Thanks for the comments people.
I thought the reporter angle could be interesting. It's flexible - it lets him be a passive narrator, or an active participant. Problem is, I'm starting to like this character, which is difficult when... Well, I don't want to give any spoilers away here!
A short part.
Part Eleven
I'm no hero.
Perhaps I am too used to writing ‘Pirate Sectors’ and ‘hostage crisis’ in the same sentence. Slaving is almost a hobby in these parts, along with hijacking, kidnapping, sport-killing. I had even heard rumours of bio-weapon testing on sentient species. Nasty stuff. Entering this sector did not fill me with confidence.
“No,” K told me. “Loomanckstrat’s fine. We run the show here. Down in Moo-Kye's is where you have to watch out – nasty pirates there.”
Sarah agreed: “Even I don't pass through there without good friends in Orinoco's”
“We normally use Shades if we want to go south,” he added. “Avoid antagonising our neighbours.”
“The Yaki?”
“Among others,” Sarah said. “Yaki are organised. The loner gangs are worse. Imagine the kind of person that gets kicked-out of a pirate clan! Nasty people. Little groups of slavers or killers lurking in M3s. Ruthless.”
“We’re actually doing a joint project to clean up these sectors,” said K. “The First House talks to them, tries to lure them into the fold. Failing that, the Shades wipe ’em out. Our own breed of philanthropy.”
“The Shades!” I exclaimed. “Yes! I meant to ask. So what’s the connection?”
“Between us and the Shades?” He asked. “Different groups – same aims. Compatible needs.”
“So you're separate groups?”
“Kind of. But we’re pretty symbiotic. Our aims are almost identical, and we compliment each other perfectly.”
“In what way?”
“Well, it’s like this, we provide them with resources, equipment, safe harbour and purpose; they provide us with an elite unit: some of the best fighter-pilots in space. They’re quite legendary.”
“Okay. So what are your ‘shared aims’.”
“Toppling the government and making Argon strong again.”
“So, you're saying the Shades and... and...” I trailed off. I was now staring past Sarah's shoulder, out of the cockpit to where that ominous station loomed. “We're not going here?”
“Welcome to the Anarchy Port. Old Annie,” he said. “Home.”
...
The docking clamps had barely locked when I felt another nauseating wave of energy pull through my body. K and I were transported to the interior.
“This,” he winked. “Is the bit your average pirate never gets to see. Come.”
He strode for a door. I trailed after him into the next room. As I entered, the scale of this room hit me. It was huge! Far from cluttered little spaces of most stations, this single room was the size of a wheat farm! Could a room this big possibly fit in here? Evidently. A myriad of people in Goner-style clothes darted around the room.
My host led a path through the room. I trailed behind gaping like a fool.
To my right, an awesome sight: the hugest mass of information technology I had ever seen. Imagine the Antigone Archives, the pride of the Federation, and multiply this by ten. Maybe twenty. Now you have the idea. By mere existence this place mocked Antigone. And this was just to my right!
To the left, the towers. The far wall was coated in one giant bookshelf stacked over twenty metres high. Perpendicular to the wall, in lines leading into the room, were shelves, similarly high and stacked with dark crates. Teams of hover-forklifts – streaks of yellow – serviced these shelves, retrieving and replacing boxes at the command of terminals at each end of each row. It was an artefact archive. Perhaps you have visited the Holy Goner Library in the main Goner Temple in Cloudbase SW? If so, you will have some idea (if not, I heartily recommend it!) Experts consider the Holy Goner Library to be the leading artefact library in the Universe. It is a breathtaking collection of antiquities. Yet it would fit in the merest corner of this monstrous construction.
“Our little library,” K laughed, moving his arm to take in the whole room.
...
Outside, a lone Buster was somehow granted docking permission. It crept into the docks.
...
At the end of the room was a small Stimuline-Bar – men in Goner-style robes sat quietly at the tables around us.
“Have you ever heard a good reason for the Argon suppression of Earth history?” he asked after I had recovered from the sheer scale of the room. “Anything convincing?”
I remained silent.
“To start anew all over?” he asked. “Clean slate. Right?”
“As I understand it, yes. As they could never go home they buried the history of it,” I replied cautiously. “Is that untrue?”
“Not untrue. But it’s not the whole truth either. It’s rather...” he trailed off, putting a finger to his ear.
“It’s rather..?” I prompted.
He was looking behind me now, distracted.
“Rather?”
“Sh!... wait,” he snapped. I looked behind me, lots of men in robes walking around; nothing seemed different.
He started speaking quickly.
“There’s something I have to attend to right away. Urgent. You should catch some rest, then we can... Or if... Yes! You’re a researcher, aren’t you? You’re known for your research? In your journalism? That’s your Thing, right? Okay! A challenge. You've got an hour... No. A stazura. Lose yourself here in the archive. I’ll clear you for use of all the equipment. Use it all. Look up everything you want to know about the First House. Go nuts! See what you can figure out. Colt’s diaries are a good place to start. Colt Gunne. I'm going to leave you here, I'll be in that room, there, at the end.”
I peered in the indicated direction.
“Find me when you're done,” he rose to his feet. “No hurry.”
He abruptly vanished into the crowd, leaving me alone in this huge archive.
Free use of the Universe’s biggest Archive!? I was – if you’ll excuse a crude Argon phrase – as happy as an Argnu in defecant!
Rather than trying to accurately remember every source I used, I’ll sum up what I learned from the archives.
Nathan R. Gunne was an Argon hero.
Following the battle to save Earth and the destruction of the Earth-gate, the Earth-fleet were without a home. They searched for many jazuras before finally settling Argon Prime. In the early days of Argon, Nathan Gunne was a very influential man. The Earth battleships – still under his direct command – protected the fledgling Argon Federation.
Nathan and his children founded the first space stations, including the first orbital shipyard and the first weapons plants. Over time, they built a large fleet to protect their space interests. Later, when private space-stations began to spring up, Nathan extended his fleet to take in the defence of all Argon. They became the official defenders of Argon space, known under the honorary titles ‘The House of Gunne’, ‘The First House of Argon’, or simply ‘the House’.
Naturally enough, the Senate down on the planet resented Gunne’s space supremacy. I found the following newspaper article:
Date: 2/7, year: 42, 'The Daily Sonra' The newly formed Senate are challenging the laws on weaponry in space. Under existing laws Nathan Gunne and his heirs – the House of Gunne – own exclusive rights to produce and license weaponry for use in space. They also retain complete control of the defence fleet, along with the right to tax stations for this service. The Senate is trying to overturn this law, branding it ‘fundamentally undemocratic’.
“[This law] dates back to Nathan Gunne's early years,” said Senator Carmen, “It was solely designed to give him full legal command over the War Fleet. Obviously, the law is no longer relevant. There’s no longer a war!”
The Senate claim this law slows weapons research, stifles the economy, and holds back military growth. Family Gunne argues that “the Terraformers respect military force, not market force.”
Nathan Gunne, head of House Gunne, refuses to relinquish weapons rights, stating: “We will not leave the protection of humanity to petty businessmen.”
------------
I was reminded of the magnate in President’s End.
Nathan died in 45, and his son took over the House. The conflict between the Senate and the House continued to grow as the Senate became more powerful. Conversely, as memory of Earth faded, support for the House faded. ‘In fact,’ one article claimed. ‘It was not some childish memory-repression reflex that caused us to turn our backs on the True History [of Earth]. The Senate erased Earth history deliberately to wipe Gunne’s hold on the public imagination.’
...
A later heir to the house was the near-legendary General Nida Gunne. His tactical genius turned the tide in the Xenon war, and led the Argon to victory over the Xenon in 255. Charismatic and able, he significantly restored the Gunnes’ prestige – leading to a new golden age for the House.
Colt Gunne, born 310, was Nida's grandson. Colt lacked the vision and charisma of his grandfather. By all accounts, he was a dry, unappealing man, but a man of principle. It was these principles that led him to drag the reluctant Argon into The Boron Campaign against the Split.
There are varying accounts and varying dates, but this war was clearly longer and bloodier than anyone expected. In the end the Argon barely even won, rather pushing the Split back to a profitless stalemate until the Split lost heart. Colt took no end of political flak for this, as evident in writings of the time:
'The Galaxy', Date: 12.9.351 With our fleet down to 50%, Mr Gunne should be asking himself how he plans to defend us against the next Xenon threat. Indeed, after this unimpressive ‘victory’ over the Split, where we’ve won nothing but the thoroughly unimpressive fish-folk as allies, we collectively wonder: what were we doing there? What were the benefits to us of entering this war?
As Gunne again extorts ‘taxes’ to fund his follies, the Argon people again call out for weapons liberalisation and an accountable military; the Senate again petitions the archaic laws.
After it all, one cannot help but marvel at the sheer front of Mr Gunne as he speaks out against these ‘Evil Split’, who he claims are ‘warlike monsters’ led into battle ‘on the whim of petty militaristic dynasties’. One cannot but wonder if Mr Gunne has ever seen a mirror.
------------
The law was repealed in 350, and the Gunnes were stripped of power. Their ships were commandeered by the Republic – thus founding the Argon Navy – and Gunne’s factories were ‘appropriated’ (Colt’s diaries prefer the word ‘stolen’) and sold off in auctions. In the end, the Gunne’s were left with only the family ship, the Loki, Nathan’s original battleship. Colt was hounded from Argon Prime. The First House finally found solace among the order of the Goner.
Years later a fiery young Gunne known as Nate, supported by some radical Goner, tried to re-establish the Gunne dynasty. He led a charge on Argon Prime. But by now, all memory of Earth was lost, along with any tolerance for the Gunnes. The Navy were taking no prisoners. They attacked, and chased ‘the traitor’ south, through ‘Light Home’, finally losing him amid the rocks of Ore Belt.
The Goner ex-communicated the radicals to distance themselves from Gunne.
Nate, and his ex-Goner friends set up a base far north of the North Gate amid the asteroids of Ore Belt.
Eventually the Loki made one last flight taking Family Gunne – The First House – into the new sectors. They seized Loomanckstrat’s Legacy as their home.
...
I finished my research as if awaking from a long sleep. Nearly two stazuras had passed. I wandered across the archive. The room at the end was locked, but as soon as I pressed the buzzer, I was granted entry.
After exchanging some pleasantries with K, I came to the one thing that had stuck in my mind from my research. The one thing I couldn’t resist asking.
“So,” I said. “Nathan’s flagship. The Earth ship. The Loki?”
“Loki, yes. At least, that was the pirate name. Earth pilots knew it as something else... Dragonfire, I think.”
“Right...” I hesitated. “It flew here? To Loomanckstrat’s?”
“Yes.”
“It’s still... operational.”
“Completely.”
“And it’s... Is it still here? In this system?”
“It’s here.”
“Can I see it?” I almost begged.
“Sure can.”
...
'Light Home' yes, that is Home of Light.
I might be wrong, but in the very first X game - X-BTF - even though the text still said 'Home of Light', I'm sure the computer audio called it 'Light Home'. So I thought I'd use that as the system's 'old' name.
(Or maybe my memory's just making this up... ...it's been a long time since I played X-BTF! Anyone care to corroborate?)
Cheers, but can't take all the credit for the history!
I've based it quite largely on the time-line in that Argonopedia site I hyper-linked earlier. Just built as close as I could around what was already there. There's still more to come though! Next part tomorrow... or just maybe REAL late tonight.
There's something else I'm hoping to get posted tonight...
“The Loki,” K repeated.
He led me to a terminal in an adjoining room. He punched in a few commands, and on-screen appeared a large ship flying out the dock of the Port.
“That’s just a Bayamon!”
“No. This is a live feed of the Anarchy Port from a laser-tower outside.”
“Okay. And the Loki?”
“You’ll see it in a moment. But first, so you know what it looks like...”
He entered more commands and the second monitor activated. It showed video-playback footage.
Laser fire, fighters – it looked like battle footage.
“This,” he said, “is the First Battle – the battle to save Earth – as seen from the Valkyrie. Another ex-pirate Earth-fleet battleship, just like the Woden back at the museum.”
A ship exploded on screen – now some Terraformers flew toward the camera, veering off impossibly late – a large battleship glided into view in the background, the image zoomed in on it.
“The Loki,” he said proudly. “The biggest of the lot. Nathan’s flagship.”
The image froze with Loki filling the screen.
“There!” he said. “Familiar?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’ve...”
I trailed off. Something strange was happening. Suddenly my eyes saw correlations between the two screens in front of me. Matches between the images – the image of the Loki, to the right, and, to the left... the Anarchy Port.
“You’ve seen it,” he encouraged. “Go on! Say it.”
“The Anarchy port... the bit in the middle? The core, underneath the outer cylinder... that and the Loki. They’re very similar?” I ventured.
“They are.”
“Are... are they the same? The Loki and the Anarchy Port. They’re the same?”
“Give the man a Stott Cake!” He clapped my torso heavily. “Yes! Yes, what is now the core of the Anarchy Port was once the Loki. Nathan’s own battleship... converted to a station.”
“This is... it’s. So we’re in the... in an Earth ship? Now?”
“Ha! This very ship once sat over Argon Prime! The guardian angel. And after that, the Goner Temple in Cloudbase SW was built around Loki. When we had to go into hiding, we had to detach from the Temple, left a huge gap in the middle! Even just twenty-five years ago, back when Brennan showed up, you remember the Temple still had the gap in the middle? No way to dock – Remember? Back when you had to space-walk in.”
“I remember.”
“Well this is why! Loki had been the centre of the Temple.”
“I always heard how...” I trailed off.
“What?”
“They always said the Anarchy Port could move if it had to. If it was attacked. Pack up and set off for a new sector, they said. I just never believed it. A flying station!?”
“Sure. We only moved here a few jazura ago.”
“This will make an amazing story: the Anarchy Port, originally an Earth Battleship.” Something dawned on me. “So that’s why...”
“Yep!” He read my mind. “That’s why we call this place Old Annie.”
True professional that I am, I could think of nothing to say!
...
Behind us a door slipped open.
We turned to see a small man in a large Goner-style robe entering the room.
“Hey!” K called. “This is a private meeting room. If you’re looking for...”
“Quiet,” the intruder said. He pulled a gun from his pocket – the Atomiser, a deadly energy weapon.
“Easy,” my host said. “What do you want?”
The intruder pulled back the hood of the robe. He had a clean-shaven head, large eyes and a tribal tattoo twisting up the side of his face. He looked familiar: had I met him before?
My host recognised him immediately. “Jiaron, the assassin. You’re here to kill me.”
“You’d be dead already,” the assassin stated. “No. My key objective is the leader.”
“You won’t get to him.”
“You’ll take me to him.”
“No. Not happening.”
The assassin pointed the gun at K. “That was not a suggestion.”
“Kill me, you’ll never get to him.”
“True,” the assassin said. He turned the gun on me. “Then the Boron dies.”
I froze.
“You can’t do that,” K said icily.
“I am doing it,” the assassin snapped back. “Your leader. Now. Or the Boron dies.”
“No.”
“He will die.”
K shook his head. “You won’t do it.”
Their eyes were locked on each other. I heard my limbs clicking with tension. A sick feeling was rising within me.
“Last chance,” the assassin’s voice was cold, detached.
“Get lost.”
The assassin pulled the trigger.
...
Last edited by The Zig on Thu, 10. Aug 06, 14:00, edited 1 time in total.
Ouch! What an event at the end of it. Love the story around the gap in the Goner temple! Classic Looks like the security wasn't all that tight. Assassin arriving in Buster and getting right through to the private meeting rooms. What you have left open is, what was K doing in the meeting room before? He obviously noticed something out of the ordinary. Or was the assassin just a ploy for something else?
When you stare into a gun your brain speeds up. Adrenaline, I suppose. Lots of things pass through your mind. Odd things. Things you forgot you had. Memories. Smells. Jokes from decades ago. Old pains and regrets. Images. It’s an odd feeling, not entirely unpleasant.
But then, the moment you see that trigger pulled, that one instant, everything Stops. Your brain goes crazy. It totally over-clocks itself, scrambling through your mind desperately looking for some forgotten solution, anything to cling to. For that moment – just a fraction of a sezura to anyone else – just for you Time Stops Dead. An eternity in an instant – a universe in a jar.
Looking back, it seems like a vivid quick-fire slide-show of images, but at the time it didn’t feel that way at all. It was relaxed, like a casual jaunt through the Gallery of the Life of Fu Jila. I peered at the exhibits; the accumulated memories of a lifetime passing before my eyes. In this wing, moments of exaltation: the time I rode an Emperor Orca, the time I surfed in Profit Share, the time...
I was six; for school I had to write a mock news-story on why Yarks were the best pets. With a childish passion, I intended to definitively prove it! So I gleaned facts from encyclopaedias; I referenced fictional stories and newspaper reports to prove how loving and loyal Yarks were. I spent hours poring over dictionaries for just the right words to express my meaning. Then I translated it from Giuhruhn – my own vernacular – rewriting it in standard Boron. Sure, I spent tazuras on this thirty mizura homework assignment, but it was worth it: my audience were blown away! The finished piece was passed wildly around the staff, they passed it on to friends, colleagues. Before long my parents were called in, and all kinds of educational specialists came to see me. Even big newspapermen came in to see little me. Finally my article was published in the global news-wire as part of an article about me, a ‘budding boy journalist’. For a day I was the talk of the planet!
More exhibits: my Knighthood in the Kingdom; my being accepted as a Friend of the Goner; my...
Uh oh! My One Obsession...
My family are lower-level nobility (little-known fact: I am 109th in line for the throne). The royal-family were at a family wedding I once attended. At this time, I was an awkward adolescent. I had grown suddenly and now my limbs were all the wrong size. I’d become clumsy. It was nearing the end of the night and it was time for dancing. All I wanted was to hide in a corner, and think empty thoughts about how meaningless things were (I was at that particular phase of adolescence!) My mother would hear none of it! She made me dance, forced me to. Awkward, shy and clumsy, I was dancing so badly. The Queen was looking over the dance-pool at us – she seemed smaller in real life – and I was convinced she was staring at me. When she laughed, I was sure she was laughing at me. I just wanted to dive into a corner and disappear and be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Suddenly I was face to face with Perfection. The Princess. Pictures never do her justice, she is Perfect. I froze. I almost missed my chance to dance, but the beautiful Princess smiled in just such a way that these frozen limbs melted. We danced. We danced perfectly. She brought out perfection in me, I could dance! And we shared a perfect moment. Then the song finished, it was over and she was gone.
For mazuras afterwards, life was grey, dull. Lifeless. No one else could match her. No one else made me feel Perfect. For jazuras I was obsessed with her, going to every family function she possibly might attend. When I finally met her again four jazuras later she didn’t remember me at all. That was bitter. Eight mazuras after that, I married a woman just because she looked like the Princess. Really, there was no other reason. An ‘err in haste, regret at leisure’ kind of thing...
After that my mind ran back to the highs: when my undercover work brought down a Split slaving ring; my estranged wife turning up with my three jazura old daughter – that quiet child who stared up at me with my own eyes.
That led into the wing of regrets... The grandest wing of all. The best lit. I spent days wandering through here. Studying every nook.
...
He had pulled the trigger, and in that instant I lived a lifetime.
...
There was a bright flash as energy arced from the weapon – hundreds of tiny lightning bolts, unfocussed, striking to the walls and floors all around. The assassin’s hand jolted, he jerked his arm back and the weapon clattered to the floor.
Falling back into real time, I heard K snort a laugh.
“Saw you coming, Jiaron,” he said. “Energy weapons won’t work in here.”
The assassin nodded philosophically. His hands vanished into the robe, emerged with two long, smooth, curving blades.
K’s face twisted into a smile.
“I know you,” I heard myself tell the assassin.
My mind flashed back to that distant Boron trading station where the black-mask woman had contacted me. A quiet drink interrupted. The secretary and the First House. The long room that could have been a corridor. The airlock chambers. The dead woman with the smashed visor and the red blood on the walls. But just before that... from the neighbouring airlock... the small, shaven-headed man with the facial tattoo who came from the neighbouring airlock...
“It was you! On the station!” All at once, I realised, “You killed the black-mask woman!”
K made an odd noise. His eyes were narrow now. The smile had gone.
“Her name was June,” he rasped. Almost a growl.
I noticed the assassin glaring at me now. Realising I was still his leverage against K, I shrank back against the wall.
The assassin lunged at me, but K kicked at his ankles, sending Jiaron sprawling to the floor beneath me. As he scrambled upright, I saw K had taken some fighting posture. It seemed K knew something about fighting.
Jiaron spun the knives into a backhand grip, so that the silver-blades curved out from his fists. Now he lunged for K, throwing hook-punches. The blades left arcs of light that briefly hung on the air.
K glided back, easily slipping beyond blades’ reach, and now his hand flashed out, grabbing the assassin’s arm. He jerked Jiaron’s arm downward, and with a shuffle of the feet, he had thrown a hard side-kick into the assassin’s ribs. The assassin flew back, slamming awkwardly into the wall. He let out a sharp grunt, and a blade fell to the floor.
Jiaron seemed shaken. He was gasping slightly for breath. He switched the remaining blade to a forehand grip, and made a few threatening moves with it. Now he lunged forward slashing the blade across K’s neck. But K had evaded. Again he made it look easy. The assassin lunged forward again, again, again. K seemed to react even before the assassin moved. Each time the knife flashed for him, he would subtly turn, and watch the blade glide narrowly by.
The assassin was getting frustrated. His lunges grew wilder.
Jiaron launched forward, knife high, vicious, ready slice down into K. This time, instead of moving back, K shifted forward, into the assassin. He quickly stepped through, into Jiaron’s blind-side, so that he was behind the knife-arm as it began its slice down. He caught the assassin’s wrist in the down-swing and guided the arm down onto his rising knee.
Jiaron’s elbow met K’s knee with a loud crack; the assassin screamed as his arm shattered.
K gripped hard on the wrist, his other hand punching across into the assassin’s face. Now he drove a foot into the back of Jiaron’s knee, driving it down to the floor.
K followed the assassin down and twisted him round, gripping the head in one arm and simultaneously pulling the knife – still in Jiaron’s hand – pulling it inwards, deep into Jiaron’s throat. Across.
Again, that red Argon blood.
“June,” K spat into the dying man’s face.
...
A while later K looked up to me. Reading shock in my posture, he grumbled.
“He deserved that. He killed the best wom... the best... He earned this.”
I nodded quickly.
...
A while later, after security personnel had removed the body, I found myself standing next to K. He had been sat at a desk for some time, staring into space. Suddenly he seemed to remember my presence.
“Ah,” K said. “Fu Jila. Right. It’s time. Let’s go upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“Meet the Leader.”
...
Coming out of the little round elevator, we entered a large, rich room. There were exhibits, pictures on the walls; there was that crushing silence you normally find in museums and libraries. The floor was a clean, reflective grey, and the high ceiling a pale white. The walls were light and covered in framed pictures. In one of the frames, I saw something familiar. Something I knew. Curiosity overpowered my unease; I strode toward it.
Nice bit of Wushu there. The 'Saw you coming' sounds a bit like the Matrix line of 'I have been expecting you' Well, that danger is turned away from them, luckily. Nice cliffhanger!
Cheers guys!
...it's been a long time since I played X-BTF! Anyone care to corroborate?)
Now I want to be shot at!