Dystopia: The Fallen Angels

[Dreamer128]

Act 1: The Wanderer and his Shadow

Location: Sector 42/11, TF Arioch, Bridge
Standard Solar Time (SST): 05.00
Date: 321/12/19

'The Navy, the adventure of a lifetime', Senior Navigator Jack Johnson thought as the clock indicated that the last hour of the graveyard shift had begun. He was glad the night was over. All of his datascreens promised clear sailing throughout the sector, and the only other officer on duty was a young, sour-faced pilot who hadn't said a word since the beginning of his shift. He sighed. With another 59 minutes on the clock, he might as well try to break the silence.

,,It's incredible, isn't it?'', he said - eying the drink standing next to his console. ,,We, as a race, have evolved for millennia. We've defeated every challenge nature has thrown at us. We've overcome war, disease and famine.'' He sighed. ,,Yet we still drink poorly synthesised coffee from plastic cups. What do you make of that?''

The pilot threw him a dirty look. ,,I take it as a sign you should shut up and start concentrating on your job'', he scowled. Jack smiled. ,,Not much of a job to do out here, is there? Nothing but rocks and dust for solarmiles to come.'' The pilot, a tall man everyone called 'Happy', flipped a switch and stood up. A flickering light on Jacks datascreen indicated that the autopilot had just been activated. ,,What is with you, Johnson?'', inquired the pilot as he slowly strolled towards the Navigators chair. ,,Did you graduate on the technique of complaining and damaging morale?'' Jack threw him a winning smile. ,,I consider it less of a technique and more of an art'', he replied, suddenly noticing the dark gleam in the pilots eyes. ,,Oh, and in case it slipped your mind, I outrank you, as implied by the senior in ‘Senior Navigator’. You as much as lay a finger on me, and you'll be vacationing in the void before the day is over'', he threatened. Although he was far more worried about the kid then about himself. Many members of the crew started displaying erratic and sometimes even violent behaviour after spending months on a small, isolated vessel such as the Arioch. Behaviour that could mean the end of their career.

The pilot turned red and clenched his knuckles. ,,Apologies sir'', he said, emphasising the last word. ,,Think nothing off it'', Jack said as he produced a deck of cards. ,,Care to play a hand?'' The pilot let out a soft groan and returned to his seat. ,,With all due respect, sir. You're pretty f*cking crazy'', he said as he sat down. Jack shrugged. ,,That's the very reason we're out here, my friend. Practically everyone on this ship is either too well trained, connected or experienced to let go, but not nearly reliable enough to set loose in the Inner Systems. So Command assigns us these Deep Space missions to keep us from embarrassing the Navy until it is time for us to die for the cause.'' 'Happy' looked over his shoulder, ,,I never took you for a cynic, Johnson'', he stated. Jack spend a few seconds shuffling his cards before replying. ,,I'm not'', he said after he was done. ,,In fact, I volunteered for this mission.''

[Legolas]

After the first fitting he presented a comical sight. The federation greys seemed to mock his appearance, offering no contrast to a skin pale as the Sophian moons. Fabric dangled forlorn from the wire-thin arms he'd folded around a fragile chest in a fruitless attempt to quell his shivering. Hah. If he'd had training, it was only in following the woman around.
In an ordinary life, Chief Engineer Messman would have dismissed him. 'Report to sickbay, and don't come back until the mission's over. Boys like you just get in the way.' Best weed 'em out early, and if that means a smaller crew it means less hassle. You can't mourn the loss of what you never had.
A wry smile crossed the man's face. It was never that easy, so he prayed to Miran she had some skill at taking in a uniform. Else he might lose his gruff expression come assembly - and he needed the respect.

Not long from his bunk, shoving around goo in the comparative sanctuary of the officers' table, his thoughts unfolded like a freshborn nebula. This was a familiar ritual, the comforting meditations of his own temple. Unfortunate that its spawn, the longings, the pains in his gut, the eternal second guesses, were such unwelcome company. 'There's no time for this,' he would say in defiance, and 'There's no point.' Brief jolts which brought the world into focus, for all the seconds that they lasted.

With a forceful push he shoved himself away from breakfast. All these faceless figures milling about in front of him weren't helping. Mesmerizing scurrying was the last thing he needed now.
"Always the hardest hour," he muttered, promising himself the rest of the day would improve. Activity, the pacing behind his seat, that would bring him round faster than a freezing cold shower. Or better, at least. He'd already braved the latter.
A glance at the clock. Still too early to make an appearance.

[Dreamer128]

Jack Johnson sat alone at his table. The look on his face serving as an effective deterent against the company of the crewmen that were desperately looking for a seat, in these busy minutes before the first shift. He groaned as he compared the latest medical reports to the duty roster. According to the CMO, the void-syndrome had claimed another three victims over the past week. One of them had been overheard talking to his own shadow. An hour later, he had disabled security and stepped out of the airlock, which was now guarded day and night.

Jack put down his coffee. According to the Medical Directorate, the number of VS-related casualties on Deep Space missions rarely exceeded 5 percent. Yet only a few months into the mission, half a dozen people had already been hospitalized and an additional three people had taken their own lives. ,,Twelve percent'', he sighed. He wasn't a religious man, yet he prayed every night that VS wouldn't claim him. It was the paralyzing, all-consuming fear of the blackness that lurked behind every window. The void that was never more than a few hundred meters away. Even spending years in space didn't render a person immune. Rumor had it that even Captain Valentine, with his decades of experience, had been hit hard. Apparently, the captain had locked himself in his quarters. Although only the CMO and the Chief of Operations knew the truth of it. In the meanwhile, the ship was being run by a handful of officers and a skeleton crew. Needless to say, morale was suffering. The lack of activity on the other of The Line also proved to be a tainted blessing. With no unusual activity whatsoever, the crew spend their long shifts wondering when the void would begin to enter their nightmares.

'Ignorantia legis', Jack thought. Even after centuries in space, humanity seemed to be oblivious to the laws of the void. ,,Perhaps the Void-Syndrome is the punishment for our ignorance'', he muttered. ,,What is that sir?'', asked one of the kitchen staff. Jack waved him away and stared at the sole window in the mess, which had been covered with a poster of the New Terra pin-up of the year 320. Navigator Johnson shuddered as he realised he could almost feel the emptiness behind it. As he got up and left, he couldn't help but wonder if it was more than the fatigue.

[Calaethis Dragonsbane]

Uytio sighed; she was faced with that decision again. The decision that came to her each and every time she awoke: did she spend those fifteen extra minutes in bed, or did she see to her hair? Choices, choices. Tying it back was all well and good, but those knots always bothered her throughout the day.

After a moment, ‘necessity’ won over laziness. Despite her hair being shoulderlength, it was still a chore and those who were neglectful rarely were promoted. And so, she rose and as she always did, found the bathroom, showered, tackled her hair, changed out of her jumpsuit and into her uniform and ensured she was fit for duty. Efficent-like.

Her shift was still a while away, but she always gave herself plenty of time. That recreational period kept the craziness away. A good book was key. Escapism: the way out of the dull tedium of life. Still, boring was good; it meant no one was getting killed.

Having ensured her bed and locker was as it should be – tidier than a cadet at ‘bootcamp’ – she grabbed her book and made her way to the mess hall.

After getting breakfast, she sat down at a random table and flipped open the page she was at…

[Elif Godson]

Scott Avery

145..146..147..148..149...150..

Wiping the beads of sweat from his brow as he stood up from doing a round of push ups, Scott looked around his quarters. Bed was made, the day's clothes neaty folded and placed on top of his foot locker. Everything was in it's place, it had it's own order and thats the way he liked to keep it. He stepped in the shower and rinsed off and then got into his uniform. Sliding the chair out from under the desk, he sat down to check his orders for the day. "Good Morning Corporal Avery" chimed the computer voice as it scanned his retinas. Scott proceeded to check his roster for the day, first on the list was to report to the medical lab for a check up. Good times, no VR here! he thought. After that he was going to head to the rec area and then get some breakfast. He checked the clock, it was still several hours before it was served. At that he put everything back in its place, put on his baret and checked in the mirror to assure the placement was correct. He had done this many times and knew it was correct, but out of habit he checked anyway. With a nod he headed on his way.

[Dreamer128]

'Priority message for the ranking officer on duty', stated the annoyingly cheerful computer voice that was only used for the internal-comm-system. Jack groaned and vowed to have it replaced with the regular, gruff military voice-set. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and silently cursed the computer for calling him back to the bridge, less then an hour after his last shift ended. The Duty Roster subroutines remained a mystery to him. He glared at the console. By the looks of it, the message should have been send to Chief of Operations Hamilton over at the Science department. How much longer would it take the Greys to get all systems in working order? ,,Tech-officer'', he barked at the Engineering-Liason on duty. The young man leaped out of his chair and nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran to the Command station. ,,Sir?'', he enquired a few seconds later. Jack showed him the message. ,,The Computer is malfunctioning again'', he concluded. ,,If this happens during an emergency, it could spell disaster for the whole ship.'' The Tech-officer frowned and reached for his datapad.

,,Uh sir.. I think you might want to open that message yourself'', said Comm-Liason Cathy o' Hara while wheeling her chair towards his own. Jack frowned and re-examined the message. It had the mark of the medical department on it. Oh god, he thought as he pressed the display-button and watched the flustered face of the CMO appear on the screen. ,,Abraham here. We've got a..eh.. problem'', he said - sounding very tired. ,,Hamilton has just been brought in. When she didn't show up for duty, security went to take a look. Apparently, she was in the process of painting her walls with her own blood'', the CMO paused for a second. ,,It's VS, or VR, or whatever the hell the crew calls it'', he sighed. ,,But by far the worst case I've ever seen. Could be the stress of having to take over from Captain Valentine. It could also be caused by our close proximity to The Outlands. But those are just theories.'' He wiped his face with a rag and signed out. Jack felt like slamming his head into the wall until it went numb. ,,This is not happening'', he said to no one in particular. ,,Uh..sir?'', enquired the Engineering-Liason.

,,Nothing, you can get back to work'', Jack said. He turned to face his terminal. ,,Computer, who is currently in charge of this ship?'', he enquired. The computer responded immediately. ,,Captain Valentine - unavailable. COO Hamilton - unavailable. CTO - not present. Command currently falls to Chief of Engineering Messman'', the computer concluded. The Senior Navigator leaned back and considered this development. He'd only seen Messman during staff-meetings and the man seemed to be a bit of a hermit. Hardly the person to keep the ship together. Still, going against the system was probably a bad career move. ,,Computer, put me on speakers'', he ordered. A moment later, a familiar tune indicated that he could address the crew. ,,Attention crew. This is Senior Navigator Jack Johnson'', he announced. ,,I regret to say that acting captain Hamilton has been relieved of duty due to..ah.. a case of the Sophian Flue. There is no need to be concerned. According to the CMO, he has been quarantined.'' He wondered if anyone would believe the lie. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added: ,,And would Chief Messman please report to the bridge. Johnson out.''

[Legolas]

"Let's see what the rock has to say then," he told his screen even as he adjusted his uniform. "I'm heading up now."

Chief Engineer Ricor Messman rose from his station, ignoring the elevators on his way to the launch bay. An enormous hall and potential beehive, his cursory glance revealed only three pilots lingering near a craft and the two engineers they were watching.
"Rend," he spoke, loudly. The eldest of the pair looked up from the stuttering TFF with all the appreciation for interruption a true surgeon might have shown in the process of checking the intestinal tract for leaky fittings, or whatever they opened men up for. The difference lay in the fact that Ceemaw Rend was a big, strong man holding hefty metal equipment. The Chief Engineer allowed that Rend might well be more intimidating than even himself.
"What," grunted Rend. As practical men with fifteen or twenty years of manual labour behind them, neither cared much for titles. The respect rode on the bear's growl.
"Miram take her pup to the litterbox?" asked Ricor, though it was plain he didn't expect an answer as he interrupted part-way through the shrug. "I'm heading for the bridge. Some asteroid they want me to look at. Tell her she's got command of you lot."
"I could boss 'em around," offered the engineer, his moustache bristling with enthusiasm not reflected in the rest of his face.
Messman snorted in disdain. "I ain't going round pulling what's left of my crew out of hiding when I get back."
He turned and walked out of the launchbay, pretending not to hear the offer of keeping all separated bodyparts in plain sight.

Listening to the elevator music, he nodded to himself. A chance to experience the Outlands from up close had been one of his reasons for taking this mission, and he wouldn't belie his interests. Still, he envied Ceemaw. His own work involved too many monitors these days. Guys like them should be allowed to get dirty, and it was no accident they viewed the more advanced, cleaner Federation technology with some distaste.
So there was a queer Class-C on the way then. While he appreciated the notification, he wasn't sure what they expected him to say about the thing. "Wait 'till it's closer and try not to crash into the thing" was about the extent of his helpfulness.

The 'ping' announced his arrival on deck one, and several others spilled out with him, disappearing in ones and twos until at last he stood alone in front of the bridge doors. Throwing back his hair and adjusting the jumpsuit a last time, he entered.
"Chief Engineer Ricor Messman reporting, sir," he spoke with mild apprehension.

[Dreamer128]

Jack supressed a wry smirk. He'd never thought he would see the day on which a grease monkey would claim the Captains Chair. Ah well, a first time for everything. ,,It would appear that you have the Bridge, Chief'', he said - nodding towards the Command Station in the centre of the room. ,,With Hamilton in sickbay, you are the ranking officer on the Arioch. And as it so happens.. we also have a situation that requires your expertise. ''

Comm-Liason Cathy o' Hara stepped forward and used a datapad to activate the main screen, which displayed a small asteroid. ,,This is astroid A-1190C. At 05:19 hours this morning, it entered active sensor-range. Ten minutes ago, we picked up an active comm-signal that seems to be originating from somewhere inside the rock'', she said - while working the datapad. ,,Unfortunately, both the A-1190C and the device that is broadcasting the message appear to be damaged by prolonged exposure to high astral radiation. As a result, the signal is corrupted. We estimate we will be able to salvage between 42 to 44 percent of the message within three to four hours. However, we might be able to decode the complete message if we can get a hold of the broadcasting device.''

Jack stepped forward and pointed to the monitor on one the terminals, which was now displaying the results from a number of scans. ,,As you can see, the Asteroid is deteriorating rapidly. Judging by the current rate of decay, we would have to salvage the Comm-unit with the hour. Unfortunately, the computer has calculated that the succes rate for such an endeavor is only 51 percent, and getting worse with each passing minute. Since we know nothing about the origin of the signal, I strongly recommend we do not pursue this course of action.'' He smiled viciously. ,,Glad it's not my call.. sir.''

[dplax]

Philbert Sigismund Wolf

"It is time to wake up. It is time to wake up. It is time to wake up." The digital alarm clock was capable of continuing for hours and most probably would as Philbert had forgotten to switch it off when he had left his quarters after waking an hour earlier than his usual waking hour.

His plate, meticulously cleaned was the only remainder of the breakfast he had just had. He spared a cursory glance to those inside the mess hall as he stood up. One was reading a book, three pilots were just coming in from their night shift. Life was continuing as normal, despite all of these cases of Void Syndrome.

Philbert brushed a crumb off his immaculately white lab-coat and left the mess hall. In the absence of any valid alien specimen finds during their voyages so far, he was stuck with trying to learn as much as he could about VS. Strangely, almost morbidly strangely, he was looking forward to the slight excitement that examining these psychological cases brought to his otherwise dull days.

A female computer voice greeted him after the usual retinal scan at the entrance to the medical areas. Work was about to start.

[Legolas]

For a time, he simply stared at the monitors, scowling like a lemon cake while the brightly coloured charts were reflected in narrowed eyes. At last he drew himself up and almost got a grip on his expression.
"Hah, he barked sourly. "Good one sir."

"Could have fooled me, sir." he went on. "If I may suggest, sir, play it on the other officers too. For a fact, Squad Leader Itaio'll love it with his breeding, sir." Every single Sir was spoken with something bordering on contempt, yet just balanced on the right side of tolerance. Him, captaining a federation destroyer. The joke was beyond all realism. He even thought he could see pity in the eyes of the senior navigator.

"If you want my advice on the asteroid, sir, don't send people out unless you're sure it's low risk. Ain't nothing alive down there and we don't know what it's saying until it's well past. Could be UTA or TC age propaganda or a toothpaste commercial for all we know.
"Permission to return to post now, sir?"