Post by srbrant on Oct 25, 2017 7:09:49 GMT
“A Prey Stronger.”
Freefall. Slight eccentricity. A stable orbit, twenty-thousand miles above the giant marble of frozen water, ammonia and helium that the Kemono Union called Olivia XVI.
And what the Sun Eaters cartel called home.
The blue-haired Human’s eyes followed the lines of data as they raced down the screen, ice-like pupils framed by a labyrinth of geometric tattoos sprawled across the upper half of her face. The window that sat next to the pillar of information showed a large red spot where the orbits of their fleet and that of their quarry intersected. The stream of text paused and a new window popped up along the bottom of the screen:
ORBITAL RENDEZVOUS IN 6:18:32
SCANNING HIGHLIGHTED VESSEL.
The woman’s tired fingers danced across the keyboard, plastic keys clacking. Every bend of the knuckle and press of the finger was a hot bolt of pain, having been worked for several hours straight. A new window popped up displaying a laughing, pixelated skull against a black background and a meter below that gradually filled itself a solid red. As soon as the bar was completely filled, it was instantly replaced with the words “HACK COMPLETE.”
The woman grinned, a cry of joy almost escaping her throat. After literally hundreds of attempts, the vessel’s digital defenses were finally worn down and its computer’s private files were now available for her viewing pleasure. Leaning back and cracking her knuckles, she watched a wall of text cascade down the second monitor with a rush of satisfaction. Slamming her finger onto a glowing yellow key, she stood up and stretched her aching legs as a sheet of paper poured out of a slot on the console. Tearing the hardcopy out from its perforated seam, she walked out of one of the many booths that lined the bridge, housing personnel in cloisters of concentration.
Towards her right, at the end of the narrow room, was her admiral, Vargz the Inviolable, named for how untouchable he was in combat.
A mere glance of the admiral - nay - warlord was enough to remind his underlings of the man that led them to their fortunes and their enemies to a gruesome end. His combat armor, once reserved for EOD specialists and shock troopers, had its outer plating replaced with ones that were embossed with images of swords, skulls, thrusters and stylized diagrams of weapons and starship components. Molded upon his broad pauldrons were the seal of his cartel, a blazing sun wrapped in long curving teeth that pried themselves between each waving flame. Sitting erect upon a lavish, yet morbidly decorated captain’s chair, he appeared not as the commander of an entire fleet, but as a golden god of war, brooding and cruel.
Vargz himself was enough to turn heads - particularly to those new to this part of the Sargasso Sector. A humanoid grey squirrel, one of the countless Transhuman representatives of the Kemono Union, muscular and sharp of eye. His gaze was narrow and deliberate, ears sharp and pointing back giving him the impression of a horned devil. Embedded upon his head were chrome circuits that seemed to sprout from the emblem of a golden sun with a screaming face. The end of his pointed furry tail was curved onto his lap like a companion pet, thighs adorned with two holsters both large enough to hold a decent-sized carbine.
Beneath his “throne” was a backlit domed ceiling engraved with scenes depicting the many battles he had fought. There was a large blank space on its surface awaiting decoration and Vargz was anxious for a fight worthy of filling its space. His effortless slaughter of the witless slave-warriors of Tarm-Agbha were not worthy of remembrance. They were not achievements, they were merely obstacles to his treasures.
Vargz’s cerulean eyes turned towards the smiling woman before him, who handed him the printout like a messenger presenting a scroll to an awaiting prince. “This had better be worth it,” he said with a hoarse, vaguely Slavic accent. The hacker felt her lungs swell with held breath, fearing that she, despite her unwavering loyalty, has transgressed against him in some vague, undefinable way.
The warlord almost immediately took notice of the meat of the paper’s information:
>>>ID_MANIFEST<<<
>MELVILLE-CLASS_HEINLEINER_[G15]
>REGISTRATION:CXFA-220918875
>NAME:NATS_RUNAWAY_BRIDE
>OWNER:NEW_ARICEBO_TRAVEL_SOCIETY
>CALLSIGN:ROMEO-16
>REMASS: HYDROGEN DEUTERIDE
>DOC:12.26.5508
>DRY_MASS:1.5Mt
>RMCAP:6000Kt
>>>PAYLOAD_MANIFEST<<<
>3546_PERSONNEL[53_REPULSORS]
>1.5t_ARTWORK
>4000t_FRESH_FOOD
>7000t_PACKAGED_FOOD
>200t_CONSTRUCTION_EQUIPMENT
>3000t_CONSTRUCTION_MATERIALS
>600t_MISCELLANEOUS
>>>TOW<<<
>NATS_OLIVIAN_PRIDE
>NATS_TUNGSTEN_MOON
Vargz stared in silence at the text before him. Standard armaments, two escort ships and tons of valuable loot onboard a Heinleiner of a recent generation. The Sun Eaters’ flagship, the Solar Noose, was a fine battlecruiser but it was no Heinleiner. It had little reaction mass to share and could tow only the smallest transports. With a barely perceptible smile, he tucked the printout into a satchel on his belt and pressed a silver button implanted into the side of his head. “Attention all hands onboard,” he said, voice transferred to the intercom system. “Initiate rendezvous and interception procedures with the Runaway Bride. Let it also be known that Starstruck is to be granted a thirty percent increase in payment and full bordello privileges.”
Freefall. Slight eccentricity. A stable orbit, twenty-thousand miles above the giant marble of frozen water, ammonia and helium that the Kemono Union called Olivia XVI.
And what the Sun Eaters cartel called home.
The blue-haired Human’s eyes followed the lines of data as they raced down the screen, ice-like pupils framed by a labyrinth of geometric tattoos sprawled across the upper half of her face. The window that sat next to the pillar of information showed a large red spot where the orbits of their fleet and that of their quarry intersected. The stream of text paused and a new window popped up along the bottom of the screen:
ORBITAL RENDEZVOUS IN 6:18:32
SCANNING HIGHLIGHTED VESSEL.
The woman’s tired fingers danced across the keyboard, plastic keys clacking. Every bend of the knuckle and press of the finger was a hot bolt of pain, having been worked for several hours straight. A new window popped up displaying a laughing, pixelated skull against a black background and a meter below that gradually filled itself a solid red. As soon as the bar was completely filled, it was instantly replaced with the words “HACK COMPLETE.”
The woman grinned, a cry of joy almost escaping her throat. After literally hundreds of attempts, the vessel’s digital defenses were finally worn down and its computer’s private files were now available for her viewing pleasure. Leaning back and cracking her knuckles, she watched a wall of text cascade down the second monitor with a rush of satisfaction. Slamming her finger onto a glowing yellow key, she stood up and stretched her aching legs as a sheet of paper poured out of a slot on the console. Tearing the hardcopy out from its perforated seam, she walked out of one of the many booths that lined the bridge, housing personnel in cloisters of concentration.
Towards her right, at the end of the narrow room, was her admiral, Vargz the Inviolable, named for how untouchable he was in combat.
A mere glance of the admiral - nay - warlord was enough to remind his underlings of the man that led them to their fortunes and their enemies to a gruesome end. His combat armor, once reserved for EOD specialists and shock troopers, had its outer plating replaced with ones that were embossed with images of swords, skulls, thrusters and stylized diagrams of weapons and starship components. Molded upon his broad pauldrons were the seal of his cartel, a blazing sun wrapped in long curving teeth that pried themselves between each waving flame. Sitting erect upon a lavish, yet morbidly decorated captain’s chair, he appeared not as the commander of an entire fleet, but as a golden god of war, brooding and cruel.
Vargz himself was enough to turn heads - particularly to those new to this part of the Sargasso Sector. A humanoid grey squirrel, one of the countless Transhuman representatives of the Kemono Union, muscular and sharp of eye. His gaze was narrow and deliberate, ears sharp and pointing back giving him the impression of a horned devil. Embedded upon his head were chrome circuits that seemed to sprout from the emblem of a golden sun with a screaming face. The end of his pointed furry tail was curved onto his lap like a companion pet, thighs adorned with two holsters both large enough to hold a decent-sized carbine.
Beneath his “throne” was a backlit domed ceiling engraved with scenes depicting the many battles he had fought. There was a large blank space on its surface awaiting decoration and Vargz was anxious for a fight worthy of filling its space. His effortless slaughter of the witless slave-warriors of Tarm-Agbha were not worthy of remembrance. They were not achievements, they were merely obstacles to his treasures.
Vargz’s cerulean eyes turned towards the smiling woman before him, who handed him the printout like a messenger presenting a scroll to an awaiting prince. “This had better be worth it,” he said with a hoarse, vaguely Slavic accent. The hacker felt her lungs swell with held breath, fearing that she, despite her unwavering loyalty, has transgressed against him in some vague, undefinable way.
The warlord almost immediately took notice of the meat of the paper’s information:
>>>ID_MANIFEST<<<
>MELVILLE-CLASS_HEINLEINER_[G15]
>REGISTRATION:CXFA-220918875
>NAME:NATS_RUNAWAY_BRIDE
>OWNER:NEW_ARICEBO_TRAVEL_SOCIETY
>CALLSIGN:ROMEO-16
>REMASS: HYDROGEN DEUTERIDE
>DOC:12.26.5508
>DRY_MASS:1.5Mt
>RMCAP:6000Kt
>>>PAYLOAD_MANIFEST<<<
>3546_PERSONNEL[53_REPULSORS]
>1.5t_ARTWORK
>4000t_FRESH_FOOD
>7000t_PACKAGED_FOOD
>200t_CONSTRUCTION_EQUIPMENT
>3000t_CONSTRUCTION_MATERIALS
>600t_MISCELLANEOUS
>>>TOW<<<
>NATS_OLIVIAN_PRIDE
>NATS_TUNGSTEN_MOON
Vargz stared in silence at the text before him. Standard armaments, two escort ships and tons of valuable loot onboard a Heinleiner of a recent generation. The Sun Eaters’ flagship, the Solar Noose, was a fine battlecruiser but it was no Heinleiner. It had little reaction mass to share and could tow only the smallest transports. With a barely perceptible smile, he tucked the printout into a satchel on his belt and pressed a silver button implanted into the side of his head. “Attention all hands onboard,” he said, voice transferred to the intercom system. “Initiate rendezvous and interception procedures with the Runaway Bride. Let it also be known that Starstruck is to be granted a thirty percent increase in payment and full bordello privileges.”