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Valkyrie's Shadow
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Kais Klip
Brutor Tribe
Minmatar Republic
#1 - 2014-03-11 16:09:08 UTC  |  Edited by: Kais Klip
Reviving a past submission from long-ago with an expanded plot time frame and some inspiration from the idea of the in-world interplay between Valkyrie pilots (Valkyrites?), Dustbunnies and - of course - Capsuleers. I'm throwing this out in my spare time, if you happen to take a liking bear with me as the updates might be stop-and-go at times, and as always comments and critisisms is why my vainful soul is here Bear


Valkyrie's Shadow
Angels onto dust


A serpent's hiss slithered through the recycled, stale-dry air as a metallic portal ground open on long-abandoned gears, bathing a figure amidst the dormant monitor screens with a soft cerulean glow. The man turned to greet the newcomer, the light throwing itself onto a slabsided cliff of a face, devoid of all emotion save scorn and perpetual smirk under steel-grey eyes.

"You took your time." He rumbled with the all the subtlety of a moving mountain, harsh azure light cloaking the newcomer into a striding shadow.

"Forgive me for being late. There was an ambush." Came the reply, coat of silver and topping brush of hair reminiscent of Augustan centurions from the ancient days of humanity's forlorn home-world resolving into form with each fall of blue-grey lockstrap boots,

"Trouble on the way here?" the giant intoned, barely interested as he massaged a bare forearm pointedly left uncovered.
"No," The silver man chuckled, stopping short short of him, "trouble with infantry mercs with an admirable affinity for void-craft, at-least for non-augs." He added pointedly, "Mercs that you - personally - recommended to me."

"Mercs are mercs, there will always be trouble the moment they sniff more money."

"Thats the problem, that tells me there's another player on our little turf of space."

"Well the fault doesn't lie with me or mine, I trust your people to run supplementary checks on all the contacts I pass on."

"My people are your people, Khasan," came a chuckle, "And some of them observe that it's hard to run off-grid recon if you insist on scouring each shadow and proximity of our fun little meetings. And-"

"Xemos? The man is like a brother, he'd kill you on an approach, and Kara knows better to trust your kind after what happened to her cousin. The rest don't know enough for you to even bother. Don't try to irritate me with tales of your spineless 'covert aptitude', pod-boy." Khasan practically spat out the last handful of syllables.

"Yet here I am, talking of issues your innermost circle of peers refuses to address." The man spread his open palms placatingly, 'The empress has no clothes, Khas. And don't get aggressive, you bait too easily. Alas, the issue is dealt with, the mistake is learned, we've adapted on our side."

"Any hard materiel loss?" The giant absent-mindedly rolled his shoulders as he turned away to stride back and forth at the thought of recent developments, easing corded muscle that had tensed without command.

"None." The portal closed, tiny vents of steam hissing like millions of miniscule reptilia as the mechanism locked shut.
"None? You said-"

"I said there was an ambush," A bronzed, oval face smiled, eyes of canine copper set amongst closely cropped mowhawk topping the crainium. "I never said we were the ones ambushed."

+++


"Ambush. "

Rosara shifted in her flight seat and swore. Her latest attempt to gain the upper hand had just been re-directed and bested. Her battered flight helmet - her lucky helmet - smacked down next to her co-pilot's. The two parts of crash gear lay on the twinkling control panel, one neglectfully dented and cracked while the other comfortingly solid in it's recent finish of matt black paint. Her current thoughts were definitely not twinkling, in any sense of the word. Greasy, unkempt hair that was once golden fell in knots past her ears. The back of her neck ached, and her head felt too stifled to think.

Fifty-five - no, fifty-six. Fifty-six hours since either of them had seen bed or shower. Fifty-six hours since either mouth was introduced to anything save the dull, taste-bud numbing chem-carb sticks or bitter protein composite pastes that had a reputation for finding their way back up the gullet.

Managing to tear and force down the last chunk of the no-smell, crap-coloured carb-stick from its crackling silver wrapper, Rosara's own saliva tasted alien and foul to her fizzling mouth. The thumb of one hand massaged an aching joint below her ear, while the other crumpled up and discarded the foil packaging down onto the retractable table, the glinting ball of wrapper bouncing and skittering before and coming to rest beside the laminated cards that formed their game. She brought her hand down from her ear to throw down her cards to join the lot.

Her co-pilot wore a leering grin, blood-shot eyes lighting up with twinkling emotion not unlike that of a child discovering a gifted pet.

Ambush; the baiting of one with the initiative, him playing a hand that defeats the one active, which is then beaten in turn with addition of just one card from the defender. Eight points.

He could purchase double what his first pet had cost his alcoholic father from this evening's winnings alone. Fifty- five nineteen. He was winning fifty-five to nineteen.

"How long did he say he would be gone?" She muttered absent-mindedly, trying to resist lashing out in a lapse of frustration and fatigue. She had inquired the same question not ten minutes ago. She didn't care; she just needed to take her mind off of Reece's damnable sniggering as he scooped the pot onto his side of the retractable bench. She noted that his pile was higher than hers. Much higher.
Kais Klip
Brutor Tribe
Minmatar Republic
#2 - 2014-03-11 16:11:35 UTC  |  Edited by: Kais Klip
The lighting failed and they were both thrown into stark darkness for a short moment. It was a fair respite for both, and neither paid any heed to the display before them. The gloom had killed their emerald-green reflections and delivered a view to behold. A glittering star field, half-obscured by a glowing sapphire cloud an impossibly vast way beyond, with the view before them interspaced with tumbling rock, ice, and wreckage. The pale-white glow filtered past the dead cockpit pane and washed both figures in a gentle light. Below it all, off the side, lay a monumentally large wreckage of what once might have been once a forward-post research station, its insides gutted by something just as massive and intractable and left hanging dead, silent and forgotten, the lifeblood of activity that had once run through its iron arterial passageways and bustling hallways spilled out and swallowed by the unforgiving void an age or two ago. On any other day, the panorama might have been beautiful. Majestic, even.

But fifty-six hours have taken their toll on both, and the pair unilaterally acknowledged the fact that they would soon need to break yet another lumen-stick from the cargo hold and hang it above if they wished to continue their little game. The little green tube flickered back on.

"Long enough for me to take you to a hundred."

Rosara gave a little sigh, fingers abandoning her temples to push the cards over to him before she lay her pounding head back and rested her eyes, "Go on then."


Somewhere off in the distance, past mountains of ice and heavens of coalesced gas, a hunk of Mexallon detaches from it's parent rock and hangs still for a lumbering moment. Smaller, man-sized chunks of space rock obliterate themselves against its denser hide, throwing out clouds of glittering shards that confound and blind any magnemetric sensors sweeping the region. Further impacts send glittering lights to dance over the object's borders, glinting flashes of reds and green that are apt caused by the kinetic impacts that rival the most primitive of sub-nuclear warheads.

Sensors of the modified shuttle craft Unseen Vigil record the hunk shuddering as impacts penetrate its sub dermal layers of dense mineral and vent gasses trapped for too long. A calculated, analysed and highlighted statistical curiosity is noted and dismissed as the hulk continues to vent streams of vapour, notably poised as to settle the hunk's tumbling spin no doubt inherited from its geographical parent. Supplementary calculations are composed, evaluated and archived as the hulk begins and maintains a consistent direction and acceleration.

Protocol would dictate a notable alert and course correction recommendation to be made towards the civilian-class shuttle hanging powered down in a geosynchronous orbit around the long-defunct station. The broadcast is overruled by a calculation that states the rogue mexallon debris is to be intercepted by a ridge of tritanium and pyerite in under 20 minutes. A handful of moments later, a course correction is registered and a request for a radar sweep is filed on the navigational display on the non-Capsuleer interface cockpit.


Reece licked his lips as he wagered two-thirds of his lot with another seletine-wrapped card. He was sitting up now, taut for Rosara's retort. A tiny emerald rune lit up with a squeak before he dismissed it with a smack. Rosara sheepishly pushed a card forward. He leered, "Got'cha, stupid girl."


The request denied, another magnemetric sweep is conducted and detects the geographic entity yawning away to merge with the magnetic signature of the sierra just inside detailed resolution range. The suspicious manoeuvre noticed, the craft's rudimentary AI contemplates submitting another request for pilot attention, but decides to postpone the warning until the time when object departs the sierra's footprint. At such distance, a complete and comprehensive report will be composed and delivered to the pilots' helm overlays with ample reactionary time for evasive alignment and warp, even compensating for any delay the male pilot's intoxicated vitals might induce.

Footprint separation not forthcoming, targeting spotters are intensified achingly close to norm levels as evasive simulations are executed upon possibility of discovery. Manoeuvring thrusters are gently spooled and idle solid fuel is prepped for fusion while modified racks of propelled projectiles the database does not recognise are set and locked in pre-firing position, with missile countermeasure ammunition slotted in priority to its offensive counterpart.

A signature separation is detected and sensors reach out with overlapping magnemetric-detecting fields in attempts to pinpoint the source, triangulating the unidentified object hundreds of kilometres too far for accurate visual recognition. A request for increased sensor strength is sent towards the helmet HUDs while the manoeuvring thrusters are slowly angled in both intercept and evasive positions thanks to undetectably-tiny power rationing. Pilot response absent, biological stimulants are readied as mental exhaustion probability is calculated and found significant. Another scan is run at the same time as thermal detectors are levelled and-


Reece's world comes crashing down. Rosara's penultimate card wipes his hand off the grid while she trumps his declared positions with her last. He's losing fifty-six to eighteen. She even manages a weary chuckle, along with an obscene gesture that he swipes to slap away.
Kais Klip
Brutor Tribe
Minmatar Republic
#3 - 2014-03-11 16:13:03 UTC  |  Edited by: Kais Klip
"Fugg!" he cried, "You cheeky bi-"

He was cut by a blaring klaxon, high pitched and urgent as the base of his spine tingled with the warm spread of injected day-stimms.

Rosara's echoed his cry as the cockpit lit up in a cacophony of colours, slamming her helmet on from her co's outstretched hand. "Thermal ignition, seven hundred clicks out."

"Ready to lock, guns levelled to intercept position, I have thrusters warm."

"Hold the lock." Rosara's held up a hand, "Bastard hasn't seen us yet, lets see what he does."

Reece shook his head as he flicked a family of nobs, other hand on the chevroned thruster lever. "He's heading straight for us at full burn, I rather think he bloody saw us."

Rosara's tongue flashed over her lips. "Ok, do a maximum sensor sweep, and zoom into a direct visual when you can."

"Sweep will light us up like Minnies on Holy Day." He held his hand on a textured nob next to a gridded display. A crude and angled bisected oval - an eye - was etched and scratched onto its top.

"If the bastard took the time to sneak up on us like that we're already locked." Rosara's nodded at the nob and the man complied.

The lock-alert rune started wailing.
Kais Klip
Brutor Tribe
Minmatar Republic
#4 - 2014-03-12 17:53:07 UTC
+++


They were in trouble.

More precisely, according to Reece's inane gabbling punctuated by moments of furrowed brow and furious silence as he abused every nob and switch within reach of the co-pilot's flying arms, they were screwed as thoroughly as a Minnie podder looking up to find himself eye-to-eye with the Khanid prime-princeling who's offspring's legs are wrapped around his arse.

Rosara would have asked the discharged navy officer to expand on the half-heard assertion were she not busy losing her grappling bout with the shuttle's controls. The hostile contact had engaged them as soon as their nearspace display bracketed the accelerating bold red cross that had, for all intents and purposes, appeared out of the aforementioned Capsuleer's arse considering all ways in and out of the local grid were supposed to be locked down by a secured gate complex and automated directional scanner sweeps.

Now it was practically on top of them, and despite the Unseen Vigil's superior speed (even with half its main propulsion shot out and spitting thrust in the completely wrong direction), they were projected to spend long enough time burning away from the damn thing for it to dash them against one of the many sierras of rock and debris flashing past their port side.

A blaring blurt drowned out Rosara's shouted command, and she spared a glance from the racing valleys and ranges before her to see her shields stripped more thoroughly than our Khanid princess, before she tried again, "I said overheat the rear pushers and engage all creep thrusters that can be brought about past the perpendicular! And find out just what the hell is on us!"

She didn't bother absorbing her co's another exasperated remark because she had more urgent things to worry about. The Vigil's humble array of rotary duel-barrel cannons were still spitting shells and keeping the flashing trails of omni-missiles of their backs, but they had nothing against the unidentified hostile's unremitting lancing spears of energy that laughably found every mark on the Vigil so far.

While spear-energy weapons such as that of the contact unleashed their power at the speed of light and thereby required almost nil leading even at fleet duelling ranges, the emitters needed time to hurtle the entire store of reserved energy at a target. A timeframe of microseconds, admittedly, but a skilled enough pilot in a small enough craft that positioned herself close enough to the aggressor could yaw, pitch and roll violently enough to avoid a significant portion of the discharge; the laser weapon didn't need to lead, but it still had to trail.

But the hostile's emitters had consistently held every ruby spear of punishing deluge on target long enough for Rosara to realise the weapons must be light enough for the gyros to comfortably keep trail with her fat royal arse. That is why she was close enough to reach out and touch the asteroid whipping past below them at the current moment. While the Vigil was small and agile enough to afford to be able to disengage the emergency break-away thruster protocols upon coming too close to a celestial object, the trailing aggressor had a big enough signature for her to hope it couldn't afford to do the same.

It just happened to be her luck that this looked to be the smoothest asteroid in New Eden. No range of rock to catch and stumble her pursuer, not even valleys or pitted pockmarks deep enough for them to dive into. Nothing but a racing vista of rock, coloured in close enough hues of brown and blasted beige to fix her racing mind on carb sticks.

The Vigil quaked strong enough to drown the shuddering of overheated fusion propulsion thrusters as a beam forced its way through their depleted shields and bit hard across their back.

"Oh daddy," Rosara muttered through clenched teeth, "We screwed up."