Into the Black, Prologue
05 Sep 2018Tyrran Andor
OOC note:Hello, everyone! M. Lehman here, launching an exciting (I hope!) new character. The story of Matthew Victor Lehman has drawn to a close, and along with Yola Purpura and Kari Kerenski (Jemine Caesar and Marra Morgana in a previous storytelling life!) have again partnered to bring to you a new story arc. This time we've done things a little differently- this story takes place on the Gnosis expedition, and so is literally unwritten. It's our hope to make a compelling narrative out of whatever happens, and so we must ask in advance that you bear with us!
Presented here is the first part of a short introductory arc. It's my hope that you enjoy, and as always thanks for reading!
-Matt
INTO THE BLACK, PROLOGUE
“We’ve got one shot at this. You ready?”
Tyrran Xavion Andor’s accent was crisp and implacable, even over staticy comms. For hours he and his partner had scoured the ancient ruins, their original inhabitants long extinct but traces of functional technology glowing an eerie blue. Energy pillars glowed against the darkness, illuminating the dilapidated structures, their sharp angles harsh in the low light. Everything was prepared. His partner below needed only moments, his sandpaper voice filling Tyrran’s ears.
“Don’t worry about me, pup. Just don’t miss.”
Far below the circling Cobra was an all-terrain rover. It was of the Scarab variety, nimble and suitable for nearly any terrain. Within its pressurized canopy bubble was another man, older with thick black hair and a wicked scar that ran down his face. Cecil was his name, and his flightsuit was worn and discolored, more patchwork than anything, with a garish skull painted over the breastplate. He was a contrast to his more roguish companion, the younger Tyrran in flight trousers and jacket, black with grey and red trim.
Tyrran- "Tee" to his friends, "Andor" to everyone else- gripped his joystick, flipping open the weapons safety and pressing the button with the target reticle upon it. The Cobra- an older model named the Home Away- deployed its weapons. They were nothing special, nothing like the modified gear becoming more and more common on every hotshot spacer’s ship from one side of the Bubble to the other. No, Tyrran counted himself lucky to simply have a ship to call his own. His partner, however…
Andor scowled, his dark features twisting.
Old man’s done nothing but talk down to me since Rax introduced us. I swear that if the creds weren’t so good…
Simple multicannons armed themselves and pointed straight ahead. This was the part for which Cecil had been necessary. Apart from having sole knowledge of the ruin’s planetary coordinates, the old man’s skill at handling a Scarab would be the only thing that would save him. He was no stranger to the process, an old smuggler who could get in or out of any situation. Once he’d been a hovercar racer, and had even enjoyed modest success in the Federal circuit. Now he was an outlaw, scraping out a living hundreds of light years from civilization.
Tyrran keyed his comms, leaning forward in his pilot’s seat.
“Then punch it!”
Heavy-duty tires spun in place before the Scarab shot forward, bounding across the surface. For a moment, the vehicle was free, free to simply traverse the decrepit ruins, great clouds of dust kicked up and settling only gradually in the low gravity. In a moment of wild optimism Tyrran relaxed, hoping against hope that the ruin’s ancient guardians were indeed permanently at rest…
Cecil’s voice cut down his hopes.
“Contacts on scope! Look alive!”
Tyrran bared his teeth. Time to go to work…
Rising from dark recesses in the ancient structures were Sentinels, triangular custodians of the long-abandoned ruins, still functional even after untold millenia. Their alien programming- perhaps even a profane variety of artificial intelligence- directed them to move as one, making their way straight to the intruder. Ominous, cycloptic blue eyes looked upon Cecil in his primitive vehicle, hovering silently into place around him. More and more emerged, protecting the secrets of their extinct masters, executing their programming without a trace of mercy…
The lead Sentinel went first, its exotic alloys no match for the brute power of Andor’s multicannons. Numerous tiny impacts exploded around it, the automated drone spinning out of control, ploughing into the ground. The others around it noted the additional aggressor and fanned out, adjusting their tactics in realtime to compensate for the new threat.
Tyrran grit his teeth, walking streams of shells into the next closest target. It was a maddening, imprecise thing to engage them; his targeting systems were designed to take on ship-sized targets. The gimbals upon which his weapons were mounted simply lacked the precision to fire accurately upon such tiny offerings.
Son of a...
Another Sentinel was damaged, veering off course with arcs of power leaping from its ruptured hull but still hovering in place. The Home Away’s multicannons were empty, and would need precious seconds to reload. Over the comms came an urgent plea.
“Where the hell is that air support, pup?”
Andor cursed. Whatever arcane programming was guiding the alien drones had correctly identified Cecil as the primary threat. They were ignoring the Cobra and closing in on the lone Scarab, now halfway across the ruin. Blue energy bolts blazed around it, coming closer and closer to the delicate vehicle. Tyrran glanced to one side, his multicannons nearly through with their reloading cycle…
Now!
Destruction was no longer the goal; Cecil needed only to be shielded from the oncoming swarm. Tyrran flew low, the Home Away kicking up great clouds of dust, raking the lines of pursuing drones in long strafing runs. Back and forth he flew, the Sentinels relentless. Human weapons shredded the ancient guardians; alien blaster fire overpowered the last of the Scarab’s shields.
“Now, pup!”
Andor flipped the Cobra over, disengaging its piloting assist features.
“Just get to the data node and drop that thing!”
From the canopy the horizon dropped, the Scarab speeding toward it. On its heels were the alien drones. The first hints of worry could be heard in Cecil’s words.
“No, no, no…”
Tyrran grit his teeth, both his ship and the vehicle converging on nearly the same spot.
“I said punch it!”
The Home Away dropped vertically down, the Scarab firing its thrusters, gliding mere feet above the ground, barely clearing as the ship ungracefully impacted into the ground. The nearest few Sentinels were crushed beneath it, stray pieces of them continuing onward. Shields flashed in protest and Andor’s teeth were nearly knocked from his mouth, but now a massive barrier had suddenly dropped between the Sentinels and their quarry. Energy bolts impacted against the shields, but they were of little concern. At such a close range even the Home’s imprecise gimballs could lock on to their targets.
“Get some!”
Multicannon fire erupted from the spinning barrels, matching alien elegance with human brute force. Drones scattered but to little avail. One after another they fell, some perforated and others torn in half. All disengaged and strove to take the long way around, but they would never catch the Scarab, not with Cecil at the controls. The older man’s voice crackled over the comms.
“We’re not done yet! Get over here and help me finish the job!”
Scowling at the man’s lack of gratitude, Tyrran pulled back on the throttle, reversing his ship to match the Scarab’s swift movement. The Sentinels seemed to be pulling back, re-evaluating the optimal strategy against such an unexpectedly aggressive foe. Andor kept a wary eye on his scope.
Just keep thinking it over, and we’ll be out of here before you know it…
From his canopy he could see the Scarab bounding up the alien structure, thrusters firing in short, controlled bursts. Cecil would reach the data node in moments…
There!
From behind the massive structure rose two more Sentinels, both bearing down on the intruder. Orbs of alien blaster fire knocked the Scarab back, Cecil fighting inside for control, its bare hull scorched and charred from the onslaught. Tyrran swung the Home Away around, bringing its weapons to bear, but-
But the gimbals can’t get a lock. Not without blasting the old man, too. Randamnious!
“She can’t take much more of this, pup. I need you here now!”
Not responding, Tyrran gripped the throttle and maneuvered the Cobra to one side, sliding level while twisting to still face the newcomer Sentinels. He almost had a clear line of fire to them...
Just a little closer...
Streams of multicannon fire again scattered the drones, the pilot wincing as bits of ancient structure were also chipped away by his haphazard suppression. Yet it had done the trick. The two Sentinels were both damaged, hovering with an almost comical limp away from the scene, the others still too far out to stop the human duo from plundering the site’s ancient secrets.
“You’re clear! Drop that thing!”
The Scarab skidded to a halt, Cecil expertly drifting the vehicle to a halt right where he needed it to be. With a pull of the lever he opened the cargo hatch, dropping a priceless alien relic onto a central repository. The relic was angular and glowing, unseen fields aligning it above the opening, the pieces still fitting together with precision even after the passing of millenia. For the first time, satisfaction could be heard in Cecil’s voice.
“That should do it. Standby for upload.”
The ground around the Scarab rumbled, and slowly the sanctum around which the structure seemed to be built opened, its exotic segments opening one by one, pieces of a concealed door. The aqua-colored illumination for which the extinct race was known shone from within, and from its depths emerged a floating orb, crackling with energy, its secrets ready to be given up.
Tyrran’s eyes widened. “Just look at that thing…”
The energy surrounding the orb intensified, the metallic sphere opening in the middle, pure light shining from within. Within the Scarab, dedicated equipment scanned the alien sphere, extracting its data in realtime. A low, gravely chuckle could be heard from Cecil’s throat. At Tyrran’s side the transmission commenced, strange shapes and symbols flashing before his eyes.
“Aye, pup. Fend off the suitors and she’ll spread like a dock knocker. Not so difficult once you learn the routine.”
Recollections of the reward for pristine Guardian data flashed in Tyrran’s mind.
“Profitable, too.”
A low grunt could be heard through the comms.
“That it is- but don’t get cocky. You’re just a glorified taxi pilot, remember.”
Andor’s eyes narrowed. And you’re just a glorified delivery boy.
“You got the stuff yet?”
“Check your inventory.”
To Tyrran’s side the transmission completed with a satisfying chime. The alien data was secure, and worth a fortune for them both. It remained only for Tyrran to land and allow the battered Scarab to re-board the Home Away. From his lofty perch, the younger man looked down upon the older. It hadn’t been an easy partnership, Cecil often drunk and berating his youthful partner.
Memories of insults too numerous to count flooded through Tyrran’s mind. Cecil was a surly old smuggler, nothing ever good enough for his tastes, and technology never being as reliable as it was in his day. Even the breakthrough that was the frameshift drive earned his scorn. They’d met on Eravate, though a common grey market contact named Rax. Rax Ortega was a one-armed dealer of technology, paying top cred for the latest gear and charging even more to sell it. His business wasn’t exactly legal, but with the Thargoid menace dominating the headlines, wasn’t exactly illegal, either.
For Tyrran, it didn’t matter. Nor did anything else except the credits. The remaining Sentinels were closing in, far too many for Cecil to fight in a damaged Scarab. The first hints of fear could be heard in his tone.
“You need to lower the gantry, you fool!”
The man smiled, his roguish features infuriating as he instead lifted away. A thick cloud of dust bloomed from where he’d just hovered. For the final time he keyed the comm to his surly, aging companion.
“And you need a lesson in manners. Sorry, old man. You know how it goes.”
The thrusters of the Home Away flared to life as the Cobra boosted away from the ruins, a great cloud of dust swirling around the Scarab. Local comms swiftly distorted. The last thing that Tyrran heard was his partner’s final, enraged epithet.
“Andor!”