Dinner on the Majestic (a very short story)

[philip_hughes]

Almanicstrat Had to be careful. His father was a good man and had always taught him the correct ettiquette. "when carving a meal, Always go away from the bone." This time the would-be chef's strokes were perfect and the meat fell away in thin even slices. The Guests were impressed. They clapped their hands with delight as he brought out a large pot of vegetables. With a flourish, the steaming veggies were carefully arranged on nine plates in a perfect row. Sauce was dribbled tantelisingly over the dishes. Presentation was important, but flavour had to take poll position. There had to be just enough to make the diner want more but not so much as to totally overwhelm the taste buds. When he was at last satisfied, his onlookers were finally rewarded with the plates they had been eying for the last couple of minutes. The conversation was replaced by a busy silence broken only by a voice five minutes later. "This Boron is delicious! What does Split taste like?"

[X2-Eliah]

Ah, yes, it is said fish is considered brain food.
As Paranid are surperior to all other forms of life, their worthless lives must be donated to the worthy cause of expanding the surperiocity of the holy three-eyed creatures.

Split should taste like chicken- faces are similar.

Anyway, this story is one of the best ever- it has Drama, Tragedy, Comedy, and a bit of Romance. Ok, maybe no romance.



On a side note, i'd say firstly serve Argon fingers as an apetizer, then Boron as you mentioned, then freshly-cooked Split with cranberry sauce, and for the coup-de-grace, Teladi legs with french fries and sour cream.

[fiksal]

so who are the guests?

[philip_hughes]

so who are the guests?

After Many months, the trail lead to a battered corvette in an unknown sector. The Argon military dispatched a fighter to verify the details. Following a brief inspection, the pilot, a rookie just graduated from an increasingly less exhausting training program (thanks to the many casualties from the Khaak) managed on his third try a pass that verified the name of the ship.

With a squeal of protest, the comm opened up on the bridge of the battleship.
"It's the Majestic all right; no Id code, no broadcasts of any kind. As a matter of fact, I can detect nothing electrical at all"
Captain Targ's brow rippled. He did not like this at all, but with precious few ships and severely depleted manpower he had to send in boys to do mens work.
"Is there enough juice in that thing for a system override?" his voice boomed through the comm.
"Attempting now." Came the reply. Private Riley cursed. Instead of the System override he'd activated the strafe drive and almost cannoned into the derelict hulk. The tension eased after the private managed a quick turn that brought him to his fourth pass of the corvette. This time the correct system was activated and to his intense suprise and relief, the ship blinked to life and answered to his commands. Triumphantly he reported back.
"comms responding, system override appears successful!" The next communication was hardly the pat on the back he'd expected.
"Right. Transport over there and see whats happened. Keep your wits about you, something does not sit right. This has been way too easy so far."
"roger" and with that Riley switched off the unit.

"Too easy!" he mumbled under his breath. "I was nearly the full stop at the end of the ships name!" The fledgling pilot steeled himself. Ship to ship transports were usually done at about week five but now there was no week five. They were lucky if there was a week three. After four goes, Private Riley managed to automate the controls and after hunting in the flight manual (which seemed incomplete and almost useless) figured out the combination of buttons that sent him into the bowels of the ghost ship.

Captain Targ had been nursing a gnawing feeling in the back of his mind for some twenty minutes. Instead of making his way to the sensor console as was regulations for a mid range patrol sweep, he turned abruptly and sat in his chair.
"We had better see how private Riley is going." The first officer, a man known for his loyalty and adherence to the regulations more than his wit chimed in.
"what about the rest of the sector patrol? It needs..."
"Screw the sector patrol" boomed the captain. "Fire up the jump drive and hands to battle stations." Someone in Argon high command was not going to be happy, but you did not make it to captain without the capacity to make some hard decisions. The first officer barked commands throughout the ship and Targ eyed him coldly. He knew full well if there was nothing to worry about here then the man he was regarding with such disdain was going to be the next captain of his ship, but the life of one man was still worth the risk in his eyes.

In the mean time the man for which such a huge gamble was being made was not having a happy time of it at all. In all the equipment that had come with him, there was not a torch. The last five minutes had been spent in darkness, crawling over things that were way too crunchy to be normal parts of the ship till he found a suitable bulkhead. from there the pilot had slowly edged his way to where he hoped a console would be but there was nothing. For the first time in months curses and oaths echoed around the cavernous interior of the ship.

Riley made a mental note. Normally deep space exploration ships of this sort were jammed wall to wall with sensors, weapons and extra shielding. There should not have been room to scratch yourself let alone twenty or thirty meters of nothing, and once again nothing on the walls. A further few minutes of cursing and experimentation brougt some luck. After tripping and jamming his head on some panel it blinked to life giving the private just enough light to see the light switch he was so desperately looking for. Feeling confident for the first time in half an hour or so, Riley hauled himself up and reached for the switch. Modern computers are good, they don't just fire the lights at full intencity they slowly come up, allowing a persons eyes to adjust. The rookie had been in the dark so long that any light was good enough, but once the full scene was visible he decided the dark was a much better option.

There was much dust and a trail could easily be seen from where he had first beamed on board to where he was now. He had crawled over an arm and a torso of some kind, but what was worse was the fact that was not the only body in the room. The Sensor array control had been torn from its mountings, where it was now was anyones guess, and in its place was a massive table. Tied to chairs around were the remains of nine people. The antiseptic air of the ship combined with the natural dryness had instead of letting the corpses rot, dried them out. This was what was so crunchy under hand and foot. In front of the deceased, in varying states of freeze-drying were meals obviously carved from dozens of carcasses scattered around the room. This was the work of a very sick mind.


Ok Fiksal, I'll have to finish this later. its getting a little late but as you can see, the identity of these nine people is known to me but the story is now raging out of control. With a little patience I will have it finished. This bit may need a bit of editing. I hope you like... and if you want, it can get waay more bizzare and melancholy.

Enjoy, Phil.

*EDIT- Used the word "carcasses" twice. Fixed.
*EDIT2- More Paragraphs added
*EDIT3- New line for most quotes

[philip_hughes]

Although the gate system is a source of income for many races, the sorry truth is that although one species or other uses the network for a time, there is always another war, another famine, another catastrophy. The gates therefore spend 99% of their time idle, recieving no traffic for millenia... only to be disturbed for a few short years then to lapse into silence again.

The unknown sector in which the Majestic wandered was home to a powerful species... at least it was seven thousand years ago before the supernova. Nowdays you would be hard pressed to find a fragment of brick that remained of this prosperous people. Philosophers from this ancient civilisation would have regarded their race succesful if only one artifact remained. Sadly they failed their own standards, the system was utterly desolate, silent, the gate fallow.

No one had gone there for at least a thousand years so the arrival of the Majestic was an exciting century, following the Majestic was quite a flurry of activity, and now the fabric of space was torn apart once again by the entrance of the Spectre, an Argon military Titan, over a kilometer long. This sector was having a red letter day.


Captain Targ on the other hand, was not.
"Status report" he barked. The white faced officer stammered out various ship stats and fell into silence, relieved there were other things to occupy this task master today. Targ did not wait for another of his clumsy, undertrained officers to wreck the sensor array. He vaulted the hand rail and pushed petty officer simpson aside.

"This" He addressed the crew loudly "should have been in Rileys report. We were pretty sure the majestic was here, but it would have been nice for him to tell us this:" and with a few swift keystrokes the main viewscreen blinked to life. Right in the middle, represented by a green circle was the Majestic, but littered around it was literally dozens of other ships, ranging from fighters to freighters, even another corvette. All were abandoned, some showing signs of a fight, others with no damage at all, shields in tact.
"What does this say?" He addressed his crew. If there were any crickets on board, they would have been chirping. With no other voice to fill the silence, the captain contined.
"You have to ask a few questions to survive in space... One of them is: 'What are all these abandoned ships doing here?' This one" He indicated a Split fighter with practically no hull left
"... was beaten into submission. This one" He showed a paranid freighter with no shields but untouched hull
"..had some kind of system failure, possibly life support and this one" He added heavily highlighting a Boron Mako "... Has full shields and armour. No indications of where the pilot is or what happened to him. Can anyone join the dots yet? The loud silence became no softer.

With a sigh of resignation, the captain quickly plotted a probability field.
"This ship, the Majestic is right in the centre of all of this, and our friend Riley did not think to communicate any of it." The still silent crew were treated to one more withering stare before the captain turned to the Navigation officer.
"How long before transporter range?" A little bit of insight told this man that he may be required to calculate just that a minute or two ago, so by the time the words left Targs mouth he had an answer ready. With speed that left the captain pleasantly suprised he said
"Just over 45 minutes sir". Suprise was overcome rather quickly by the thought that someone could be in trouble and would not recieve any help for at least another half hour.
"Plot a course" and with that, Targ strode off the Bridge.


Ok another part finished... Please, If you notice any errors, post. Im largely doing this cause someone asked about the others and the story is just pouring out. In raw form its a little rough, with some polish its way more readable. Im not to embarrassed to correct errors highlighted.

*EDIT- Paragraphs broken up, capitalisations corrected.

[philip_hughes]

45 minutes, depending on where you are and what you are doing can be percieved very differently. If you are waiting to get a meal from your supposed "fast food" outlet, 45 minutes is agonizingly slow. If on the other hand you only have 45 minutes before your execution, time is flying. Private Riley was about to be in the centre of these analogies, for as a matter of curiosity, 45 minutes is the same amount of time it takes to cook a human leg on medium heat. Although a rookie, the man was not stupid. He realised that people did not cook and freeze dry on their own, and was pretty certain that whoever did this may have been and might still be here. This person may have an ample supply of food on hand and also was beginning to suspect that the odd home delivery roast arrived from time to time thinking they had just claimed a corvette. It was at about this time private Riley realised that a gun would have been a nice addition to his equipment as well as his torch. Then he was aware of heavy breathing and a sharp sensation on his neck.


Riley turned slowly. Yes. The sharp object was a knife. the owner had the look of a man who had substituted reality for a pair of monkey bars years ago. Wild flecks of froth appeared at the corner of his mouth, he seemed to be listening to something.

"yes" he replied to the very obviously defunct dinner guests,

"The seventeenth course is here! Stop complaining Geldorf, thank you Laylan, I wish you wouldn't interrupt though."

Just added that bit before bed. It will all be resolved soon. Just been a bit busy to write recently. Enjoy.

*Edit Spoken parts given lines of their own.

[philip_hughes]

Riley was roughly thrown on the floor, his gear removed and tossed on the bench beside him. One arm was lightly lassoed to a convenient hand rail, then the mad stranger pulled out a chair and sat opposite. "Struggle all you want. The rope is not that tight, you may escape yet..." There was a faint smile playing at the edge of his lips as he muttered "the more adrenalin in your system the tenderer the meat.". Riley turned slighly then pulled himself to a sitting position. From this angle he now had his first good glimpse of his attacker. Quite young and tall, wearing a torn uniform with the deep space exploration patch but no rank or medals. the only thing that did repose on his right breast was a faded name tag. "Almanicstrat" Riley said aloud. "you are the son of lamonarstrat, the chef." Almanicstrat looked over, the smile faded. "My father was a good man" He said a little too cooly. "yes... your father." Continued Riley. "He was arrested, wasn't he? Now what were the charges?" Ice flakes were beginning to form in the normally happy tones of his captor. He raised his voice and asserted again "My father was a good man!" The rookie smiled. "ah yes the good chef. He had a son, didn't he... Now what happened? Thats right, he was found in the basement of his fathers hotel, chained to a chair...." The madman started to turn red. Veins appeared at his temples. "my father was a good man!!" he asserted. Riley continued. "It was said that his son, Almanicstrat was never allowed to go outside, that he had to sit and slice the meat, that if the slices were not perfect he would be wired to the punisher, a device outlawed by every race but the Split. You must have..." But whatever almanicstrat must have been was drowned out by an almighty shriek. "MY FATHER WAS A GOOD MAAAAN!!!" Riley lowered his voice. "your flesh must be quite tender by now...." With that, the nearest object, which happened to be Rileys bag of equipment was flung with amazing force against the rear wall. There was a fizzling sound followed a few seconds later by the faint smell of ozone. "I think that a tender meal is a small price to pay in return for your silence." And with that Almanicstrat went to a drawer and fished out a knife that in Rileys eyes was much larger than practical. His pulse raced, not only because he could see death approach but there was a rumbling sound that was getting louder.

Claxons began sounding all over the Spectre. Captain Targ rushed onto the bridge. "report!" A freckled youngster with a very white face that Targ recognosed as Johnston spoke up. Rileys ship, sir! Its turning! A pained look began to creep behind the captains eyes which he quickly stifled. "well, when it comes back we can get a first hand account of what has been going on over there." "that will be difficult" continued Johnston. "theres no one in the ship" "WHAAAAT? RED ALERT!!"

The Argon training program is designed to give sequential advice to youngsters as they progress through three months of vigerous instruction. Each successive week builds on the previous one leaving the pilot with a comprehensive knowledge of his ship and systems. Week five, transport systems follows week four; Securing ship controls. Riley had done neither of these weeks, so how was he to know that the last control to be activated after a transport would activate again if it were not secured properly? Now the control device was a mere puff of smoke thanks to Almanicstrats tantrum, the strafe drive was once again firing up and the small ship began its agonizing final journey into the Majestic. Although small compared to other ships, an M5 is still fifty or so tonnes of super hard metal that is fully capable of putting a hole in anything given sufficient velocity. Almanicstrat raised his knife, but as he was increasingly aware of the rumbling noise, dropped it and made his way to the only window on the deck. The sight of a fighter on a collision course was of course an unnerving one and he began to sprint away. With a rending crash and massive shockwave, the fighter tore into the corvettes hull. The hole was small, only 25 centemeters in diameter but with reduced systems and no shielding, it was enough to decompress the entire ship. Almanicstrats futile attempt to get away was scoffed at by the universe in general as he was bodily picked up and thrown through the tiny opening. He became stuck halfway through, and Riley, who was rapidly losing consciousness had the strength to wince. The last thought that went through his mind was "thats one hell of a hickey..."

Thats the next installment... nearly done. I know im using minutes and seconds but im sure you can think of a good technobabble reason for that.. the universal translator had a... circuit.... reprogram... glitch in the ...wave ...recompressor. Yeah. thats it..

Will write again soon.

[SOTS]

I like the story! Nice ideas.

Small thing, to do with the dialogue. When a new person talks, it's generally best to start a new line, to keep it clear that someone else is speaking. Also, sometimes it's easier on the eye to have slightly shorter paragraphs, simply cos I keep losing my place my monitor refresh rate seems abnormally low...

Other than those relatively minor things, good work!

It's certainly original

[fiksal]

yep, good stuff.

Doesnt seem like it's a "short" story anymore
And if understood it right - they shouldn't be able to hear the approaching M5

[philip_hughes]

The bridge of the Spectre was deadly quiet. Captain targ sat down slowly and said: "Prepare to jump out, we have a patrol to finish." All of a sudden a flurry of voices began in protest, but were cut off sharply. "Navigation. How long until we are in transporter range?" The officer tapped a key and replied: "Twenty minutes sir" The captain then patched himself through to the sick bay. "sorry for the interruption Doctor, but how long can a human survive in a totally decompressed environment?" There was a moments pause before the comms crackled to life again. "Two minutes thirty seconds normally, eight minutes if he's very lucky. With slow, deliberate steps Captain Targ walked to the comms and flipped the switch off manually. In a softer, more kind voice he addressed the crew. "if you went in there, it wouldn't be a rescue mission it would be a body recovery mission. Let the cleanup guys handle it. We'll mark the position and they will get to it in a few months time. He will get a good burial, but we have other things to worry about.

The Spectre never made its report. The routine patrol that was interrupted by the Majestic incident was doomed from the start. Two hours after resuming their mission, they encountered an overwhelming force. They put up a valiant struggle, but one ship against so many Khaak destroyers can only have one outcome. Captain Targ's body, if you care to search can be found floating in space in one of the border sectors. A testamant to his leadership is the wreckage of six destroyers which he managed to take with him. The final messages to his family, the frightened ramblings of his crew and any other personal objects were obliterated with the rest of his ship. Occasionally his lifeless head bobs against the only recognisable part left of his once proud vessel. A massive plate with the word "Spectre" written upon it. The ship has now embodied its name.

[philip_hughes]

Ok got the message SOTS. One more bit to do before the story is wrapped up, but I think the next thing is an ALMIGHTY cleanup of what I have. Next post will be implementing some of your suggestions.

Fiksal, I will try to figure out a technobabble reason as to why our mad friend was compelled to look through the window. Shouldn't be too much trouble. Im sure those ion drives disrupt space and emit gravitrinos.... that.. poke your brain....

[fiksal]

Fiksal, I will try to figure out a technobabble reason as to why our mad friend was compelled to look through the window. Shouldn't be too much trouble.

could be just as simple as noticing moving or flashing lights outside,
or if the corvette was more or less online, perhaps some sort of proximity warning could sound

not that you should change it, just something I noticed.

[philip_hughes]

Fiksal, I will try to figure out a technobabble reason as to why our mad friend was compelled to look through the window. Shouldn't be too much trouble.

could be just as simple as noticing moving or flashing lights outside,
or if the corvette was more or less online, perhaps some sort of proximity warning could sound

not that you should change it, just something I noticed.

Well.. if you noticed anything, then wilful suspension of disbelief is not occurring.... probably a more deep seated issue than the rumbling of a ship.. or in your mind sound carrying in vacuume could be pivotal to your belief of the whole story. Means ive gotta write better Will deal with the other editing first tho... and possibly finish the story. this stuff makes my head hurt.

[fiksal]

and possibly finish the story. this stuff makes my head hurt.

good luck

[philip_hughes]

The quote: "Guns don't kill people, people do" is a saying that has populated the universe. No one knows who originally came up with it, but it has appeared in the literature of every major race to date. Granted, there are versions that suit a race a bit better like the split: "It isnt the gun thats good at killing people its the warrior who weilds it" to the Boron: "People have found a more deadly application for a gun than long range sculpting"

The basic misnoma of the phrase lies in the fatal potential of the weapon. It should not be suprising that a gun can kill you, because 99.99% of objects in the universe can. The suprising bit is the 0.01% that is NOT fatal. Space is suprisingly ordinary, but put a human in it and he dies a most hideous death, there are billions of stars, nebulae, asteroids and black holes, each with their own specific and gruesome method of extracting life from anything that goes near it.

So it comes as a suprise to the generally emotionless ether when something comes along that doesen't kill people. Spaceships are one such phenominum. But in this case it proved to be the antithesis of everything it stood for, because in front of the majestic's massive engines, right where the fullstop in the nameplate should be was a gaping hole created by Private rileys small vessel. If you looked closer, however, you would have seen pastey white flesh, gruesome bits of bone, but behind that, a strange brown object blotting out the interior of the ship.

And into this baffling reality woke private Riley.

He was still a little light headed, but this was ok, the gravity unit had shut down eight hours ago. He did have the presence of mind to realise that he should have been dead by now and began the arduous task of figuring out what next. A painful jolt on his hand informed him that the matter of being tied to the wall of the ship was not quite dealt with, and he was quite literaly at the end of his tether. Upon opening his eyes he was sorely dissapointed by the lack of difference. The lights were out as well as the gravity. A sharp sensation in the other hand did inform him where his mad captors knife had gotten to, and with suprising resourcefullness, his hand carefully closed over the blade and it was brought to bear on the restraints that had been his constant companion for what was probably a day or two.

As the knife was cutting away, the thought occurred to Riley that this flimsey restraint was the only reason his arse wasn't sticking out of the side of the ship as well, although he was quite confused as to why he was alive at all. When he was finally free, another half hours groping and cursing in the dark brought him the answer. The lights went on slowly and it was apparent how procarious his positiopn was.



Didnt even check this for spelling! will need a lot of work, but the next bit is done... This is nearly finished.. honest!

*Edit- Used "spaceship" twice, fixed

[SOTS]

It's good! The odd mistake here and there, but you said you hadn't proofread it yet.

Looking forward to the next chapter!

[philip_hughes]

As the light slowly went up, the first thing to register in the mind of the rookie pilot was the amount of objects that seemed to be drifting toward the other side of the ship. Soon it was obvious that HE was one of those objects. As he got closer his ears popped indicating a pressure differential. Riley grabbed a passing arm and prodded his way over to the nearest console. A few button presses confirmed what he feared. the ship was venting atmosphere. A brief check revealed that a massive table had been tossed up and thrown clean against the breach which was most probably caused by his fighter. No escape there then. Closer inspection of the table revealed not a clean seal. He could just make out the end of one foot on one side and the end of another on the other. Riley wondered to himself if his captor, for that is who he was assuming the feet belonged to, was still conscious when the table forced its way over his crutch. There was enough power left to run the emergency ventilation system, but this was obviously failing. Another half hour or so and life, or at least his version of it, would not be able to exist anymore.

A couple of desperate minutes revealed a master switch that the ships former proprieter had installed. It killed most of the systems, including the damage mitigation field; a device that spread any hull damage across the entire ship thus preventing hull breaches of this sort. This switch essentially made the ship look like a derelict, ripe for the claiming. With a throw of what he considered to be an overly elaborate lever, the table which up until this point was firmly wedged against the wall clattered noisily to the floor. Most of Almanicstrats lower torso fell with it leaving only a smallish piece of vertibrae as a protrusion from now a nearly flawless panel. Private Riley now had a convenient place to hang his helmet. The rest of the torso were of no further use to either their previous or current owner. A few minutes later the body part was spinning slowly in the ether of space in an unknown sector in a far flung part of the Galaxy. Riley on the other hand now had his hands on the Majestic, an experimental self contained exploration capital ship. All that was needed was for him to collect a few parts from the ships around and he could make it to dry dock for repair and new orders... or maybe he could just take it for himself... In a few seconds the private that had dissapeared in a brief recovery mission had made the decision never to re-appear again. He had a ship and no need of the regimented lifestyle he was previously conscripted into. So began the life of another privateer.


All done bar the shouting. I can add adventures if I want to but this bit is complete *phew!!*

Will edit a bit later.. Needs a bit of work to get it to scratch. the spelling mistakes onthe previous one are unbelievable!!

[SOTS]

Glad to see Riley pulled through!

Good story, hope to see more adventures soon

[philip_hughes]

Yeh.. a little bit "he said, she said" towards the end but I thought people deserved to know what happened.

Unfortunately for me, I already have a few plot thingies I can use. Will write them here so i don't forget.

1. His girlfriend in the closet.

2. The unknown sector and the extinct race.

3. Special features of his new ship (have not decided if it is an Argon m7 yet)

4. Anything else he cares to pick up in the derelect ship field.

5. The defunct dinner guests and their capacity to not quite go away

6. The use of body parts as household utensils (possibly too impractical and macabre, but I like the spine coat rack)

Theres enough there for a mini novel, but the thrill of new writing usually ensures editing never happens. I should exhibit a little discipline with what I've got...

[SOTS]

lol True, but you can't edit if there's nothing written at all

Besides, body part utensils (body tools? utensil parts?) seem to appeal