Survivors Fate

From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

Survivors Fate Hello, Trooper Harris here. This is what I have written so far of the newest VoPC short. Feel free to leave comments on the discussion page, or tell me in game what you think. This is my first short, so feed back is appreciated

((WiP))

Prologue

Patriarch Xeobel was resting in his meditation chamber, pondering the fate of his people. He clearly recalled when his men detected the first scouting parties sent to their planet, yet he suppressed reports of them. He remembered when the first signs of the fleet within orbit of Syredia, but he continued to suppress all reports, even to take penalty for mention of them as far as imprisonment and torture.

And then, the invasion was upon them. The fleets attacked major cities, synchronized with almost perfect precision, crippling major military centers instantly.

Their defense forces were simply for show during that time. Mostly, they functioned as a display of political power. The only time they saw any activity was when the exceedingly rare crime was committed. Most of them either deserted, or died during the initial contact.

The Patriarch stood up and began to pace around nervously. Yes, he did give the order to suppress the information concerning the invasion, when, his army could have tried to set up a more proper defense. Yes, he did torture and execute anyone who did not comply with those orders, leaving a trail of blood behind him on Syredia. Yes, he knew that an invasion was coming. But he did not want to throw his planet into a panic stricken frenzy. Besides, it was hopeless. The Rikti simply could not be stopped.

But now, his people; what was left of the proud Syredan race, were all on this vessel; The Protector.

The patriarch stopped, pacing for a moment. He was a tall, very human looking creature. In fact, the only real difference was a set of long, pointed ears on the side of his head. He was pale skinned, with a wrinkle worn face. His long hair and full, well trimmed beard were both faded to a very fine color of white. And he wore an elaborate set of white layered robes, with a gold, silver trimmed cape, which served as a symbolic mantle of his authority over the Syredan military forces.

He sat down once more, regaining his composure. He had done nothing wrong. He had chosen not to spread panic, and start a mass chaos among his people. What remained of them would find a new home, on another planet. They created a vessel capable of supporting them for the rest of their lives, if necessary. The Rikti did attempt to follow them, but simply could match the speed of their ship.

Their ship had been damaged, but their survival, if and when they found a hospitable world was assured.

The door to his chamber slid open, and another Syredan, clad in a gray, blue trimmed uniform entered.

"I trust you have an adequate reason for interrupting me meditation?" The Patriarch asked, not even turning to see him.

He was sitting in the center of the room, flanked by a cluster of crystals, eyes closed, waiting for a response.

"Sir, we've found a world capable of sustaining our people, but there is a problem. The world is inhabited,"

The messenger began speaking,

"We have found a Rikti presence on the planet. Though, they seem to be at war with another species, likely the natives. Her Holiness has ordered that we further investigate before we take the protector into the planets orbit."

"Thank you. You may resume your post." The Patriarch said in dismissal.

The messenger exited, and the Patriarch opened his eyes, his meditation chamber was a large white circular room, with large purple crystals protruding from sections of the wall. The largest cropping of these crystals was in the center of the room, surrounding the Patriarch.

To the opposite of the door was a view port, and from it, he saw a blue globe, covered with water and scattered landmasses.

Strange, Syredia was one massive continent with three small islands and the very southern end. He looked at the globe with a very critical eye.

So, this was to be their new refuge...

Chapter 1

John Starkweather sat at a computer terminal in his office, focused very intently on the monitor. He checked and rechecked his readings. There was no mistaking what he saw.

He leaned in his seat for a moment, allowing himself to nod off for a moment. It was late, and he was overworked. But, he sipped his coffee and continued working.

He looked over at the monitor again. It showed readings of a large object just outside of earths orbit. The object was the size of a city, but no details about it could be determined, because something, likely the object, was interfering with his equipment.

He yawned, nodding off again, and then typed in a different command. A list of coordinates came up. He clicked on three sets and then clicked on a record command. He would let his satellites find out what he wanted to know until he came back in the morning.

Until then, it was time to get some sleep.

________________________________________

Franklin J. Harris was out at the range, as usual, getting in his target practice for the night. He was always restless at night, and getting less and less sleep at time passed. And, with the thing that Edgar was whispering to him, things that couldn’t possible be true, he wasn’t sure that he wanted too.

It was very dark on the rand, and the targets were the only part that had any real illumination. "You know what I want." A voice whispered behind him. "You aren't real, I'm just very sick." He growled, firing a few rounds from his Barret M468 at the target.

"That doesn't change the fact that I'm here. You might as well get used to it." The other voice whispered from the back of the room.

"And if you're going to stick around, why not tell me what it is you're planning" Harris said to the figure behind him. He blinked for a moment and fired a few more rounds at the target. It was not only a few pieced of paper clinging to a metal frame. He pressed a red button on the wall panel next to him. The frame slid into the ground and was quickly replaced with another.

"What would compel me to do something like that?" The figure whispered.

Harris clicked the safety on his M468, and then propped it on a wall next to him. He brought himself to full height, a towering 6'4". "Because I won't cooperate if you don't. I was here first, and you don't scare me." He growled, turning to meet the figure, who was leaning on the opposite wall.

"You're full of shit and you know it." the figure said. "I know for a fact that you're terrified of me, and that's because you know you're helpless. You couldn't stop me before, what's the difference now?"

It was dark, and Harris couldn't make out what the figure looked like. It almost made him look like an ink blot. Not a person. Just a glob of black ink shaped like one.

"Fuck you..." He said, glaring at the figure.

And then, a light came on, Starkweather standing in a hallway close by.

"Am I interrupting?" He asked.

"No, sir. Edgar and I were just talking about something." Harris responded quickly.

Starkweather sighed, looking at Harris. He was almost getting used to this kind of behavior, "Just try to get some sleep. You may have some work tomorrow."

Harris sighed, looking at the wall across from him. The figure was gone. Might as well get some sleep, he thought. It would probably be a long day anyway.

________________________________________

The next morning, Starkweather sat at his desk, looking surprised. He was looking at the pictures that his satellites had taken. He was shocked by what he saw. The satellites had show pictures of a massive structure with smooth, steel walls. The walls, however, were scarred with craters and scorch marks. There were engines in the back, and the surface was dotted with what looked like weapon emplacements, most of which were destroyed, lying in useless smoking craters.

It had to be a ship of some kind, but it was bigger than most cities. He had to do some probing, he decided. But he had to be the first to do it. What was he going to do though? Sending a boarding party could prove costly. Especially considering that they may not be friendly.

He decided to send a transmission, in multiple encodings, using his network of satellites, and hope that they could pick up at least one of them.

He say at the monitor, studying the images again. And then, a large scale picture came up. The ship was a huge steel bulkhead, spanning miles. It had multiple craters and scorch marks on its surface, as well as most of its weapons emplacements destroyed. In the front, there was something that resembled hanger doors. And on the top of the ship, something like small antenna, flanked by a larger, demolished antenna.

He noted that their long range communications may be out. He would have to reposition his satellites....

Chapter 2

"But what about stopping power?" Harris asked, asked the man sitting across from him eating. They were in the mess hall, and breakfast was being served.

"That's why I carry a lot of ammo." The other man responded.

"But it’s an MP5. It uses Nine millimeter ammo. You're better off with a knife and a bull's-eye on your chest." Harris argued.

"But we're not gonna hit anything that big. My unit is Black ops." He moaned.

Harris just smirked at the other man and replied, "Yeah, You're right. What could possibly go wrong in your line of work?" with more than just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Then, he stood up, taking his empty breakfast tray, and left the other man at the table, alone.

Crazy sumbitch, he thought. He looked down at his plate again. Oh my god, he thought, was the food supposed to have no flavor? He continued eyeballing the sloppy mess on his tray and just started eating.

"No flavor is better than eating crap," he told himself. And then he just kept eating until the food was gone.

When he finished, he stood up. He was roughly 5'8", and well built, with somewhat of an intimidating manner. Though, he had appeared to be much smaller when he sat across from as massive a person as Frank Harris, who almost didn't fit in his chair. He whipped his long blonde hair out his way as he did. He dumped his tray and then started walking toward the armory.

The outfitter, seeing him walking towards him, had already pulled out an MP5 with extra ammo.

"Hey there Alex," He said, "Goin’ to the range?"

"Yeah, but? I think I’ll try the AK47 today." Alex responded, instead of grabbing the MP5.

The quarter master gave him a funny look that said 'What the hell' and then grabbed the MP5 and took it back. Soon he came back with an AK47 and some extra ammo. Alex grabbed the rifle and started to walk to the range. "Let's try it your way..." He muttered to himself.

________________________________________

"Sir, we’re receiving a transmission." Said a Syredan who was wearing an officer’s uniform that had an elaborate blue trim. The Patriarch looked at the communications technician that had addressed him with some bewilderment in his expression and said, "Patch it through."

The tech turned back to his control panel and went to work, "It's encrypted," he said, "I have to decode it."

"Yes, yes, yes." The Patriarch said impatiently, "Whatever gets it through." Then he took his view from the lone tech, to the rest of his crew.

He was standing at the command deck of the bridge of their ship, The Protector. It was a huge structure in itself, with floor of systems to monitor and maintain. At the center of the room was a massive hologram projector that sprung from the floor.

"Ok, I'm through." The tech said.

The projector came to life in a fluorescent blue haze of static, and then started to for the discernable shape of a head. Strange, his ears were so small, must be some sort of technical interference. The Patriarch noted.

"Hello, my name is John Starkweather; an elected official from the planed Earth." Stated the projection, "We are a species called the Human race. And we can see that your vessel had been severely damaged. Perhaps we can discuss the possibility of sending a representative to your ship, to more thoroughly discuss matters."

When the hologram finished speaking, it zipped back into the projector that it came from.

"I must take this news to Her Holiness. She will know what to do." The Patriarch said.

________________________________________

John Starkweather was sitting in his office, intently watching the monitor of his computer. The video recording was too big of a file for his to download, so, he only listened to the audio portion of the file.

"Hello, John Starkweather. Our leader has agreed to meet with your representative." The recording began, "However, do not send a security detail numbering more than five men. I'm sure you'll understand."

And then the transmission cut off. Starkweather smiled a sly smile to himself, closed the window and pulled up a list of special operatives and selected from them, a list of potential candidates for the security detail.

But, he already knew who he was going to send as an ambassador.

______________________________________

Frank Harris walked onto the firing range with his M486 in hand. He looked around... three other people.

He looked and his expression quickly turned into wide, shit eating grin. He saw the head of long, flowing blonde hair. He saw a man, ripped with muscles, wearing a tank top, gray combat fatigues, and boots.

But mostly, he saw Alex trying a new gun.

He crept slowly behind the other man, whom he saw very intently trying out an AK47 Assault Rifle. He got closer, and closer. And then, standing right behind the man, he waited, standing perfectly straight, arms crossed, and his rifle slung over his back. He was armed with that wide toothy grin of his.

Alex was a really poor shot with it too. He kept switching between the automatic and semi automatic settings in a vein attempt to get used to the kick back of a real gun. He fired off his last few rounds and switched the safety of his rifle to the On position. His hand started to move to a stand beside himself, where an extra clip of ammo lay.

Harris quickly snatched the clip before Alex could reach it. Alex turned to looks for the clip, but was met with the bulk of man that was Frank Harris. Frank, the massive man, armed with a stupid, toothy grin. It was a grin that said, 'You'll never hear the end of this.'

It was a grin that Alex had seen once before, on his first day in the barracks. He was trying to the food for the first time. It was a burger served with some very sloppily thrown potatoes on the side. The fact that it was sloppy was because of the fact that it was served be a machine. No one knew who the cook was, or he'd probably be dead. Alex grabbed the burger; it was covered with Ketchup, and took a bite... and immediately spat it out! It tasted like rubber! Frank, who saw this, started howling with laughter. Then, for the next few weeks, he would watch Alex eat, with the big dumbass grin on his face! It was just like before, but now he had a clip in his hand.

"Very funny Frank." he sighed, sounding indignant.

"What happened to the MP5?" Harris asked him.

"I'm tryin' something new." Alex grunted, "I figure, since you've been around longer than me, you might be right." He said. Yeah, he thought, feed that ego, his bigass head might explode. "Oh," Harris said with a bit of surprise, "Whatever you say." He finished, leaving the clip on the stand and he set up the two stalls away. Smart guy, he thought.

________________________________________

James Harthford sat in front of the desk in Starkweather’s office. He was reading the contents of a gray duotang folder.

"And what, exactly, will we really be doing?" he asked.

Starkweather turned from his monitor to answer the man. James was a short bald black man. He was thin, with a goatee, and wearing gray recreation fatigues.

"Well, as you seem to understand, we aren't going to be there for diplomatic purposes, seeing as how we don't represent Earth." He began, "I want to make a good assessment of their level of technology, and then I will take them into further consideration."

"Consideration for what?" Harthford asked.

"That's classified," Starkweather said, "for now."

James gave Starkweather a look. It was a look that said, What the hell are you up too?

"All right," he said, "What specifically do you want me to look for?"

"Mostly, just general levels of technology, but if you see anything exceptional: Weapons, medicine, anything, include it in your report." Starkweather explained.

"Ok, let’s go over the supposed the negotiations you're supposed to fake..."

________________________________________

Frank Harris was sitting in a black leather recliner. There was a keyboard attached to the left arm of the chair. He sat in front of a massive super-computer, with the main terminal flanked on both sides with smaller monitors, and surrounded on all sides by massive LCD screens on all sides. This was the central terminal for the compounds security grid. He had placed as Chief of Security at the compound, and he was going to make sure that it was secure. If anyone knew how to get into places he should be, it was him.

There was still plenty to do, but Starkweathers compound was well on its way to becoming the impenetrable fortress that he wanted it too be.

He was sitting in front of the terminal in his large recliner, if he was going to get it done, he'd get it done in a chair he fit in! He slumped over to the side of the chair to pick up a book on the floor next to him. It was titled,

Advanced Electronics and Programming Volume XXIV Micromanagement of Multiple Systems

He flipped to a page, took a moment to read it, and then stuck a bookmark in it. Then, he went back to work with the supercomputer.

It was a good thing he didn't have to memorize all of this, or he'd be screwed. All of the 1s and 0s in this system took a team of fifty people to maintain.

He slumped over. The lack of sleep had been getting to him. But, he shook his head and got back to work.

There was hiss in the air...

He ignored it.

The hiss turned to the sound of heavy breathing...

"Shut up Edgar,"

Something accompanied the breathing in the distance. He couldn't make it out though.

"Shut up Edgar, I’m busy."

The noise turned into chanting,

"Life... Death... Life... Cycle infinite... Finite reality..."

"Shut up" He moaned

The chanting grew louder.

"Life... Death... Life... Cycle infinite... Finite reality..."

"Leave me alone!" Harris said.

The chanting grew even louder, more intense, to the point of shouting

""Life... Death... Life... Cycle infinite... Finite reality..."

"Will you fucking quit!?" He shouted, pounding on the right arm of his chair.

A signal began to buzz from the comm system. The chanting stopped.

"Harris," He said keying the Comm.

"The commander says he need you in the meeting room. Said that it's priority." A voice said through the intercom.

"Roger, I’m on my way." He said, getting up and closing his files. He set the supercomputer up to auto run and left the room.

The hissing began once more.

"Not now Edward. This is important." Harris growled.

The hissing stopped.

And, suddenly, Harris disappeared.