25 March, 2010

Story Prologue

Hey guys. Since right now my life is not terribly interesting and I don't think you want to know about the dark and slightly sprinkly weather my town is having, I decided to give you the prologue to one of my stories, since a poll I put up a while ago said 5 people voted YES!!! Someone voted NO!!, however, so feel free to skip it over. It's kinda long. :)

II Quetzal:
Combat Chief: Black Storm.
Status No. 10 (High Priority).
Occupation: Motherboard.
Operation: FAILED.
Position: Off Nexus. Exiles’ territory.
Damage: Severe.
Crew: Able. 200 active per watch.
Surveillance Mode: High Activity.
“Combat Chief!”
The hoarse cry came from behind the decimated weaponry as another grenade went off along the ship’s side. It was living hell in the II Quetzal, and the man who shouted was wishing it was all a horrific dream; a vision that would pass so he could live in peace—or at least live at all.
“Retreat! Give the order, E9! We are outnumbered and incapacitated here; it is impossible to defend ourselves in this state.”
“But Chief—“
“GO!” the Combat Chief bellowed, desperate now, and, for one of the few times in his life, frightened out of his wits and—although he would not have admitted it to anyone—scared.
The man scurried out from behind one of the missile projectiles, and ran out into the hallway. The Chief almost felt sorry he’d told him to leave this refuge of a hold. The E9 dodged bullets, bombs, and anything else hurled in his direction.
Behind him, still leaning against the room’s wall, his Combat Chief, the man Black Storm, sighed exhaustedly and rubbed his mangled and scarred hands over his eyes.
Black Storm knew he had to move; it would be death if he did not, and the end of everything he’d tried to valiantly to protect. Staggering under his own weight, the old man heaved out of the weaponry room and out into the hallway, heading in the opposite direction the man had taken.
Gasping from the smoke and hot air going into his lungs with every breath, Black Storm managed to walk down the corridor and down another. It took mammoth effort on his part, and he was not able to jump and run as his E9 had.
After reaching a metal door that somehow had not been decimated, he weakly punched in the code to open it—he was the only person who knew the Chief’s code for any of the ship’s doors.
When the door had miraculously beeped to alert him that it was functioning and had let him enter, Black Storm collapsed into a nearby chair in the Observation Deck, trying to hold back the panic.
There was only one thing left to do now. He had to make terrible choice; one that could make or break the entire WarBattalion, the army and loyalty it had gathered over the millennia, and the people it protected.
The II Quetzal was strong—it had been strong enough to hold off the Exiles for this long—but was severely damaged with a huge break across its side and the protective shield around it shattered and almost nonexistent.
The enemy, those hateful and cruel Exiles, had moved in on it immediately. Peace had reigned for a long period of time, the longest ever in Nexus history, but it was weak and almost gone due to an untimely appearance of the Exiles.
Formerly banished from the system Black Storm’s superiors had tried so hard to defend and protect, they had returned, and had returned with weapons.
Deadly ones.
The WarBattalion could have easily dealt with them if there had been some warning, some alert that an enemy might be approaching, but it was surprise; the Exiles had came with amazingly fast spacecraft. Astonishingly, they were almost faster than the WarBattalion ships, which were supposed to be state of the art and the most modern anywhere.
They had done the damage to the II Quetzal and it looked like they were not going to pay for the damage in any way. The only thing that could save them was if they made the information on the II Quetzal inaccessible to the Exiles.
They needed the information to take control over the Network without a lot of trouble. They could without it, of course, but the Exiles wanted a clean transition from democracy to dictatorship.
The idea was of destroying all the useful data was daunting task. The ship carried all the information from the last 1000 years and more, and was basically the motherboard of all WarBattalion operations.
Combat Chief Black Storm had a great responsibility; running the ship. If it was destroyed, the entire WarBattalion went into confusion and computers shut down. Nothing could operate without the motherboard. He had managed to keep up the strenuous effort, but at a price.
Black Storm was no longer able to fight the enemy efficiently. There was more computer than weaponry on this ship, and it hampered any efforts of defense. Normally, the rest of the WarBattalion completed that mission, but this time they had been overpowered and conquered with shocking speed and efficiency. Even if they had fended off this attack, the Exiles would probably have returned with more ships, and completed the job soon enough.
The old man glanced at a button that blinked at him continuously—as it always did, but this time he felt as if the inoffensive object had some idea of his trouble; and knew he had to activate it.
He had sworn to himself in the past that he would never touch it—that he, Black Storm, was powerful enough to defeat anyone who came his way—but it looked as if it would have to be done.
He looked out at the vast expanse that was his home. He had never had a family; almost all the time he was ordering a ship around with meters of metal around him. It was his home. Many people hated the feeling of being loose in that emptiness, that dark, infinite black, but to him it was simply where he belonged.
He fixed his gaze on a very distant spot on the horizon of the Observation Deck. It seemed to glint back at him. He had been heading there, but this horrific event had stopped him in his tracks. Black Storm had to come back and helped as best he could.
He sighed again. Nothing compared to the thrill of discovering something new, but this was more than just an asteroid, it might even hold a new life form, something—or someone—possibly even more advanced than the WarBattalion and its government.
He always said could feel it when a planet that was near, causing much teasing among the ranks, but his intuition had never proved him wrong.
Even the meters on the enormous dash read that there was an abnormal amount of water and other such matter in that area. He had been dying to look at it. But that seemed to be for someone else.
Black Storm put his hand to touch the button he had sworn never to use, but he decided to wait a few more seconds before proceeding. Maybe there was hope.
But after only a few seconds, he heard the explosions and cries of his Squad, and knew there was no choice. The Nexus and WarBattalion would understand and immediately know what the status was of the enemy’s attack.
The Exiles would hate him for this action.
He placed the tube on the floor, and reached for the button. He took a deep breath, and gently put in the code, pressing the despised red button immediately afterwards.
The world around him seemed to explode.

3 comments:

KENZY said...

Wow!!! This is amazing! what's the story called?

The Golden Eagle said...

Right now, I'm calling it Lifeblood, but that's subject to change on a whim. :D

Icewolf said...

oh my goodness, that was chilling!