There... had been rumors, you know? Will they be affected by this?”
Victoria studied him coldly, noting the shush around them. “I wouldn’t care if il Diavolo himself had given me the HOUNDs. They - and I - serve the people and Titian 1. If Klein has decided to put himself above the people, then the HOUNDs will set upon him as an enemy of the state. Nothing will change that fact - do I make myself clear, corporal?”
“Yes sir,” Nesda replied, saluting her.
Victoria returned the salute and strode out the door, Dr. Bajere following behind with an amused smirk on his face.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Prompt 016 - Fire
Title: Together We Stand
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Solomon Klein, the Nephilim
Prompt: Table 5 - 016: Fire
Wordcount: 2348
Rating: PG
Summary: Titian 1 celebrates 150 years.
Warnings: Violence
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
The Homeguard Drum and Bugle Corps were really in stride today, playing their hearts out to the enjoyment of the crowds along Main Street and the Piazza di Angelo. Solomon moved through the crowd, drifting along the stalls set up along the sidewalks. He was more or less following Calvin, Rick and Diana, and behind him strolled Ivan and Tabby. Calhoun and Sandra were farther out in the crowd, looking for all the world like a pair of off-duty cops. A few more Nephilim were scattered in the crowd, casually keeping an eye on the people and on their boss.
Solomon smirked faintly, adjusting the collar of his ash gray suit. It was a gorgeous day, the heat wave finally broken, but with the mesh body armor hidden underneath his clothes, he was finding it to be a bit warm in the sun. And that was to say nothing of the mass of sentient beings around him. They were mostly Human and Rythul, but merchants and ship crews also visited the celebration, throwing in a smattering of other races such as D’kcolian, Wodashi-woch, and Treyyag, just to name a few.
The proprietor of the stall that Solomon was drifting close to was a Teryxin, a small, bird-like species. He decided to take a break from moving through the crowd and turned his attention to the stall. He glanced over the wares in their glass cases and saw that the jewelry appeared to be of high quality. The prices reflected that, but were still cheaper than what one would expect at a jewelry store. Several of the pieces were created specifically for the celebration, depicting the Angelo delle Spade that stood in the Piazza di Angelo.
“And I heard from Dana who heard from Scilla who talked with the Secretary’s daughter that these hound things were bought with blood money,” a woman’s voice remarked beside him.
“Blood money? I thought it was the Gray Guard’s intelligence unit that funded it,” a higher-pitched voice replied.
Solomon glanced over with a faint scowl, noting the two older women who were gossiping away as they perused the stall’s offerings. The high-pitched one was tall, the other short, both with dyed-blond hair.
“That’s right,” the shorter confirmed with an air of authority. She leaned close to her companion as though to whisper, though she practically had to shout over the noise. “I even heard that the mafia was involved.”
“Shhh,” the taller one hushed. “Someone might hear.”
“Tsk. I don’t think any of them would be out here today,” the other chided. “Too many Homeguard out.”
Solomon smirked a little, then caught the attention of the merchant and pointed at one of the necklaces. “This one.” The Teryxin nodded and opened the case, lifting the chain and pendant out delicately with his talons.
“But if they bought the hounds, wouldn’t they be bold enough to strut around the street?” the taller questioned.
“They’re wily, they are. They wouldn’t want to be obvious, now would they?” the shorter one pointed out.
“I don’t know.... If I were a mafia boss, I wouldn’t be scared to be out and about.”
The first woman snorted. “You couldn’t be one - unless you sold your eyes to the devil like that one fella did.”
“I heard he sold his soul,” the taller countered.
“I heard he’s being mind-controlled by Khatronians,” Solomon piped up impulsively as he paid for the necklace.
“I heard he is cyborg, yes?” the Teryxin remarked in heavily accented Standard, handing over a small bag bearing the necklace. Solomon had no experience reading the avian species, but the Teryxin’s tone struck him as whimsical.
“A Khatronian mind-controlled cyborg?” the taller woman pondered. The shorter looked annoyed at the two who dared interrupt her gossip.
“Of course,” Solomon said. “That’s why his devil eyes are electric blue.” He tipped his hat politely at the two women and moved back into the crowd. He had been sorely tempted to find some excuse to remove his sunglasses, but perhaps that would have been courting too much trouble.
Solomon noticed a change in the crowd - more of them were gravitating towards the plaza and the statue of Angelo delle Spade. Ah, it was nearing time for King Blackjack’s speech. He also began making his way there, his Nephilim subtly orbiting around him. A stage had been erected in front of the Angelo delle Spade, and several technicians were doing last minute checks. Just to the right and slightly behind the statue was a large temporary shelter, swathed in black fabric. A squad of Homeguard stood guard around the structure, ever watchful. Despite himself, Solomon felt a thrill of excitement beneath his air of detachment.
A giggle beside him caught his attention and he turned to glare at Tabby. She waggled her fingers at him, smirking knowingly. He scowled and returned his attention to the stage, trying to ignore the Khatronian and her damned ability to read emotions. Instead he focused on the statue, an artwork of white marble perched atop a pedestal. It depicted an angel holding a sword aloft, wings spread wide and roaring in defiance at the sky. Carved into the pedestal were the names of the Nine Founders of Titian 1. The angel represented founders’ spirit, it’s flourished sword symbolizing their defiance of Sol’s authority.
The crowd shifted, growing thicker and thicker by the moment. The Nephilim moved close to Solomon, providing a protective barrier. Solomon reached over and surreptitiously nudged Tabby. “How are things?”
“Very, very noisy,” she replied, smiling. “But there’s nothing out of place.”
“Are you certain?” There was quite a number of sentients around, and he could only imagine what that would be like to the Khatronian’s empathic senses.
She nodded confidently. “Everyone’s happy, excited, and the like. Any other emotions stick out like a red rock in a salt flat.”
He nodded in return. The thief may have been an annoyance and a pest, but she at least had her uses. And despite her casual demeanor, she took her job seriously.
The drum corps paused for a few moments, then suddenly began belting out Titian 1’s national anthem. The crowd cheered, many breaking out into song. In front of him, Calvin, Rick and Diana sang loudly, and Solomon followed suit in his usual reserved manner. As they reached the end of the anthem, King Aspen Blackjack stepped onto the stage to wild applause. Admittedly, he was one of the more popular monarchs. The king started into his speech, and Solomon sighed, letting his attention wander. Most of what Aspen spoke about was the history of the colony and some uplifting bluster about current events. Solomon already knew the colony’s history, and he certainly knew more about current events than the king felt comfortable talking about here. But that wasn’t where his interests lay.
“As you may know, we have a new addition to the Homeguard,” Aspen announced. Solomon perked up, returning his attention to the stage. “In the best interests of national and planetary security, we have implemented an armor suit unit much like that seen on Natoré. We call them the Hybrid Operation Urban Nonstandard Defenders, or HOUNDs for simplicity. I have the great honor of introducing them to you today. Please welcome our own Captain Victoria Blake!”
The crowd broke into applause and cheers as the Homeguard soldiers pulled open the black fabric. Nothing immediately appeared, and the noise trailed off uncertainly. Whispering started, fueled by sudden rumor chains and plenty of “I told you so’s.”
The ground shivered as several tons of metal alloys took a step.
The crowd hushed again, watching in awe as Unit 1 of the HOUNDs strode foward into the sunlight. Solomon had seen the specifications and blueprints of the units, but it was much more impressive seeing it in the metallic flesh. Dark metal gleamed as the HOUND unit stepped up beside the stage, standing well over fifteen feet tall. It moved with surprising grace and with little of the mechanical noise expected of such a large robotic construction.
A voice began to speak but was immediately interrupted by a squeal of feedback over the loudspeakers. A technician hurried to correct the problem, but it at least had the effect of getting everyone’s attention. After a moment, the voice tried again.
“Fellow Titianos and honored visitors, welcome to our 150th anniversary celebration,” Captain Blake’s voice boomed throughout the square, drawing cheers. There was a tinny cast to her words, being fed into the soundsystem directly from the HOUND’s pickups. “For a century and a half our colony has existed, has grown and prospered. Today marks another step in our development. Today we unveil the next layer of our planetary defense, the HOUNDs.
“There have been concerns that the HOUNDs are a sign of the government strengthening its control over Titian 1. I can assure you that as a part of the Homeguard, the HOUNDs are here only to protect and serve the people. We are the first line of Titian’s defense, but by no means the last. The Homeguard are more numerous, they have faces you know and recognize, both in military and police. Moreover, there are the citizens - you, my fellow Titianos - you are more numerous than all the Homeguard. More eyes, more ears. We all stand together to protect Titan 1, to protect our home.”
The captain’s words echoed across the plaza, over the silent crowd. Almost immediately a tide of cheering and applause returned, rattling the windows of the surrounding buildings and spilling out into the streets beyond. Solomon felt himself get caught in the tide, lifting his hands above shoulder-level in a rare display of patriotism. Captain Blake had been very bold in directly addressing one of the major criticisms of the armor suits and dismissing it. The concerns would remain of course, but for the moment, it didn’t matter.
The noise lulled and King Blackjack took the opportunity to say, “Captain Blake, am I correct in stating that your armorsuit has an artificial intelligence unit?”
“That is correct. Unit 1 is known as Bethor.”
“Does Bethor have anything it wishes to say to the crowd?”
There was a long pause, followed by a double-click. A flat, genderless voice stated, “A single twig breaks, but the bundle of twigs is strong and does not break.”
The crowd hesitated a moment, gradually breaking out into applause. Admittedly it was harder to get excited over an emotionless voice that spoke with no inflection, but on the heels of Captain Blake’s speech, it was enough. The king lifted his hands, also clapping and encouraging the crowd.
It happened quickly.
The scream of a rocket cut through the cheering and Bethor suddenly lunged upward on its hind legs. The rocket detonated against the armorsuit’s shoulder with a thunderclap of noise, swathing it with smoke and flame. Bodyguards leapt forward like foxes, quickly dragging King Blackjack down behind the stage.
Solomon only had a surprised moment to absorb this, then Tabby was shoving her shoulder into his, pushing hard. An angry retort died on his lips as the sensation of a white-hot brand lashed across his bicep, followed by a burst of pain and the unmistakable flow of blood. A moment later he realized he’d heard the crack of a gunshot hidden within the roar of the rocket’s explosion.
“Shooter!” Calhoun bellowed with the volume of a foghorn. Frightened screams erupted from the crowd, accompanied by more gunfire. The people began to panic and stampede out of the open area, desperate for cover. Then the Nephilim were moving him, surrounding him closely as they pushed through the crowd to an alley. Solomon clapped a hand over the wound, trying to stem the bleeding, gritting his teeth as he kept his head down.
The Homeguard were mobilizing, swiftly climbing to the rooftops and swarming into buildings to catch the gunmen. Medical teams that had been waiting on standby raced into the crowd, seeking out the wounded. The Nephilim dodged both groups, slipping between two buildings. The skiffs they had arrived in were parked too far away to reach easily, but the organization always believed in being prepared.
The garage was a small one attached to one of the high-rise buildings owned by Solomon. Only employees and Nephilim could enter, and the bored guard on duty was one that had been carefully instructed in who and what to ignore. Such as today, when he spotted the group and recognized who was in it, and promptly moved to “correct” the security feeds as he had been instructed.
Two skiffs crouched at the back, both of unremarkable make and color. There was a quick pause as both were checked, then the group split up between the two vehicles. Diana took the driver’s seat of one, Calvin hopping in beside her and Rick and Solomon to the back. The other four went to the other skiff.
Solomon was giving orders as soon as the doors were shut and the skiff was accelerating towards the exit. “Find out who’s responsible. If it was one of Vundjaska’s people, I want their head on a platter. If it was one of Rinouq’s, find out who and why she would suddenly decide to make a move against me.”
“What about terrorists?” Rick asked as he worked on getting a tourniquet tied around his uncle’s arm while the skiff sped out of the garage.
“It’d make sense, what with the HOUNDs and all,” Calvin added, clinging for dear life to his seat as Diana roared through a turn.
“Then we find out who is responsible and we make them regret laying a finger on my world,” Solomon growled. Being shot at he could deal with - it was nothing new to him. But he couldn’t get the image out of his mind of the explosion against the HOUND’s shoulder. It replayed through his mind, making his anger colder and deeper.
Not on his world. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Solomon Klein, the Nephilim
Prompt: Table 5 - 016: Fire
Wordcount: 2348
Rating: PG
Summary: Titian 1 celebrates 150 years.
Warnings: Violence
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
The Homeguard Drum and Bugle Corps were really in stride today, playing their hearts out to the enjoyment of the crowds along Main Street and the Piazza di Angelo. Solomon moved through the crowd, drifting along the stalls set up along the sidewalks. He was more or less following Calvin, Rick and Diana, and behind him strolled Ivan and Tabby. Calhoun and Sandra were farther out in the crowd, looking for all the world like a pair of off-duty cops. A few more Nephilim were scattered in the crowd, casually keeping an eye on the people and on their boss.
Solomon smirked faintly, adjusting the collar of his ash gray suit. It was a gorgeous day, the heat wave finally broken, but with the mesh body armor hidden underneath his clothes, he was finding it to be a bit warm in the sun. And that was to say nothing of the mass of sentient beings around him. They were mostly Human and Rythul, but merchants and ship crews also visited the celebration, throwing in a smattering of other races such as D’kcolian, Wodashi-woch, and Treyyag, just to name a few.
The proprietor of the stall that Solomon was drifting close to was a Teryxin, a small, bird-like species. He decided to take a break from moving through the crowd and turned his attention to the stall. He glanced over the wares in their glass cases and saw that the jewelry appeared to be of high quality. The prices reflected that, but were still cheaper than what one would expect at a jewelry store. Several of the pieces were created specifically for the celebration, depicting the Angelo delle Spade that stood in the Piazza di Angelo.
“And I heard from Dana who heard from Scilla who talked with the Secretary’s daughter that these hound things were bought with blood money,” a woman’s voice remarked beside him.
“Blood money? I thought it was the Gray Guard’s intelligence unit that funded it,” a higher-pitched voice replied.
Solomon glanced over with a faint scowl, noting the two older women who were gossiping away as they perused the stall’s offerings. The high-pitched one was tall, the other short, both with dyed-blond hair.
“That’s right,” the shorter confirmed with an air of authority. She leaned close to her companion as though to whisper, though she practically had to shout over the noise. “I even heard that the mafia was involved.”
“Shhh,” the taller one hushed. “Someone might hear.”
“Tsk. I don’t think any of them would be out here today,” the other chided. “Too many Homeguard out.”
Solomon smirked a little, then caught the attention of the merchant and pointed at one of the necklaces. “This one.” The Teryxin nodded and opened the case, lifting the chain and pendant out delicately with his talons.
“But if they bought the hounds, wouldn’t they be bold enough to strut around the street?” the taller questioned.
“They’re wily, they are. They wouldn’t want to be obvious, now would they?” the shorter one pointed out.
“I don’t know.... If I were a mafia boss, I wouldn’t be scared to be out and about.”
The first woman snorted. “You couldn’t be one - unless you sold your eyes to the devil like that one fella did.”
“I heard he sold his soul,” the taller countered.
“I heard he’s being mind-controlled by Khatronians,” Solomon piped up impulsively as he paid for the necklace.
“I heard he is cyborg, yes?” the Teryxin remarked in heavily accented Standard, handing over a small bag bearing the necklace. Solomon had no experience reading the avian species, but the Teryxin’s tone struck him as whimsical.
“A Khatronian mind-controlled cyborg?” the taller woman pondered. The shorter looked annoyed at the two who dared interrupt her gossip.
“Of course,” Solomon said. “That’s why his devil eyes are electric blue.” He tipped his hat politely at the two women and moved back into the crowd. He had been sorely tempted to find some excuse to remove his sunglasses, but perhaps that would have been courting too much trouble.
Solomon noticed a change in the crowd - more of them were gravitating towards the plaza and the statue of Angelo delle Spade. Ah, it was nearing time for King Blackjack’s speech. He also began making his way there, his Nephilim subtly orbiting around him. A stage had been erected in front of the Angelo delle Spade, and several technicians were doing last minute checks. Just to the right and slightly behind the statue was a large temporary shelter, swathed in black fabric. A squad of Homeguard stood guard around the structure, ever watchful. Despite himself, Solomon felt a thrill of excitement beneath his air of detachment.
A giggle beside him caught his attention and he turned to glare at Tabby. She waggled her fingers at him, smirking knowingly. He scowled and returned his attention to the stage, trying to ignore the Khatronian and her damned ability to read emotions. Instead he focused on the statue, an artwork of white marble perched atop a pedestal. It depicted an angel holding a sword aloft, wings spread wide and roaring in defiance at the sky. Carved into the pedestal were the names of the Nine Founders of Titian 1. The angel represented founders’ spirit, it’s flourished sword symbolizing their defiance of Sol’s authority.
The crowd shifted, growing thicker and thicker by the moment. The Nephilim moved close to Solomon, providing a protective barrier. Solomon reached over and surreptitiously nudged Tabby. “How are things?”
“Very, very noisy,” she replied, smiling. “But there’s nothing out of place.”
“Are you certain?” There was quite a number of sentients around, and he could only imagine what that would be like to the Khatronian’s empathic senses.
She nodded confidently. “Everyone’s happy, excited, and the like. Any other emotions stick out like a red rock in a salt flat.”
He nodded in return. The thief may have been an annoyance and a pest, but she at least had her uses. And despite her casual demeanor, she took her job seriously.
The drum corps paused for a few moments, then suddenly began belting out Titian 1’s national anthem. The crowd cheered, many breaking out into song. In front of him, Calvin, Rick and Diana sang loudly, and Solomon followed suit in his usual reserved manner. As they reached the end of the anthem, King Aspen Blackjack stepped onto the stage to wild applause. Admittedly, he was one of the more popular monarchs. The king started into his speech, and Solomon sighed, letting his attention wander. Most of what Aspen spoke about was the history of the colony and some uplifting bluster about current events. Solomon already knew the colony’s history, and he certainly knew more about current events than the king felt comfortable talking about here. But that wasn’t where his interests lay.
“As you may know, we have a new addition to the Homeguard,” Aspen announced. Solomon perked up, returning his attention to the stage. “In the best interests of national and planetary security, we have implemented an armor suit unit much like that seen on Natoré. We call them the Hybrid Operation Urban Nonstandard Defenders, or HOUNDs for simplicity. I have the great honor of introducing them to you today. Please welcome our own Captain Victoria Blake!”
The crowd broke into applause and cheers as the Homeguard soldiers pulled open the black fabric. Nothing immediately appeared, and the noise trailed off uncertainly. Whispering started, fueled by sudden rumor chains and plenty of “I told you so’s.”
The ground shivered as several tons of metal alloys took a step.
The crowd hushed again, watching in awe as Unit 1 of the HOUNDs strode foward into the sunlight. Solomon had seen the specifications and blueprints of the units, but it was much more impressive seeing it in the metallic flesh. Dark metal gleamed as the HOUND unit stepped up beside the stage, standing well over fifteen feet tall. It moved with surprising grace and with little of the mechanical noise expected of such a large robotic construction.
A voice began to speak but was immediately interrupted by a squeal of feedback over the loudspeakers. A technician hurried to correct the problem, but it at least had the effect of getting everyone’s attention. After a moment, the voice tried again.
“Fellow Titianos and honored visitors, welcome to our 150th anniversary celebration,” Captain Blake’s voice boomed throughout the square, drawing cheers. There was a tinny cast to her words, being fed into the soundsystem directly from the HOUND’s pickups. “For a century and a half our colony has existed, has grown and prospered. Today marks another step in our development. Today we unveil the next layer of our planetary defense, the HOUNDs.
“There have been concerns that the HOUNDs are a sign of the government strengthening its control over Titian 1. I can assure you that as a part of the Homeguard, the HOUNDs are here only to protect and serve the people. We are the first line of Titian’s defense, but by no means the last. The Homeguard are more numerous, they have faces you know and recognize, both in military and police. Moreover, there are the citizens - you, my fellow Titianos - you are more numerous than all the Homeguard. More eyes, more ears. We all stand together to protect Titan 1, to protect our home.”
The captain’s words echoed across the plaza, over the silent crowd. Almost immediately a tide of cheering and applause returned, rattling the windows of the surrounding buildings and spilling out into the streets beyond. Solomon felt himself get caught in the tide, lifting his hands above shoulder-level in a rare display of patriotism. Captain Blake had been very bold in directly addressing one of the major criticisms of the armor suits and dismissing it. The concerns would remain of course, but for the moment, it didn’t matter.
The noise lulled and King Blackjack took the opportunity to say, “Captain Blake, am I correct in stating that your armorsuit has an artificial intelligence unit?”
“That is correct. Unit 1 is known as Bethor.”
“Does Bethor have anything it wishes to say to the crowd?”
There was a long pause, followed by a double-click. A flat, genderless voice stated, “A single twig breaks, but the bundle of twigs is strong and does not break.”
The crowd hesitated a moment, gradually breaking out into applause. Admittedly it was harder to get excited over an emotionless voice that spoke with no inflection, but on the heels of Captain Blake’s speech, it was enough. The king lifted his hands, also clapping and encouraging the crowd.
It happened quickly.
The scream of a rocket cut through the cheering and Bethor suddenly lunged upward on its hind legs. The rocket detonated against the armorsuit’s shoulder with a thunderclap of noise, swathing it with smoke and flame. Bodyguards leapt forward like foxes, quickly dragging King Blackjack down behind the stage.
Solomon only had a surprised moment to absorb this, then Tabby was shoving her shoulder into his, pushing hard. An angry retort died on his lips as the sensation of a white-hot brand lashed across his bicep, followed by a burst of pain and the unmistakable flow of blood. A moment later he realized he’d heard the crack of a gunshot hidden within the roar of the rocket’s explosion.
“Shooter!” Calhoun bellowed with the volume of a foghorn. Frightened screams erupted from the crowd, accompanied by more gunfire. The people began to panic and stampede out of the open area, desperate for cover. Then the Nephilim were moving him, surrounding him closely as they pushed through the crowd to an alley. Solomon clapped a hand over the wound, trying to stem the bleeding, gritting his teeth as he kept his head down.
The Homeguard were mobilizing, swiftly climbing to the rooftops and swarming into buildings to catch the gunmen. Medical teams that had been waiting on standby raced into the crowd, seeking out the wounded. The Nephilim dodged both groups, slipping between two buildings. The skiffs they had arrived in were parked too far away to reach easily, but the organization always believed in being prepared.
The garage was a small one attached to one of the high-rise buildings owned by Solomon. Only employees and Nephilim could enter, and the bored guard on duty was one that had been carefully instructed in who and what to ignore. Such as today, when he spotted the group and recognized who was in it, and promptly moved to “correct” the security feeds as he had been instructed.
Two skiffs crouched at the back, both of unremarkable make and color. There was a quick pause as both were checked, then the group split up between the two vehicles. Diana took the driver’s seat of one, Calvin hopping in beside her and Rick and Solomon to the back. The other four went to the other skiff.
Solomon was giving orders as soon as the doors were shut and the skiff was accelerating towards the exit. “Find out who’s responsible. If it was one of Vundjaska’s people, I want their head on a platter. If it was one of Rinouq’s, find out who and why she would suddenly decide to make a move against me.”
“What about terrorists?” Rick asked as he worked on getting a tourniquet tied around his uncle’s arm while the skiff sped out of the garage.
“It’d make sense, what with the HOUNDs and all,” Calvin added, clinging for dear life to his seat as Diana roared through a turn.
“Then we find out who is responsible and we make them regret laying a finger on my world,” Solomon growled. Being shot at he could deal with - it was nothing new to him. But he couldn’t get the image out of his mind of the explosion against the HOUND’s shoulder. It replayed through his mind, making his anger colder and deeper.
Not on his world. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Prompt 038 - Leave
Title: Something to Fight For
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Jerico, Martin
Prompt: Table 5 - 038: Leave
Word Count: 716
Rating: PG
Summary: Two men discuss history and the future.
Warnings: Takes place in the year 2211, roughly 50 years prior to the current time period of the CU (2268).
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Jerico sat on the bench in the city park, shaded by the aptly named reed trees. He turned a small object over and over in his hands as he gazed across the street to the majestic capitol building of Tegas, Nabani. Another man approached him and sat down, revealing the similarities in their appearances. They both had dark curly hair, pale skin normally sheltered from natural light, but the former bore green eyes while the latter had brown.
“Everyone done, Martin?” Jerico asked.
“Yup. Shan’s where he’s supposed to be, and Van and Terry just left the building,” the second man replied.
“Good.”
“What’s that?” Martin asked, peering at Jerico’s busy hands.
Jerico held the object up so his companion could see. “What does it look like?”
“A helmet or something.”
“Yes, a helmet. It’s a replica of the helms worn by hoplites.”
“Hop-whats?”
“Hoplites. Ancient Greek warriors that lived thousands of years ago. I picked this up when I visited Laconia.”
“That in, uh, Greek?”
“Greece,” Jerico corrected gently. “Yes. It’s amazing what they’ve managed to recover even after the Xizini tried to erase all traces of human history.”
“Bunch of old relics, huh?” Martin leaned against the back of the bench, enjoying the afternoon breeze.
“They didn’t try to destroy just relics--they tried to remove everything Greece stood for. Words of the greatest philosophers and politicians were drowned just as effectively as the ancient sites. Did you know Greece was called the birthplace of democracy?”
“Nuh-uh,” Martin said. Jerico was getting on a roll; that usually meant he had something on his mind. It was always better to let him talk and eventually he’d get around to his point.
“Birthplace of democracy, or at least the ancients’ version of it. Which means only a small population actually took part in any kind of decision making. Non-citizens, slaves, and women were excluded. Some equality. Of course, we’ve seen what happens when everyone has equality. Idiots vote more idiots into office, politicians govern only for their best interest, and the government machine gets so bogged down that it freezes completely.”
“Like Black February?” Martin guessed. He still remembered parts of his Terran history.
“Exactly. And what happened next? The Xizini showed up and took Earth over. Power shouldn’t be in the hands of corrupt governments who couldn’t find their ass without a map and a committee,” Jerico said.
“That’s what we’re doing. Fighting against them,” Martin asserted.
“That’s what we’re fighting against. But what are we fighting for?” Jerico looked at Martin expectantly.
Martin fidgeted under the green gaze. “Um, for anarchy?”
“A person can’t live off anarchy, no matter how much Giovanni claims we can,” Jerico scoffed.
Martin tried again. “Freedom?”
“Freedom is never free.” Jerico sighed and looked down at the miniature helmet. “No. The Rescho is reactionary. They just want to tear down. That accomplishes nothing. Every time something dies, something grows from the corpse.”
“Then what do you want to do about it?”
Jerico grinned, white teeth glinting in the sunlight. “Devour the corpse so nothing can grow from it, and become stronger myself.”
“But how...?” Even as he spoke, the answer came to Martin. “You’re thinking of splitting off.”
“I am. And I’ll take anyone who wants to go with me.”
“How would we survive?”
“We’re the strongest of Rescho’s soldiers. The meanest, the smartest.”
“I ain’t that smart,” Martin replied with a chuckle.
“You can spot an experienced plainclothes security guard in a crowd of hundreds in less than five seconds. That’s more useful than being able to conjugate in Latin,” Jerico pointed out.
Martin blushed faintly, fidgeting on the bench. Jerico’s compliments were few and far between.
“We’ll survive because we’re strong,” Jerico said. “We’ll feed on the weak sheep of the galaxy and make something better for ourselves. Not just running amok trying to destroy everything.”
“You know the rest of us will be behind you. You’ve led us this long. The Masadii squad will follow you into hell.”
“I know.” Jerico nodded as he stood, Martin following suit. The two men began walking across the park, away from the capitol building.
A few minutes later, the congressional chambers exploded with a deafening thunderclap, flames and shrapnel pulverizing the heart of the Nabani government.
Author: Dysfunctional Muses
Fandom: Crow Universe
Characters: Jerico, Martin
Prompt: Table 5 - 038: Leave
Word Count: 716
Rating: PG
Summary: Two men discuss history and the future.
Warnings: Takes place in the year 2211, roughly 50 years prior to the current time period of the CU (2268).
Disclaimer: There is nothing to disclaim. This is all mine.
Jerico sat on the bench in the city park, shaded by the aptly named reed trees. He turned a small object over and over in his hands as he gazed across the street to the majestic capitol building of Tegas, Nabani. Another man approached him and sat down, revealing the similarities in their appearances. They both had dark curly hair, pale skin normally sheltered from natural light, but the former bore green eyes while the latter had brown.
“Everyone done, Martin?” Jerico asked.
“Yup. Shan’s where he’s supposed to be, and Van and Terry just left the building,” the second man replied.
“Good.”
“What’s that?” Martin asked, peering at Jerico’s busy hands.
Jerico held the object up so his companion could see. “What does it look like?”
“A helmet or something.”
“Yes, a helmet. It’s a replica of the helms worn by hoplites.”
“Hop-whats?”
“Hoplites. Ancient Greek warriors that lived thousands of years ago. I picked this up when I visited Laconia.”
“That in, uh, Greek?”
“Greece,” Jerico corrected gently. “Yes. It’s amazing what they’ve managed to recover even after the Xizini tried to erase all traces of human history.”
“Bunch of old relics, huh?” Martin leaned against the back of the bench, enjoying the afternoon breeze.
“They didn’t try to destroy just relics--they tried to remove everything Greece stood for. Words of the greatest philosophers and politicians were drowned just as effectively as the ancient sites. Did you know Greece was called the birthplace of democracy?”
“Nuh-uh,” Martin said. Jerico was getting on a roll; that usually meant he had something on his mind. It was always better to let him talk and eventually he’d get around to his point.
“Birthplace of democracy, or at least the ancients’ version of it. Which means only a small population actually took part in any kind of decision making. Non-citizens, slaves, and women were excluded. Some equality. Of course, we’ve seen what happens when everyone has equality. Idiots vote more idiots into office, politicians govern only for their best interest, and the government machine gets so bogged down that it freezes completely.”
“Like Black February?” Martin guessed. He still remembered parts of his Terran history.
“Exactly. And what happened next? The Xizini showed up and took Earth over. Power shouldn’t be in the hands of corrupt governments who couldn’t find their ass without a map and a committee,” Jerico said.
“That’s what we’re doing. Fighting against them,” Martin asserted.
“That’s what we’re fighting against. But what are we fighting for?” Jerico looked at Martin expectantly.
Martin fidgeted under the green gaze. “Um, for anarchy?”
“A person can’t live off anarchy, no matter how much Giovanni claims we can,” Jerico scoffed.
Martin tried again. “Freedom?”
“Freedom is never free.” Jerico sighed and looked down at the miniature helmet. “No. The Rescho is reactionary. They just want to tear down. That accomplishes nothing. Every time something dies, something grows from the corpse.”
“Then what do you want to do about it?”
Jerico grinned, white teeth glinting in the sunlight. “Devour the corpse so nothing can grow from it, and become stronger myself.”
“But how...?” Even as he spoke, the answer came to Martin. “You’re thinking of splitting off.”
“I am. And I’ll take anyone who wants to go with me.”
“How would we survive?”
“We’re the strongest of Rescho’s soldiers. The meanest, the smartest.”
“I ain’t that smart,” Martin replied with a chuckle.
“You can spot an experienced plainclothes security guard in a crowd of hundreds in less than five seconds. That’s more useful than being able to conjugate in Latin,” Jerico pointed out.
Martin blushed faintly, fidgeting on the bench. Jerico’s compliments were few and far between.
“We’ll survive because we’re strong,” Jerico said. “We’ll feed on the weak sheep of the galaxy and make something better for ourselves. Not just running amok trying to destroy everything.”
“You know the rest of us will be behind you. You’ve led us this long. The Masadii squad will follow you into hell.”
“I know.” Jerico nodded as he stood, Martin following suit. The two men began walking across the park, away from the capitol building.
A few minutes later, the congressional chambers exploded with a deafening thunderclap, flames and shrapnel pulverizing the heart of the Nabani government.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
The Desert
I've reached 14k words on Stray Dogs, the intended first of a series of novels set in the CU. I've moved out of the Beginning and into the Middle. The Middle, a daunting place where I will have to fill out my plot, color within and without the lines, and work my way to the ending, which is waiting for me like a delicious bowl of candy. It's the hardest part, as I understand it, to make my way across the bulk of the story, especially when I have not meticulously structured an outline for the novel. I know the waypoints, the scenes of high plot, but the crunchy stuff in between has yet to come to me.
Time to do some more work.
Time to do some more work.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Intention of this Site
This site will be the homebase for everything Crow Universe-related. Updates on current novel progress, short stories, and various other things will be posted here.
There's an earlier post that talks about the genesis of the Crow Universe and another describing the timeline, but neither really describe what it is. The Crow Universe is the backdrop for my sci-fi related stories, and is based on our own. Some liberties have been taken of course, and I'm sure I'm bending the laws of physics in various places. When I can, I'll be using actual galactic maps and stellar bodies in my writing.
The majority of the action will be occurring roughly 260 years in the future. Our descendants are now just another race in a sea of other galactic races, though as always, we've aspired to become a "superpower" and have done a pretty good job doing so.
The majority of the galaxy is governed by the Confederacy of Galactic Nations (known as "the Confederacy" and "Cogana" for short). The nation governed by Earth is called the Allied Terran Nations (Altena). [Note: using the first syllable of each word to create an acronym is a common practice in the Confederacy and comes up quite often. Often other organizations will adopt this practice, such as the anarchic Red Shroud Congregation (Reshco).] Two of the nations of Altena are the Titian Archipelago and the Ducottii empire. Details on both will be coming up in future installments.
I've already begun posting various informational posts on the CU, and they can be accessed through Labels (to the right of the post body). Once I reach a larger number of posts, I'll provide separate links for everything so they can be found quickly. Eventually I plan on moving to my own website, but for now this will work.
There's an earlier post that talks about the genesis of the Crow Universe and another describing the timeline, but neither really describe what it is. The Crow Universe is the backdrop for my sci-fi related stories, and is based on our own. Some liberties have been taken of course, and I'm sure I'm bending the laws of physics in various places. When I can, I'll be using actual galactic maps and stellar bodies in my writing.
The majority of the action will be occurring roughly 260 years in the future. Our descendants are now just another race in a sea of other galactic races, though as always, we've aspired to become a "superpower" and have done a pretty good job doing so.
The majority of the galaxy is governed by the Confederacy of Galactic Nations (known as "the Confederacy" and "Cogana" for short). The nation governed by Earth is called the Allied Terran Nations (Altena). [Note: using the first syllable of each word to create an acronym is a common practice in the Confederacy and comes up quite often. Often other organizations will adopt this practice, such as the anarchic Red Shroud Congregation (Reshco).] Two of the nations of Altena are the Titian Archipelago and the Ducottii empire. Details on both will be coming up in future installments.
I've already begun posting various informational posts on the CU, and they can be accessed through Labels (to the right of the post body). Once I reach a larger number of posts, I'll provide separate links for everything so they can be found quickly. Eventually I plan on moving to my own website, but for now this will work.
The Assassins Guild
The Assassins Guild.
The very name evokes mystery, conspiracy, and intrigue. Who are they? Why do they do what they do? These questions and more plague the minds of anyone that has heard of this shadowy organization. And tonight, we have a very special treat for our viewers - our own Mark LeSalle successfully contacted an alleged assassin for an interview. What follows next is that very interview, unedited.
M: [click, and rustling] There, I think it’s working. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.
B: I have to admit, I was rather intrigued by the idea of an interview.
M: For the record, I am Mark LeSalle, reporter for the Galactic Inquirer. I am joined by....?
B: You may call me whatever you would like.
M: All right. What about... Baal?
B: That is acceptable.
M: This is Baal, a member of the infamous Assassins Guild, and who has kindly agreed to an interview. To note, I’m blindfolded and using an audio-only recorder - and from the sound of it, you’re using a voice scrambler?
B: Yes.
M: All right - down to business. I’ll ask questions, and you give me as much answer as you feel comfortable.
B: Very well.
M: First off, just how many assassins are there in the guild?
B: [hissing laugh] There are enough to fulfill the demand.
M: Is there a central location you all operate from?
B: I must pass on answering that one.
M: Let me rephrase a little. Is there a chain of command, a structure to the Guild?
B: [pause] Yes. We have a leader, heavily protected of course, and a hierarchy of officers below him that we call “governors.”
M: “Governor” - why is that?
B: They “govern” the assassins in a specific area.
M: How many governors are there?
B: How many galactic nations are there?
M: [pause] Over a hundred at least, not to mention the over-arching governments.... If you have that many governors, over more assassins.... my god....
B: Then you now have a basic idea.
M: [nervous sound] Let me ask you the question that’s on the minds of many, Baal.
B: Very well.
M: We know the Assassins Guild exists. Is it true that, when Altena was introduced to the Confederacy of Galactic Nations, a new human-created assassin organization was created?
B: Yes.
M: And this organization is called Assassin Tech Inc., or ATI?
B: [hissing chuckle] You are well informed. Yes, that is correct.
M: Is it true that the humans formed ATI because the Guild does not allow them into its ranks?
[long pause]
Baal?
B: I will say this - death cares not for species, race, or gender. It cares not for innocence or guilt. It cares not for age, for experience, for skill, or for potential. It cares not for ethics or for morality. It merely IS, and it comes for all of us. Why should the Guild, we artisans of death, show prejudice when death itself does not?
M: I... I see. [subdued] Ahem. The galaxy at large seems to regard you - assassins - as dishonorable cowards. How do you respond to that?
B: “Honor” is an illusion perpetuated by those who need an excuse to hide behind. It is archaic and irrelevant. As for cowardice - yes, anyone can use a weapon and take life. Look at any war that has drafted the young, inexperienced members of a species and taught them to kill. You can put a gun in a child’s hand, and if they pull the trigger at the opportune moment, you have a killer.
No.
What we do is only called cowardice by those who have never thought beyond their mundane existence. An assassin exists alongside everyone else, a predator in the midst of unsuspecting prey. But this predator only hunts those who are marked. It will walk into the nests of the most fearsome prey, perhaps never to walk out again, but it will never waver. It knows not fear but seeks only the kill, a kill made with artistry and grace, faster and subtler than anyone can perceive.
Why do you think the guild has existed for so long, yet only rumors are known about us? Because we transcend the ordinary.
M: That... is amazing. [chime sounds] We’re almost out of time. One last question before you go?
B: Very well. What is it?
M: How long have you been an assassin?
B: [pause] How old are you?
M: Uh, I’m thirty-two.
B: Longer than you have been alive, and a dozen lifetimes more.
M: I see. Thank you for your time, Baal. [click]
Regretfully, Mark was shot during a gang battle late yesterday evening. He was in critical care throughout the night, and passed away early this morning due to surgery complications. We will mourn his loss, both as a reporter, and as family.
The very name evokes mystery, conspiracy, and intrigue. Who are they? Why do they do what they do? These questions and more plague the minds of anyone that has heard of this shadowy organization. And tonight, we have a very special treat for our viewers - our own Mark LeSalle successfully contacted an alleged assassin for an interview. What follows next is that very interview, unedited.
M: [click, and rustling] There, I think it’s working. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.
B: I have to admit, I was rather intrigued by the idea of an interview.
M: For the record, I am Mark LeSalle, reporter for the Galactic Inquirer. I am joined by....?
B: You may call me whatever you would like.
M: All right. What about... Baal?
B: That is acceptable.
M: This is Baal, a member of the infamous Assassins Guild, and who has kindly agreed to an interview. To note, I’m blindfolded and using an audio-only recorder - and from the sound of it, you’re using a voice scrambler?
B: Yes.
M: All right - down to business. I’ll ask questions, and you give me as much answer as you feel comfortable.
B: Very well.
M: First off, just how many assassins are there in the guild?
B: [hissing laugh] There are enough to fulfill the demand.
M: Is there a central location you all operate from?
B: I must pass on answering that one.
M: Let me rephrase a little. Is there a chain of command, a structure to the Guild?
B: [pause] Yes. We have a leader, heavily protected of course, and a hierarchy of officers below him that we call “governors.”
M: “Governor” - why is that?
B: They “govern” the assassins in a specific area.
M: How many governors are there?
B: How many galactic nations are there?
M: [pause] Over a hundred at least, not to mention the over-arching governments.... If you have that many governors, over more assassins.... my god....
B: Then you now have a basic idea.
M: [nervous sound] Let me ask you the question that’s on the minds of many, Baal.
B: Very well.
M: We know the Assassins Guild exists. Is it true that, when Altena was introduced to the Confederacy of Galactic Nations, a new human-created assassin organization was created?
B: Yes.
M: And this organization is called Assassin Tech Inc., or ATI?
B: [hissing chuckle] You are well informed. Yes, that is correct.
M: Is it true that the humans formed ATI because the Guild does not allow them into its ranks?
[long pause]
Baal?
B: I will say this - death cares not for species, race, or gender. It cares not for innocence or guilt. It cares not for age, for experience, for skill, or for potential. It cares not for ethics or for morality. It merely IS, and it comes for all of us. Why should the Guild, we artisans of death, show prejudice when death itself does not?
M: I... I see. [subdued] Ahem. The galaxy at large seems to regard you - assassins - as dishonorable cowards. How do you respond to that?
B: “Honor” is an illusion perpetuated by those who need an excuse to hide behind. It is archaic and irrelevant. As for cowardice - yes, anyone can use a weapon and take life. Look at any war that has drafted the young, inexperienced members of a species and taught them to kill. You can put a gun in a child’s hand, and if they pull the trigger at the opportune moment, you have a killer.
No.
What we do is only called cowardice by those who have never thought beyond their mundane existence. An assassin exists alongside everyone else, a predator in the midst of unsuspecting prey. But this predator only hunts those who are marked. It will walk into the nests of the most fearsome prey, perhaps never to walk out again, but it will never waver. It knows not fear but seeks only the kill, a kill made with artistry and grace, faster and subtler than anyone can perceive.
Why do you think the guild has existed for so long, yet only rumors are known about us? Because we transcend the ordinary.
M: That... is amazing. [chime sounds] We’re almost out of time. One last question before you go?
B: Very well. What is it?
M: How long have you been an assassin?
B: [pause] How old are you?
M: Uh, I’m thirty-two.
B: Longer than you have been alive, and a dozen lifetimes more.
M: I see. Thank you for your time, Baal. [click]
Regretfully, Mark was shot during a gang battle late yesterday evening. He was in critical care throughout the night, and passed away early this morning due to surgery complications. We will mourn his loss, both as a reporter, and as family.
Weapons and Robots
Weapons and Robots
Part two of the guide to Crow Universe technology
Weapons
Weapons are many and varied, ranging from the simple to the complex. Some of the more exotic weapons are noted here, as well as common weaponry found throughout the galaxy.
Bladed - Quasi-metal
Quasi-metal, or sylth (Khatin), is a metal that is highly sensitive to energy currents, much like lodestone. Its standard phsyical form is that of a bright silver liquid, and it is highly conducive to being shaped by energy micro-fields. As the micro-fields take a lot of energy, these sorts of weapons aren’t practical for field use and are usually supplanted by blades of solid material. Reportedly, the T’hnn Vkk have developed an alloy that requires only an initial energy burst to reshape the metal, then it will hold its form. Such weapons are available only on the black market, and only because they’ve been pried from the cold, dead hands of T’hnn Vkk warriors.
Guns - Projectile
Guns are very much a part of everyday life in a universe that has a large warrior/mercenary sub-culture. Most guns found in the Confederacy are projectile - i.e. they shoot a bullet made of a jacketed malleable substance (lead or similar). Earth was surprisingly well equipped in this market when they entered the Confederacy, and a large fraction of capital was made from arms sales. Most projectile guns come equipped with “chargers” - devices that energize and liquefy a crystal core inside the bullet. Upon contact with an object, the core explodes and does considerable damage.
Guns - Energy
Most energy guns found in the Confederacy belong to the neuro-disruptor class, i.e. stun-guns. These weapons are easily recognized by the flat focusing crystal at the end of the “barrel” of the weapon, and come in a variety of shapes and sizes. Stun guns set to higher levels have been known to kill, though the higher energy flow tends to crack the focusing crystals much faster.
Guns - Plasma caster
The most dangerous type of gun are the plasma casters. If not well-maintained, they can cause just as much havoc amongst their wielders as their targets. A plasma caster utilizes crystal ammo much like the chargeable core in bullets, but the crystal is jacketed merely in an organic web. This web keeps the crystal in a uniform shape as it is energized, liquefied, and fired. This weapon results in high damage in a localized area.
Note: Most ship armaments consist of large plasma casters, as well as lasers (for hull cutting). The larger a plasma caster is, the safer it tends to be as the device can be cooled more adequately.
Note: The Treyyags are renown for their massive arms market, ranging from the mundane to the exotic (sonic weapons and energy field armor).
Robots
Robots exist in the CU and can be found in a multitude of niches. Most commonly they are found in environments unsuitable for living creatures, as “pets,” or as armor suits. A few types are listed here.
Whirlygig
The most common of personal robotics (not counting the bazillion varieties of “pets”), the whirlygig is a versatile ‘bot that can be designed for a multitude of purposes. Each whirlygig is equipped with lodestone-driven mobility, and can hover/travel very quickly. Most commonly they are used as portable cameras, media units, or as “traffic cones.”
Armor suits
As the name suggests, these are highly sophisticated suits of robotic armor guided by a pilot and augmented with an AI unit. Usually they are found in operations in dangerous environments where a human presence is considered necessary (some mining operations, ship cargo-loaders). However they also have military applications, though these are less common due to the high cost of upkeep and training. Some famous units are the aerial Guardians of New Pontiac, Natoré, and the HOUND (Hybrid Operation Urban Nonstandard Defender) units of Angelli, Titian 1.
Part two of the guide to Crow Universe technology
Weapons
Weapons are many and varied, ranging from the simple to the complex. Some of the more exotic weapons are noted here, as well as common weaponry found throughout the galaxy.
Bladed - Quasi-metal
Quasi-metal, or sylth (Khatin), is a metal that is highly sensitive to energy currents, much like lodestone. Its standard phsyical form is that of a bright silver liquid, and it is highly conducive to being shaped by energy micro-fields. As the micro-fields take a lot of energy, these sorts of weapons aren’t practical for field use and are usually supplanted by blades of solid material. Reportedly, the T’hnn Vkk have developed an alloy that requires only an initial energy burst to reshape the metal, then it will hold its form. Such weapons are available only on the black market, and only because they’ve been pried from the cold, dead hands of T’hnn Vkk warriors.
Guns - Projectile
Guns are very much a part of everyday life in a universe that has a large warrior/mercenary sub-culture. Most guns found in the Confederacy are projectile - i.e. they shoot a bullet made of a jacketed malleable substance (lead or similar). Earth was surprisingly well equipped in this market when they entered the Confederacy, and a large fraction of capital was made from arms sales. Most projectile guns come equipped with “chargers” - devices that energize and liquefy a crystal core inside the bullet. Upon contact with an object, the core explodes and does considerable damage.
Guns - Energy
Most energy guns found in the Confederacy belong to the neuro-disruptor class, i.e. stun-guns. These weapons are easily recognized by the flat focusing crystal at the end of the “barrel” of the weapon, and come in a variety of shapes and sizes. Stun guns set to higher levels have been known to kill, though the higher energy flow tends to crack the focusing crystals much faster.
Guns - Plasma caster
The most dangerous type of gun are the plasma casters. If not well-maintained, they can cause just as much havoc amongst their wielders as their targets. A plasma caster utilizes crystal ammo much like the chargeable core in bullets, but the crystal is jacketed merely in an organic web. This web keeps the crystal in a uniform shape as it is energized, liquefied, and fired. This weapon results in high damage in a localized area.
Note: Most ship armaments consist of large plasma casters, as well as lasers (for hull cutting). The larger a plasma caster is, the safer it tends to be as the device can be cooled more adequately.
Note: The Treyyags are renown for their massive arms market, ranging from the mundane to the exotic (sonic weapons and energy field armor).
Robots
Robots exist in the CU and can be found in a multitude of niches. Most commonly they are found in environments unsuitable for living creatures, as “pets,” or as armor suits. A few types are listed here.
Whirlygig
The most common of personal robotics (not counting the bazillion varieties of “pets”), the whirlygig is a versatile ‘bot that can be designed for a multitude of purposes. Each whirlygig is equipped with lodestone-driven mobility, and can hover/travel very quickly. Most commonly they are used as portable cameras, media units, or as “traffic cones.”
Armor suits
As the name suggests, these are highly sophisticated suits of robotic armor guided by a pilot and augmented with an AI unit. Usually they are found in operations in dangerous environments where a human presence is considered necessary (some mining operations, ship cargo-loaders). However they also have military applications, though these are less common due to the high cost of upkeep and training. Some famous units are the aerial Guardians of New Pontiac, Natoré, and the HOUND (Hybrid Operation Urban Nonstandard Defender) units of Angelli, Titian 1.
Skiffs, Lodestones, and Hypertunnels
Skiffs, Lodestones, and Hypertunnels
A guide to some of the technology of the CU
Lodestones
The mineral known as lodestone is the material that makes anti-gravity and faster-than-light travel possible in the galaxy. It is a dense yet brittle, highly magnetic stone that can be found throughout the galaxy. Once processed, the magnetism of the stone can be controlled with energy currents. Lodestone is used in the magnetic drives of ships (used for opening hyper-gates, detailed below), in the decks to provide gravity, and in skiffs/ships (see below) to create “anti-gravity.”
Unprocessed lodestone is blue-gray in color, though variation is encountered depending on the purity of the mineral. Lodestone mined in asteroid fields near the galactic core or in star nursery nebulae tends to be the purest.
Skiffs
Skiff is the catch-all term for any vehicle that leaves the ground, excepting those for extra-planetary travel. Lodestones provide the lift for the vehicle, reacting with the planet’s own gravity well, while fuel engines provide the momentum.
“Skiff” used by itself generally refers to a multi-person vehicle that hovers a few feet off the ground - i.e. a hover car. Skiffs can attain a height of 100 feet, and usually come equipped with safety devices. The undercarriage is smooth, bearing the lodestones that allow the craft to hover. Elevated highways are created with lines of lightweight cable that carry a current that boosts the lodestone strength in the vehicle. “Speed bumps” are made from lodestones buried in the road to disrupt the skiff’s movement. Driving a skiff falls somewhere between driving a car and flying a hovercraft.
“Skyskiff” refers to any vehicle that regularly attains heights beyond that of a regular skiff, but do not enter outer space. These are the airplanes of the CU.
“Seaskiff” (or replace “sea” with any body of water) denotes any skiff that is designed for water travel. Usually this means the vehicle is built so that it can rest in water safely.
Hypertunnel
“Hypertunnel” is short for “hyperspace tunnel system,” an extra-dimensional space that is used for faster-than-light travel. Every space ship capable of long-distance travel is equipped with a magnetic drive. This drive opens up the gates into the hypertunnel. Gates are easily opened near gravity wells - the larger the well, the farther out and easier the gates are to open - however, it is impossible to open a gate within a certain distance of the mass causing the gravity well. Planets have a “gate zone” where gates are easily opened by even the least sophisticated magnetic drive. More powerful drives can open gates anywhere.
The paths of the tunnels also seemed to be governed by the presence of extraterrestrial masses such as planets, stars, etc. The system appears to move in a circular pattern like that of the galaxy, and does gradually change over time as the galactic masses move.
The diameter of a tunnel seems to be indeterminable, as no instruments have yet been created by any race that can accurately measure the “walls” of the tunnel. Fleets of ships have been known to travel comfortably through a single hypertunnel.
The magnetic drive interacts with the tunnel, providing the momentum to move through it, thus the more power running through a drive means a faster speed through the tunnel. If a drive is powered down, the ship can come to a dead stop in the tunnel - however, this is not recommended as there appear to be currents within the tunnel that will move a ship hundreds of light years off course.
The tunnels were discovered thousands of years ago by the elder races and the technology to open the gates was passed down to the younger races. The Khatronians have been the ones to pass out the technology to the newest members of the Confederacy, and have also done the most mapping since the Ka Vvorrn fell into seclusion. The Khatronians have developed the most sophisticated tracking programs for navigational computers from these maps. Their ships are also the best equipped to travel within the tunnels, though for this reason they are rather loathe to sell ships to other races
A guide to some of the technology of the CU
Lodestones
The mineral known as lodestone is the material that makes anti-gravity and faster-than-light travel possible in the galaxy. It is a dense yet brittle, highly magnetic stone that can be found throughout the galaxy. Once processed, the magnetism of the stone can be controlled with energy currents. Lodestone is used in the magnetic drives of ships (used for opening hyper-gates, detailed below), in the decks to provide gravity, and in skiffs/ships (see below) to create “anti-gravity.”
Unprocessed lodestone is blue-gray in color, though variation is encountered depending on the purity of the mineral. Lodestone mined in asteroid fields near the galactic core or in star nursery nebulae tends to be the purest.
Skiffs
Skiff is the catch-all term for any vehicle that leaves the ground, excepting those for extra-planetary travel. Lodestones provide the lift for the vehicle, reacting with the planet’s own gravity well, while fuel engines provide the momentum.
“Skiff” used by itself generally refers to a multi-person vehicle that hovers a few feet off the ground - i.e. a hover car. Skiffs can attain a height of 100 feet, and usually come equipped with safety devices. The undercarriage is smooth, bearing the lodestones that allow the craft to hover. Elevated highways are created with lines of lightweight cable that carry a current that boosts the lodestone strength in the vehicle. “Speed bumps” are made from lodestones buried in the road to disrupt the skiff’s movement. Driving a skiff falls somewhere between driving a car and flying a hovercraft.
“Skyskiff” refers to any vehicle that regularly attains heights beyond that of a regular skiff, but do not enter outer space. These are the airplanes of the CU.
“Seaskiff” (or replace “sea” with any body of water) denotes any skiff that is designed for water travel. Usually this means the vehicle is built so that it can rest in water safely.
Hypertunnel
“Hypertunnel” is short for “hyperspace tunnel system,” an extra-dimensional space that is used for faster-than-light travel. Every space ship capable of long-distance travel is equipped with a magnetic drive. This drive opens up the gates into the hypertunnel. Gates are easily opened near gravity wells - the larger the well, the farther out and easier the gates are to open - however, it is impossible to open a gate within a certain distance of the mass causing the gravity well. Planets have a “gate zone” where gates are easily opened by even the least sophisticated magnetic drive. More powerful drives can open gates anywhere.
The paths of the tunnels also seemed to be governed by the presence of extraterrestrial masses such as planets, stars, etc. The system appears to move in a circular pattern like that of the galaxy, and does gradually change over time as the galactic masses move.
The diameter of a tunnel seems to be indeterminable, as no instruments have yet been created by any race that can accurately measure the “walls” of the tunnel. Fleets of ships have been known to travel comfortably through a single hypertunnel.
The magnetic drive interacts with the tunnel, providing the momentum to move through it, thus the more power running through a drive means a faster speed through the tunnel. If a drive is powered down, the ship can come to a dead stop in the tunnel - however, this is not recommended as there appear to be currents within the tunnel that will move a ship hundreds of light years off course.
The tunnels were discovered thousands of years ago by the elder races and the technology to open the gates was passed down to the younger races. The Khatronians have been the ones to pass out the technology to the newest members of the Confederacy, and have also done the most mapping since the Ka Vvorrn fell into seclusion. The Khatronians have developed the most sophisticated tracking programs for navigational computers from these maps. Their ships are also the best equipped to travel within the tunnels, though for this reason they are rather loathe to sell ships to other races
Major Races of the Crow Universe
Major races are those whose civilizations are advanced enough for intergalactic space travel and have established at least one self-sustaining major colony, have members residing in another race's colony, has relations with the other galactic nations, etc. These races are younger than the Greater races, and not as advanced.
Ad’Skaar: Reptilian race with four arms, two legs and a crocodilian tail. Possess a third eye in forehead which is used for sensing light and auras. From the tropical ocean/island world of Skaära, they are expert swimmers and have leanings toward the warrior life. They are often found in police squads in mixed colonies. Relations with Altena: tolerant to good.
Beccian: Mammalian ibex-like humanoids with horns and triangular ears. Typically a very peaceful race, but the odd warrior is known to exist. Rumors exist that they can use “magic”. Homeworld: Beki, Rednig system. Relations with Altena: tolerant (uncommon race).
Blenorian: Mammalian, humanoid race that is extremely tall (7’ to 9’) and long-limbed. They are another peaceful race that has no military. They are known for their “blade-dancing,” which is an expression of their vestigial aggressiveness. They can often be found working civil jobs. Homeworld: Blenori. Relations with Altena: good.
Dephaese: Reptilian/mammalian humanoids with scaled skin, partially exothermic, pointed ears, fluked tails. They are an odd race in which the heavier (more obese) one is, the more powerful or wealthier they are. Their culture is decadent, based upon a complex honor and code system that is often at odds with itself. They are often merchants or politicians when found off their home planet of Delpha. They tend to focus on themselves, rather than the galactic world. Relations with Altena: tolerant.
D’kcolian: Large, seven foot tall four-eyed (literally) tail-less lizard men. They share close ties with the Khatronians. Strong cultural leanings towards warriors—are often found as police officers, enforcers, bodyguards, and other “strong-man” work. Homeworld: Tyksih. Relations with Altena: excellent—are one of the Altena’s stoutest allies.
Febian: Mammalian/reptilian humanoid race of shorter stature (4’ to 5’) with white skin and wide foreheads that changes color to denote moods and expressions, as they have little musculature devoted to facial expressions. They are a peaceful species that usually aren’t found off of their Homeworld of Daben’fe. They are known for their arts and have a market for all sorts of artistic mediums. They are especially known for a paper called k’eri made from their willow-like bamboo korae trees. Relations with Altena: good.
Ikibb: Avarian humanoid race of small stature (3’ to 4’) with taloned hands/feet, feathered bodies, and distinctive head-crests. They have a complex language that is simple to learn, yet is filled with hundreds of levels of meanings. An Ikibb by itself is not terribly bright, but a group of them together can show astounding intelligence – often referred to as “reverse mob mentality.” A core of singularly intelligent Ikibbs run the homeworld government. They are found all over the allied territories in all walks and niches of life, though they are rarely found as warriors (save for a small, deadly warrior-monk organization). Homeworld: Chur-pee. Relations with Altena: good
Kamealeon: Anthropomorphic reptile race that bear great resemblance to
Karthian: Reptilian/avian species, non-humanoid – they have serpentine bodies and feathered wings, and are capable of flight. The end of a Karthian’s tail is very agile and is often used as their “hand,” and is kept off of the ground when they are ambulatory. Some members of their kind use cybernetic prosthetic arms to keep up with the humanoid races. They can be found in all walks of life, though they really aren’t that common. Homeworld: Va’karth. Relations with Altena: neutral.
Khatronian: This is a race of humanoids that are one of the oldest and most powerful in the galaxy. They helped Earth out during the Occupation, helping humans free themselves from the Xizini invaders. Because of this, and the technological “clues” they left behind, humans consider Khatronians like angels—they know they’re out there, and they’re powerful and good. Khatronians currently have little to do in Altena, so they never have an active presence. Homeworld: Khatron.
Mantriid: Another insect race, but look more insect than humanoid—four arms, four legs, two tail-like appendages on back. They are found in all walks of life—warrior, merchant, chef, lawyer, etc. They have a language (rlllk’n) of clicking vocal sounds that usually cannot be produced by the other races, but they developed a secondary language to transliterate rlllk’n into, called Ralken. They are typically not very fond of the T’hnn Vkk. Some suspect that the T’hnn Vkk once tried to take over the Mantriids and failed, but neither race will ever explain the animosity. Homeworld: Triao Ves. Relations with Altena: tolerant/good.
Memnon: Humanoid race with frail-looking bodies and no working jawbone, thus they can only ingest liquids or semi-liquids. They are renowned for their skill with computer systems, and have developed direct brain-to-mainframe hookups. Almost all Memnons have at least one “brain-port” surgically implanted into their skull – mainframe masters have been known to have a dozen such ports. They collect information and supervise the computer nets of other races. They are a peaceful, trustworthy race that have adapted to living very sedentary, secluded lives. Homeworld: Memnon. Relations with Altena: good.
Rythul: Avian/reptile species, human sized with feather “hair”. Actually an Earth species, originating roughly 65 million years ago, and have co-existed with humans but remained isolated from them until the Occupation. Homeworld: Earth, Sol system. Relations with Altena: excellent.
Setnacht: Reptilian race that is very turtle like. Very bulky and large, with a thick dorsal shell and belly plates. They make very good engineers, able to innately understand the complexities of energy fields. They are also often used for security or riot control due to their size. Homeworld: Setna. Relations with Altena: good.
Tamarian: Mammalian/reptilian humanoids with skin wings and tail. They are generally silver gray in color and have blood the color of mercury. Not much is known about them, for they rarely leave their homeworld of Tamar (Rednig system) or allow outsiders to visit. It is said that the last of the ancient Rednig lived and died on their world. When they are found off-world, they are usually warriors, hunters, or occasionally merchants. Relations with Altena: neutral (uncommon race).
Teryxin: Avian species, very similar to the archaeopteryx in body form – wing-arms with talons, feathered body and tail, beaked heads and large eyes. Small stature, rarely any bigger (or smaller) than two feet, and capable of limited flight. They are famous for their navigation skills, and can be found on multitudes of ships and other walks of life. They were relatively recently discovered by the Khatronians and hitched rides from their homeworld through them. Only within the last century have they started constructing their own ships. Homeworld: Arker-Ra. Relations with Altena: good.
T’hnn Vkk: insect men. Their level of technological advancement is currently unknown—for a race that can be found just about anywhere, they are highly secretive. The location of their homeworld is a guess, though experts estimate their technology to be advanced bio-organic. T’hnn Vkk have two main arms, two lesser arms, two legs, and wasp-like wings. They speak using a voice box in their upper chest, but do also use facial expressions, though these can be hard to decipher. They rarely speak any language other than their own, Vkkuz. Homeworld: Ta’Haaven. Relations with Altena: less than good/tolerant—T’hnn Vkk believe themselves better than any of the “soft-shelled” races.
Treyyag: Think green black-haired humans with heights ranging from three to seven feet (very flat bell curve there). They are a very militaristic culture, with many technological advances in the art of war. However, they are not conquerors, but rather sell their inventions to the other races. Currently they are having problems with a civil war with one of their colonies. Homeworld: Tait-Mo’alla. Relations with Altena: tolerant.
Tumilati: Mammalian centaur-like humanoids with bovine traits – head horns, cow ears, lower body similar to a cows (4 legs with cloven hooves, tail). They have made advances in the medical fields, and were one of the races to produce diffusion hypo-syringes that do not break the skin separately from the Khatronians. They are often found in the medical field and have extensively researched how to treat other races. One of their main universities is the place to go for xeno-biology. Their culture is very religious, believing that the mind can control the health of the body and vice versa. Homeworld: Apistum. Relations with Altena: very good.
Varian: Reptilian/mammalian humanoids with finely scaled skin, violet-colored hair, small horns prominences, and long, sucker-tipped fingers. They are often found in the general civilian populace of mixed race colonies. Homeworld: Ta’var. Relations with Altena: tolerant.
Wodashi-woch: Mammalian humanoid—a cross between a “Cossack and a chow-chow.” They are covered with thick fur and are well adapted to cold temperatures (very cold homeworld—not quite Hoth-cold, but chilly). Typically warriors or enforcers. They have a very traditional culture. Homeworld: Seiki. Relations with Altena: good.
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