Onboard the Runni Vagna. Destination: Through the lightning Nebula to points unknown.
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Mealtime is rarely an exciting time in space, although it is a time for crews to relax, recharge, and renew friendships around a good meal.
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Marla’s time aboard the Deuce’s Wild had been very interesting.
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The engineering spaces were in an unaccustomed state of clutter, complete chaos one might say.
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As a girl I remember my father taking us to see the “Crystal Chartres” at the Glassmaker ruins in the Perdon Valley.
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The decision to enter the Sargasso clearly weighed heavily on the Captain, Jackie could see that, their discussion had brought to light many concerns people had regarding entering such a “forbidden” area of space.
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The TCS Astrid’s Chief (and only) Engineer finished packing the arms locker and reorganizing the contents. With quick darting motions each piece of gear was back in place, fully checked and prepared for whatever contingency might arise. “Thatss ssshould do it” Skeeter said to himself or to no one in particular as he closed the arms locker door and headed back to the engineering spaces.
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Ever since the Captain had announced his intentions to return to Aegis to deliver the Medurrian Ambassador, as well as to look for Dr. Vych, in hopes that he can save the sesheyans, Arton had just “had a bad feeling about this.”
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Swo’dens awoke with a start and instantly cringed as a shooting pain came up from his side. The battle with the dimensional beast came back to him. “Yes!” he thought, “Those dimensional bastards got what was coming to them!” and no sooner had he said it then the realization dawned on him, “Where the hell am I?”. He lay on the muddy bank of a small stream his Tiger Mod 6 power armor partially sinking into the soft earth.
Struggling through the pain and disorientation he managed to raise out of the sucking earth.
Swo’dens scanned his body for additional wounds and performed functions checks on the powered armor and filament chain. His trained eye naturally continued to the ground around him, circling away from where he found himself, “Hrm, no tracks leading to this place, not even my own.” He began moving away from his origin, in ever increasing cirlces, scanning the brush and trees for any signs. Twenty-minutes of searching left him standing over an unconcious Swift Miss about 100 meters from where he had been. No tracks excepting his own led to where she was. “Does she look older?”, he wondered briefly before starting to revive her.
That was an usually successful trip, which as usual means more paperwork.
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