Earth, North America, Texas Free Republic
August 1, 2388
The hot summer sun beat down on the small graveyard surrounded
by tall trees and dense underbrush. A faint breeze managed to dip down
beneath the vegetation to touch the tombstones, most of them aged and
etched with the tiny strokes of centuries of exposure. In the portion
of the graveyard still unoccupied, grass twitched in the fitful air,
while an occasional cloud of dust blew up from the older area.
On a plot next to the old aluminum fence sat a low plaque- not
even quite a tombstone- engraved with two flags. One was of the old
United States; the other was the first flag of the Zardon Republic.
The name on the plaque read, MAJOR GENERAL ARLIN BRUCE OVERSTREET: USN
VIETNAM WAR 1968-1970, ZRPA ZARDON CIVIL WAR 2002-2006. BORN JUNE 5,
1950: DIED OCTOBER 27, 2028.
The gate to the graveyard squeaked open slowly, admitting a
slender figure in a bright red flight suit, covered by a vinyl jacket
with fake-fur collar and multiple patches, listing flight squadrons,
ship assignments, and honorariums almost beyond belief. On the left
shoulder sat a rectangular patch, solid black save for a highly
stylized gold figure; it might have been meant to be a bolt of
lightning. On the lapel of the jacket was stitched a design in silver
thread, two five-pointed stars flanked by laurel wreaths. In the
military service to which the patch, and its wearer, belonged, the
wreathed stars represented the rank of Vice Admiral.
The figure remove his flight helmet, revealing a large, unruly
bundle of blond hair, curling and twisting above a pair of bright
eyes, an average nose, and a bushy red beard. The eyes, currently green
speckled with brown flakes, looked almost sadly over the tombstones as
their owner walked to the plaque.
The pilot kneeled at the grave, careful not to tread over the
precise spot of burial. From inside the jacket, he drew out a small
Texas flag and an United States flag. Setting the two flags in tiny
holes in the pedestal, the man sighed and said:
"Hey, Dad. I'm home."
WHITE LIGHTNING PRODUCTIONS
in association with
EYRIE PRODUCTIONS, UNLTD.
presents
REDNECK: WILDERNESS
a story of the CFMF
Starring
Kris "Redneck" Overstreet
Washuu Hakubi
Terri "Crash" Curtiss
Rianna Santova
May Azland
Co-Starring
Aya Nakajima
James Joseph Condorcet XVIII
James Joseph Condorcet XX
Doubledealer
Mayl Popp'fl
Guest Starring So Many Characters It Might Make Your Head Spin
SCREENPLAY BY J. CONRAD SPADE, LAWRENCE MANN, MARTIN ROSE,
ROBERT SHANNON, BENJAMIN J. HUTCHINS
DIRECTED BY BENJAMIN J. HUTCHINS
(*acknowledgements*)
Chapter One/THEN
Deep space near Ammuuz
October 28, 2028
Rear Admiral Kristan Overstreet, second in command of the
Joint Fleet Command, Outer Rim Territories, dug wearily through the
ten-kazillionth - or so it seemed- report about various conflicts of
command between the three services involved in the Joint Fleet- the
Royal Salusian Navy, the Zardon Republican Space Navy, and the
Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet. Kris was responsible for
the latter organization in its entirety, and he longed to get to the
bottom of the incoming e-mail pile so he could write up final orders
to the twenty-odd ships under his command and get some sleep.
The clock on the desk beside his bunk on the CFMF Camelot
(CFF-25-A) read 2205 hours. In about eight hours, the combined fleet
would complete the enveloping movement which would trap, once and for
all, the last major fleet belonging to the Zardon Imperial Restoration
Front. The capture of the fleet, and its supreme commander the Empress
Dowager Malificent Zard'al, would spell the end of the two-year war
which had begun when the Imperials had stolen two Freespacer
experimental warships, the CFMF Dreadnaught and CFMF Henry V.
Not long after the experimental ships had disappeared, a large
fleet based around the two ships had appeared in orbit around the Zardon
homeworld. Two hours later, the fleet had been driven away at a nearly
disastrous cost, with most of the Zardon and Salusian military
presence in the Salusal system rendered hors de combat.
The following two years passed in a vaguely cooperative effort
between the CFMF, the Zardon Republicans, and the Salusians, with
occasional assistance from the Wedge Defense Force. After some initial
successes, the Imperials began losing, and then losing badly, against
the combined fleets. The only factor which allowed them to extend the
war an extra year was the experimental design the two ships had been
built to test in the first place; a new shield design, based upon the
basic Kuat Drive Yards TSS shield projectors, which projected a
triple-layered shield system using only slightly more power than the
standard single layer.
However, the engineers (with some reluctant coaxing from one
Washuu Hakubi) had finally isolated a flaw which, hopefully, would
prove decisive. In a small section of the ship directly above the
projectors- two roughly five-meter square spots on ships three hundred
meters long- the shields did not cover the ship. A direct hit would
not only knock out the shields, but would produce a feedback effect
leading to the automatic shutdown of all ship's systems.
In eight hours, the starfighter corps of the three fleets
would test that theory, while the remaining ships demolished the few,
battered remnants of the fleet which had begun to take shape twenty
years before with the fall of the Zardon Empire.
However, even on the eve of final victory, Kris had to deal
with the minor annoyances of joint command, as witness the letter
currently ready to send on his terminal:
To: Captain Rias Dewben
From: Rear Adm. Kristan Overstreet, cmdg CFMF
Subject: Re: Action on Insult
Although I can sympathize with you, I must ask that you
forgive the nature of Captain James Condorcet. He means no ill will,
but his natural tendencies towards uncouth behavior tend to put off
those not familiar to his nature. Soon enough, I hope to show you
evidence of his better nature in combat; his valor, his chivalry, and
his selfless courage on behalf of his comrades in arms.
As regards the specifics of your complaint with Cpt.
Condorcet, I regret that I have no authority over the private lives of
CFMF personnel save where they come in direct conflict with duty.
Therefore, I cannot forbid the Captain from visiting your widowed
sister and courting her as per his customs. However, I can and will
pass the message on to his wife, Commander Reina Sabre Condorcet, who
will undoubtedly act on it.
Once more, I ask you to lay aside the honor of your family for
the greater honor of the service. Captain Condorcet is, I assure you,
sincere in his affections- he is, quite frankly, in love with all that
is beautiful and feminine in the world. I will do what I can to curb
his attentions away from your family, but I suggest rather that you be
more accepting of Captain Condorcet's affections to your sister and
niece in the future.
Your obedient servant,
Kristan Overstreet, Rear Adml. cmdg CFMF forces
He'd barely begun replying to the next post, which was a
request from a Zardon captain to clarify the deployment of the CFMF
ships so there would be no confusion, when a small inset window
appeared, and a furry face appeared in the screen. "Pardon me,
Admiral," the Caitian communications officer said, "but you have an
incoming message from Earth."
Earth? "Put it through to me here, Lieutenant," he said.
The Caitian face blipped out, replaced by the grey-haired form
of Patricia McDowell. Once, she and Kris had been lovers. For twenty
years, she'd been Butch Overstreet's wife... Kris' stepmother. "Hi,
Kris," her voice called over the lightyears. "I've got bad news. Your
father is dead. The cancer got him."
"Cancer?" An icy chill stabbed Kris in the gut and stayed
there. He hadn't known his father was ill, and in any case cancer was
now treatable across the board. "Why didn't he see the doctor?"
"He'll tell you for himself," Patricia said. "He left a
message for you. I'm sending it through now..."
The screen turned to static for a second before resolving into
the old den add-on of the Overstreet trailer house. Butch Overstreet,
grey-haired, mostly bald actually, and aged, squinted slightly into
the camera. "Kris? If you're watching this, I've died, probably from
widespread cancer. I didn't go get it cured because, basically, I'm
tired. I've had my life, and it's time for me to go." Grunting a bit
as he shifted in his chair, he continued, "'Sides, I got no intention
of lettin' a doctor get his hands on me this late in the game. This is
my fight, and doctors be dammed."
Kris' eyes teared up as his father continued, "It's been one
helluva ride, hasn't it? Two wars, more jobs than you could shake a
stick at... I've had my time, son. Oh, I could go in and have the
surgery, take the retrovirus and live another forty years, or get a
cyborg body and live however long I liked... but why? Son, it's time
for me to rest. I'm gonna go naturally, at home, probably in my
sleep... the way I was intended to.
"Now, you've got one helluva life ahead of you. You're gonna
see one hell of a lot of stuff, feel a helluva lot of pain, and have a
lot of fun. And one day, when it's time, you'll know when to let go
and let someone else have a go at it. Just remember, son... I'll..."
The figure on the screen stopped for a minute to compose himself,
giving Kris the time to do the same. "Remember," the old man said at
last, "I'll always be with you, watching your back. You ain't never
alone, and I ain't never really gone. I'll always be there for you
when you need me."
The figure took a ragged breath, turned to the screen one last
time, and said, "Kris... I love you, very very much. I only wish I'd
been a better dad than you had, taught you better, been there more...
I love you..." Butch turned his face and mumbled, "Turn that damn
thing off," and the recording ended.
Patricia's face looked worriedly out from the screen, as Kris
stared dully back. Finally, Kris whispered, "When is the funeral?"
"Tomorrow," Patricia said. "I know you can't make it... we'll
leave a chair open for you just the same..."
"Thanks, Boom Box," Kris said, using her old callsign from
when she had been his second-in-command in the MASS-01 Rebel Squadron.
"Goodbye." The screen went dark, and Kris pushed his chair away from
the desk and cried for a few minutes.
In eight hours, he would be responsible for roughly a quarter
of the combined attack fleet, commanding from the bridge of his
flagship with a confident look and a cool exterior.
Tonight, he would mourn the dead.
The battle ended as expected, and the Marines who boarded the
crippled Dreadnaught had found Zerina crying over the limp body of
Malificent, who had poisoned herself. The so-called Empress wept
loudly as the troopers led her away to the brig of the CFMF King
Arthur.
At the end of the boarding ramp, Thalona Zard'al, the youngest
of the three daughters of Malificent, and Kris stood and waited. As
Zerina passed by, Kris stopped the procession, saying, "Princess
Zerina, you will be tried for your crimes against Salusia and the
Zardon Republic upon our return to the Salusal system."
Zerina stopped crying and glared at Kris. "Don't you have the
decency to let me mourn? My mother is DEAD! You killed her like you
killed my father!! Don't you have any idea of how I feel?"
Kris' eyes grew hard, and he began to glow slightly. "As a
matter of fact, yes I do. My father died yesterday. Because of your
vainglorious little war, I'm going to miss his funeral. I didn't have
a chance to tell him goodbye, or even to pay respects, because I was
too busy making sure you never broke the peace again." Looking to
Thalona, he growled, "You may arrange funeral ceremonies for your
mother. Like it or not, she was once the Empress, and for all her
crimes she deserves some respect." As he turned to leave, he said,
"And keep her out of my sight!"
Thalona watched as the Freespacer admiral stormed away,
worriedly. Behind her, Zerina growled, "What about you, Thalona? Don't
you have any tears to shed for our mother?"
"I shed all my tears the night I left the two of you to your
madness," Thalona said. "I have no mother anymore."
Zerina stared at her sister, unbelieving. "Do you have no love
left for her, after all?"
"Why should I?" Thalona said. "She never had any for us. We
were just her tools. She never saw anyone as anything other than
tools. Well, let's see her use someone now."
Zerina stared for a long moment, and then she broke back into
tears. Whining quietly, she walked away with her guards, totally alone
in the universe.
And Thalona watched her leave, as tears she refused to shed
built up in her eyes.
The Empress is dead, she thought. Let her stay dead.
And may whatever forces there are in the universe have mercy
on her soul.
Chapter One/NOW
August 1, 2388
Magnolia Hill Cemetery, Segno Community, Texas, Earth
Kris Overstreet stood by the grave of his father, looking down
with only the tiniest hint of the old pain in his eyes. "Dad, I'm glad
I got to come back to visit, before everything hits the fan," he said.
"I don't know if you noticed or not, but things are getting bad here
in the land of the livin'. GENOM's runnin' roughshod over ever'body,
the WDF's scrambling to stop 'em, and ever'body else seems to be
runnin' around like chickens with their heads cut off."
The assessment was fairly accurate. The major independent
space powers, each with a different priority, had scattered to the
winds, and each fleet was getting a beating in turn. The Salusians and
Zardons were already in a state of siege in their home system, the
United Federation of Planets' Starfleet was gathering for one final
stand to protect Earth, and the various smaller forces, including the
Confederate Freespacer Mercenary Fleet, were either working with the
WDF or sector defense commands, or protecting their homeworlds from
possible (and frequent) GENOM attack.
"Things are gonna be rough," Kris said. "I got the Home Fleet
helping to evacuate all the civilians from the Enigma Sector defense
bases, and the Tactical Fleet's keeping a lookout in case GENOM
attacks. Once we have the refugees out of the way, we'll hook up with
the WDF and make our stand with them. God willing, we'll come through
okay."
Kris stood silent for a moment, then dug into his jacket
pocket and dug out a ring. "I've been thinking, Dad. I met this girl,
you see, and I think I'm in love with her. If we both live through..."
That was worth a chuckle; these days, he could live through nearly
anything. "If we both live through this... this shit... I'm going to
ask her to marry me.
"Her name's Terri Curtiss. She's a really sweet person, Dad...
and she understands, Dad, she understands all the weirdness." Once,
long long ago, Kris had been a writer for comic books. Then, he'd gone
to space by an unusual happenstance and had seen the characters he'd
written for, changed to certain degrees, in the flesh. He'd flown
vehicles from fiction, met races taken from games, and generally lived
a strange life. Terri just accepted it as the status quo.
"Dad... I just wish you'd lived... stuck around... hell, I
don't even know where Mom was buried, or when. I'm all I got left, and
it's really hurting me sometimes. I need someone to be there for me."
A loud beep sounded from the flight jacket, and Kris took out
an older model Starfleet personal communicator. Flipping it open, he
said, "Overstreet here."
"Admiral, we just recieved a report. Starfleet got waxed at
Wolf 349. The main GENOM fleet'll be here in three hours. Olympus has
issued a planetary evacuation code, they're heading for the
hills. Time to bug out, Red." James Joseph Condorcet XVIII, now
grey-haired but still as bullheaded and sexist as he and all his
ancestors had ever been, was the commanding officer of the
battlecruiser CFMF Tinker (CFF-100), Kris' flagship. Like almost every
other Condorcet before him, he'd handed Kris his share of bitter pills
to swallow, but this particular one wasn't his fault.
"All right, JJ," Kris said quietly. "Prepare for rendevous in
thirty minutes. Overstreet out."
Pocketing his communicator, Kris said, "Got to go, Dad. Thanks
for listening... hope you'll be watching." Rising from his crouch,
Kris stood and looked across the cemetery, to the tall pine, oak, and
magnolia trees, and remembered the days long, long ago, when he had
wanted so badly to escape the rural life and see the wide world. Now,
he sought every now and then to forget the wide world he'd sought out,
first as a student, then as a writer, and then, most improbably, as a
starfighter pilot and mercenary.
Precious moments, Kris thought. Time stolen from a schedule
too tight to permit it. But who knows... I might not see this place
again for a LONG time... or ever, maybe.
Forcing a state of cheer, Kris walked out of the cemetery,
carefully closing the gate behind him, and called out to the small
metal dome situated midway up the fuselage of the Incom T-65 Dragonfly
starfighter parked carefully beneath the massive old magnolia trees
which had given the cemetery its name. "Hey, Sparky, crank 'er up, we
gotta go!"
"You got it, boss!" an electronic voice called up, and the
engines on the X-Wing roared into life. Kris took a breath, took a
large leap, and landed in the open cockpit, slapping his helmet onto
his head as he landed. A few seconds later, a stiff wind blew through
the trees, blasting red clay dust through the clearing and down the
old road leading down to the settlement.
When the wind died, the dead were alone once more.
The tractor beam released Kris' fighter in the ready-launch
position on the CFMF Tinker's flight deck. As the engines powered
down, and the astromech crane lifted Sparky from his socket behind the
canopy, Captain Condorcet strode out onto the deck, smiling as he
waved to him. "Hi, Redneck!" he shouted. "How was your visit home?"
Kris removed his helmet and dumped it into the fighter's seat
as he climbed out. "Short," he said at last. "Give me a status report
on the fleet."
"Lessee..." JJ thought carefully through the lists of CFMF
fighting ships, working out mentally who was where at the moment.
"MASS units sixteen through twenty-five are deployed at Wilderness
Station with the Home Fleet; the rest are escorting refugee evacuation
fleets to Zeta Cygni. All five carrier task forces are at Wilderness,
along with most of the smaller ships... the Palendrom's bottled up in
the Salusal system with the Salusian RSN... the Guys and Dolls is
returning from its patrol of space around Jyurai, should rendevous
with the fleet in another eight hours... and then there's us."
"Great," Kris nodded. "Get to the bridge and get us out of
here. Best speed to Wilderness Station."
"Will do, Admiral," JJ grinned. With a mock salute, he turned
and walked briskly towards the turbolift, as Kris strolled more
leisurely along the deck, taking the time to look around him and
inspect the hangar. Two squadrons' worth of fighters, not counting his
own, stood in the ready bays... along with two much larger objects.
One, a large mobile missile launcher, flashed its lights and
called out to him. "Hey, Admiral!" it shouted. "Glad to see you back!"
"Hello, Major, how's it going?" Kris called out.
"Not too bad," Major Doubledealer, second in command of the
Ninth Regiment, Freespacer Marine Corps, replied. "Of course, I'd like
some room to stretch out one of these days..."
Kris smiled. In robot form, the Transformer was about eighty
feet tall, give or take. "I'll see about getting you some shore leave
on New Avalon in the near future. In the meantime, all I can do is up
your lube rations and tell ya to keep your manifold from siezing up."
"Fair enough. You take care too," Doubledealer replied.
A much smaller figure, a human roughly five feet four, ran
over from the other object, a large gunboat- sized starfighter done up
in silver and white trim. "Admiral!" Dr. Hitaki Kizuki shouted.
"Admiral, you must stop these horrible military- thinking pinheads.
They want to launch the Starlight prematurely! Can't you please
explain to them what the situation is?"
Kris rolled his eyes. Rear Admiral Rollins, known in and out
of the CFMF as Groo the Quartermaster, had assumed ever since the
Starlight prototype heavy fighter had finished construction last month
that it was ready for combat, and had been maneuvering to put it on
the lines in one fashion or another. The truth of the matter was much
different; the Starlight's special pilot-ship interface required
massive cybernetic and genetic manipulation of its pilot, and the
person chosen, Dr. Kizuki's daughter Mitsuha, was currently still
recovering from the surgeries. Both Dr. Kizuki and Washuu insisted on
more time for training and observation before putting the extremely
experimental system into combat.
"Look, Dr. Kizuki," Kris sighed, "I'll get Quartermaster Corps
off your back... again... but if you can show them something in the
next couple of weeks to help... especially with the way things are
currently." The background hum of the engines rose slightly, and Kris
smiled as he walked away. "Now if you'll excuse me, Doctor, we've just
hit warp, and I really need to be on the bridge."
"But Admiral!" Dr. Kizuki pressed. "What about the security of
the project? Is the Starlight safe here? I've already arranged to have
my children sent to New Avalon, but-"
"Dr. Kizuki," Kris smiled, "this is the most potent starship
the CFMF has. The Starlight, quite literally, could not be in a safer
place." With that, he stepped into the turbolift, mumbled, "Main
Bridge, Level One," and relaxed.
Ah, stress, annoyance, and the acts of fools.
Back to work, Mr. Overstreet.
Chapter 2/THEN
May 4, 2385
Sol System, solar orbit near Earth
Four ships floated in open space, lit by the yellow star which
they orbited and the blue and grey spots which lay some ten million
miles behind them. Two Miranda-class light cruisers represented
Starfleet, flanked on either side by the more massive Royal Salusian
battleship HMS Lord Mathis and the even more massive flagship of the
CFMF, the Tinker. A vague distance in front of the massed ships,
hundreds of starfighters buzzed around the edge of a disturbance in
spacetime, a strange buckling and curving of reality.
On the massive bridge of the Tinker, airbosses coordinated the
various Olympus/Earth, Starfleet, Salusian, and Freespacer fighters,
while various science officers examined the scans the fighters were
returning to the ship. In the pit of the bridge, gathered around a
display screen, were Admiral Overstreet, Captain JJ Condorcet, Washuu
Hakubi, and the captains of the other three ships. The screen
displayed a computer model of the spaciotemporal disturbance; the
animation showed it growing, splitting open for a few seconds, and
then closing back up and subsiding.
"Basically, a neighboring universe is brushing close to ours,"
Washuu said. "There will be a short period of imbalance as the other
universe penetrates ours, and then the effect will subside and the
universes will drift back apart."
"Can anything from the other universe cross over into this
one?" Captain Juarez of the USS Saratoga asked.
"Of course it could!" Washuu smiled. "However, I've looked
into the universe in question, and-"
"Excuse me?" Captain Jerisht of the Lord Mathis asked. "You
visited this other universe?"
"No, not personally," Washuu said. "I just looked inside it
for a bit."
"But that's- that's-"
Jerisht felt a hand gently grasp his shoulder. The owner of
the hand said quietly, "Don't ask how she does it, but I assure you
Professor Washuu is quite capable of doing it."
"I'll take your word for it, Admiral," the Salusian subsided.
"Anyway, the universe in question is very similar to ours,
except for a slight delay in its process of time," Washuu said. "There
is an Earth on the other side, in which the year is 2045 or so. Their
technology is significantly inferior to our universe; in particular, they
have no hyperlight drive. The odds of their detecting the disturbance,
much less purposely sending something through it before it subsides,
are so low it's laughable. Simply put, only the most luckless, clumsy,
boneheaded accident could bring anything through the hole for the...
oh..." Washuu punched a few keys on the console, "fifteen seconds the
portal will be open."
"Nevertheless, we shall continue to observe the phenomenon
with our ships at alert status until the effect has completely
subsided," Captain Douglass of the USS Farseer said flatly. "Such are
Starfleet's orders."
"Hey, you can do whatever you like," Captain Condorcet growled
back, "but we ain't under contract to y'all, and we ain't under
Starfleet or Federation command. Why, we oughta-"
"JJ," Kris said quietly, "cool it, okay?" To the other
captains, he said, "The Freespacers shall continue to assist
Starfleet, Earth, and Salusian forces in this operation. In fact, as
soon as the Tinker launches its second shift of fighters, we will
offer refueling services to the other fighters."
"That would be appreciated," Douglass replied.
"However," Kris continued, "until an active threat presents
itself, this ship will limit its alert status to its hangar bay and
starfighter forces and support crews. All other functions, including
the monitoring of the phenomenon, will be conducted under normal duty
conditions."
"If that is your choice." Douglass said, his voice not
betraying one ounce of emotion. "However, Captain Juarez and I have
specific orders to treat this operation as a potential military
threat. We will remain at general quarters."
"For seven hours?" Washuu said. "That's how long it's going to
be before the activity peaks." She smiled slyly at the Starfleet
captain. "Or do you like seeing your young female officers all at
their stations at once, in those tight-fitting uniforms and
form-fitting trousers..." Her smile turned truly wicked as she added,
"Or have you gone back to those little butt-hugging miniskirts?"
Douglass blushed and huffed uncomfortably. "Washuu, give it a
rest," Kris grumbled. "Gentlemen, I shall revise the rotation shifts
of our starfighters, and I suggest you all do the same. I shall pass
on that suggestion to the commanders of the Earth defense forces at
Olympus. You are invited back here in six hours to monitor the peak
event. Until then, I suggest we all try to get a little sleep."
"Excuse me?" Jerisht replied. "On my ship, the day is just
starting."
Kris groaned. "Or whatever," he said. "Six hours, gentlemen...
ah, 0130 hours, Tinker ship time." As the captains went to the lift to
take the transporter to their ships, Kris said to Captain Condorcet,
"JJ, please arrange for half of the incoming pilots to get some rest.
I want all possible ships flying in seven hours. Okay?"
"Sure thing, Red," JJ replied. "You want me to rig up a
fighter for you?"
"Um... no," Kris replied. "I think this time I'll be of more
use on the bridge."
"Then I hope you don't mind if I take your place," JJ replied.
"Wouldn't want to get rusty, y'know."
"Fine," Kris said. "Have fun. I'll be back on the bridge in
six hours."
"Would you like me to tuck you in, Kris?" Washuu said just a
little too sweetly.
"Washuu..." Kris growled, glaring momentarily before sighing
and continuing, "That just... isn't... funny." Kris trudged to the
turbolift, mentally trying to prepare himself for sleep he knew he
wasn't likely to get.
Washuu stood behind on the bridge, and said quietly, "But I'm
not laughing."
At 0227 hours according to the clocks on the CFMF Tinker, the
disturbance, which had grown steadily larger and more turbulent over
time, split in the center, forming a ring of brilliant light around a
tiny glimpse of normal-looking space. The science officers of the four
ships studied the readings from the other universe intently, as the
gap grew slightly wider and stabilized for a few seconds.
Then the starfighter tumbled through the gap and into the
midst of the swarm of Dragonflies, Epees, Valkyries, Headhunters,
Myrmidons, and other assorted fighters.
The battlescarred fighter tumbled end over end powerlessly
through and away from the rift. One wingtip gun had been blasted clean
away, and one of the twin tailfins was dented badly from a blast
impact. The running lights were quite dead, as were the control panels
barely visible through the cockpit canopy. Behind the starfighter, the
rift closed up, the light diminished, and the tubulent phenomenon
subsided.
From the command chair of the Tinker, Kris jumped up and
strode over to a console. Quickly calling up the scans of the vessel,
he noted a total absence of power, and slowly fading life signs. The
pilot was still alive... but unless the ship could be rescued, that
life would be short.
"Helm!" Kris shouted. "Take us in, one-quarter sublight! Hangar
bay, prepare to recieve salvage vessel! Medic team, report to main
hangar!" People scurried as the Tinker moved forward towards the
disturbance. "Get our airspace clear!" he shouted to the ATC officers
around the bridge.
Starfighters scattered, speeding away from the otherworldly
fighter as the giant Tinker moved forward. Gracefully, the Tinker
reversed its position, turning its rear towards the derelict and
opening its main hangar doors. A tractor beam latched onto the craft,
righted it, and gently brought it into the hangar, where another beam
guided it over to the corner of the hangar closest to the main
turbolift.
From the console on the bridge, Kris got his first clear look
at the fighter. The main ramjet engine intake gaping in the front, the
twin jets atop the stubby wings near the rear of the ship, the bulging
canopy and twin tailfins... Kris pushed his memory for the place he'd
seen the design before, and finally came up with the reference. Four
hundred years ago, when he'd been something other than a mercenary...
The Starfleet captains were greatly surprised by Kris' leap up
to the upper deck of the bridge and to the turbolift. Captain Jerisht
didn't bat an eye; his early career had been spent as a junior officer
on the old SDF-17 Wayward Son, and he'd seen enough during his career
to be surprised at virtually nothing.
In the sickbay, a young redheaded woman with a rich crop of
freckles on her cheeks lay unconscious on a bed. The senior medic, a
Salusian named Dr. Bifran Piers, looked at a few readings and said to
Kris, "Well, Red, she'll be just fine. Her ship was probably rendered
powerless crossing between universes. She's only been out for a couple
of minutes. In fact, she'll be waking up any moment now."
As Dr. Piers spoke, the woman's eyelids fluttered, and she
groaned slightly. Looking up at the furred face of the Salusian
doctor, she stared for a moment and then screamed wildly. Kris leaned
over her, pinning her arms down, and yelled, "QUIET!"
The woman stopped screaming and looked curiously at Kris, who
stared back calmly. "What is your name?" he said.
"I..." The woman gulped and continued, "I'm Lieutenant Terri
Curtiss, Earth Volunteer Group."
"Terri Curtiss," Kris said. Luckless, clumsy, totally
accidental. Straight from the comics.
"Terri," Kris said quietly, "my name is Kris Overstreet.
"I KNEW TED NOMURA."
Terri's eyes widened. She sat up slightly, looking around her.
She said quietly, "Knew? ...What year is this?"
"2385," Kris said. "He's been gone nearly four hundred years."
Terri stared at Kris for a long time. "Four hundred years?"
Kris nodded.
"And you knew him?"
Kris nodded again.
Terri collapsed back into her bunk, groaning. "I should have
known," she grumbled. "I'm in a spinoff title."
Chapter 2/NOW
DSS Wilderness Station, Enigma Sector
August 2, 2388
Near the center of Enigma Sector, long ago, a Salusian scout
had placed a navigation beacon to guide hyperdrive ships through
several regions of dark nebulae and rogue planets. The two or three
routes through the region sped up travel through the sector by days,
and soon the beacon became the hub of travel for the region.
Hubs of travel, as any Ferengi could tell you, mean money.
And money means that someone will come along seeking to
transfer some of the money from the spacers flitting past the hub into
their pockets. Therefore, an entrepeneur lost to memory moved a small
planetoid within a few million miles of the beacon and built in orbit
around it what would later be called Wilderness Station.
By the twenty-fourth century AD, Earth Gregorian Calendar,
warp drives were well on the way to supplanting hyperdrives for
large-scale commercial transport. Newer, better sensor systems meant
that ships could plow directly through the nebulae and asteroid fields
rather than stick to the older trade routes.
Still, one thing remained constant; in a region with a
fifteen-lightyear radius, Wilderness Station was the best place to
resupply, rest, and recreate. It was also one of the best defended
stations in space; a ship within ten klicks of Wilderness Station was
as safe as in orbit around Salusia itself.
Naturally, Wilderness Station became one of the centers of
organized defense when GENOM's fleet appeared, almost from nowhere, to
begin its run at galactic conquest. For the past month, the CFMF had
been contracted to the Federation as sector defense and evacuation.
For its headquarters, the Freespacer command had chosen Wilderness,
and the Confederate Freespacer Alliance moved the core of its Home
Fleet into orbit around the grand old space station.
Dropping to sublight, the Tinker was greeted with the
magnificent view of the Freespacer Home Fleet, in a loose orbital
cluster around the immense bulk of Wilderness Station.
A tourist, upon catching first sight of the running lights of
the fleet, would see the starfighters of the Home Fleet Defense Force,
or occasionally one of the X-Wings of the MASS-01, the traditional
escort force of the Freespacer government, on skirmisher duty. Then,
the ship the tourist would be riding in would pass into the outer
perimiter of the fleet, a disorganized area where as many as a couple
hundred ships of varying size would be awaiting a position assignment
in the fleet proper, or be moving from one position to another.
Beyond the outer edge lay the fleet proper, a strictly
organized flight pattern organized to prevent collisions while
allowing for easy passage in, through, and out of the pattern. At the
heart of the fleet lay five ships, which above all represented the
core of the Freespacer nation; the twin triangles of the capitol
ships, the CFA Washington and CFA Richmond; the two principal drydock
vessels, the streamlined CFA Birmingham and the gigantic CFA
Bethlehem; and at the very core of the fleet, the immense hulk of a
ship, almost as big as Wilderness Station itself, the CFA New Orleans.
These five ships, by themselves, held some 50,000 permanent residents;
the entire fleet, over 2,500 ships in all, normally had a total
population of over a million people.
Today, as the Tinker glided through the pattern to its
position close by the Washington, the population had been drastically
increased.
Kris stood on the bridge of the Tinker, watching the ships
gliding around and through the pattern. Dozens of private haulers,
some out-and-out smugglers, raced their ships through the pattern,
running to and from larger transports with their cargo of refugees.
The starfighter cordon was supplemented by the combined force of all
twenty-five MASS units and the six active carriers of the CFMF
Tactical Fleet. Many more non-Freespacer ships than usual were in the
pattern, taking advantage of the additional protection before flying
to safety.
In the current situation, safety was a relative concept. Each
day, more worlds came under attack from GENOM forces. Salusia, Zardon,
Vulcan, Sirius and Cybertron were all under siege. On Earth, the
Olympus arcology had been bombarded almost out of existence in
minutes, and the planetary defense forces had been driven underground
or into guerilla warfare. Smaller task forces were attacking places
like Manticore, Corellia, and Ord Mantell. More and more often,
refugees were being re-routed to the new Dyson Sphere which had
replaced the old Utopia Plantia Ship Yards.
"All stop," JJ ordered, and the helmsman's hands danced across
the keys, bringing the motion of the ship to a halt in comparison to
the rest of the fleet. Through the ports, Kris picked out three of the
Camelot-class carriers of the Tactical Fleet, along with several
Plymouth-III and Broadway corvettes. The fleet's mixture of the
incredibly-modified Headhunters, slightly-less-modified Myrmidons, and
brand-new Dragonflies zipped back and forth across the pattern, tiny
sparks against the multicolored shapes of the main Home Fleet.
"Thank you for the ride, Captain," Kris said. "If my launch is
ready, I'll be heading over to the Washington now and get a dent put
in the paperwork." Kris' smile said that he'd rather clean out a
Bantha stable.
"Anytime, Red- uh, Admiral," JJ said. "Say hi to Little Joe
for me, willya?"
"Will do, JJ," Kris replied. "Carry on."
Once inside the turbolift for a long ride down to the hangar,
Kris wished mentally that he could risk the new transporters he'd had
installed in all the ships Dreadnaught-class and larger. However, he
thought, trying to use a matter-energy transporter on a lifeform which
absorbed energy would lead to extremely unpleasant consequences.
Kris' private launch eased out of the Tinker's hangar, aiming
itself towards the Washington. As Kris guided the small shuttle
through the pattern, he noted one particular X-wing cutting across the
pattern at high speed, apparently trying to intercept him. The
markings on the fighter, even at this distance, identified it as one
of the MASS-21 Cosmotigers.
Kris' heart sank even as his hands danced in an evasion
protocol, barely managing to convince the shuttle to duck under the
fighter. The fighter belatedly overcorrected, grazed a passing
freighter with its wingtip, and spun wildly towards the Washington. A
few seconds before the fighter could collide with the larger ship, a
tractor beam lanced out from its starboard vane and slowed the
fighter, stopping it a few meters from its hull.
"Overstreet to Washington," Kris said quietly. "Is that
Lieutenant Curtiss in that fighter?"
"Sure is, Admiral," the deck officer replied. "Would you like
to speak to her when you land?"
Kris suppressed what he'd really like to do- all four
variations- and said, "That would be a good idea."
(chewing-out from Chief Boris Konig's POV)
Chapter 3/THEN
Uncharted planet
November 16, 2234
Kris floated through his dreams, trying to relax while seeking
madly for a peculiar type of dream he had on occasion.
Ever since he could remember, Kris had seen places, and
occasionally people, in his dreams. Places he hadn't been, people he'd
never met. Then, he'd forget the dream- until he saw the place or met
the person, when he'd be hit with the feeling he nicknamed Deja View.
A week ago, he'd orbited a planet, dominated by one large
continent with a vast expanse of grassland, after thirty-two years of
wandering uncharted space, interspersed by periods of being stranded
on planets trying to repair his decrepit scout ship. He'd never seen
the world before- in fact, as far as anyone knew, no one from the
United Galactica had come this way.
But he'd seen the planet before... and he'd known he had to
land. His ship set down near the center of the grassland, and he'd
hiked a couple miles before seeing a small hut alone in the
wilderness. He'd walked up to the hut and looked around... and found a
note addressed to Kristan Overstreet.
MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE; I WILL RETURN SHORTLY.
For the past two weeks, he'd listened to the old man who
showed up that evening, meditated even as he ran alongside the bovine
creatures of the plains, concentrated on not concentrating. Already,
his control over his ability to absorb and manipulate energy was
becoming more refined and less instinctive. He could feel and control
every action, every process in his body.
Not bad for a Jedi in training.
Tonight, sensing the Force but not able to touch it, Kris
stumbled from dream to dream, rushing through the chaotic images
seeking a true view. Views of various Condorcets, of Washuu and
Sparky, of Leeanna and Asrial and Ichi and Jeremy, of the Wayward Son,
the New Orleans, the ex-Sivar carrier CFMF Jyurai, of worlds and people
and ships beyond number, blurred together into a phantasmal blur.
But tonight, it seemed, there would be no 'special' dreams, no
Deja Views. Resigning himself to failure, Kris settled into a more
restful sleep, vowing to try again another time, and another, as long
as it took.
More to learn, he thought, and how much time to learn in?
Early in the morning on the seventh day of Kris' training,
Jaicyen led him on a trek across the plain, the old man running
effortlessly ahead while Kris panted behind him. For the millionth
time or so, Kris regretted promising not to boost his strength or
endurance during training; his lungs were raw, his legs shaking, and
he wanted to throw up. Looking back, he could barely make out the hut,
some three or four miles back. Ahead, the horizon appeared
featureless, save for a stunted tree here or there rising from the
grassland.
"Come, Kristan!" Jaicyen shouted back. "The Jedi gains
strength and endurance from the Force! Let the Force flow through
you!"
Kris smothered the thought of letting anything flow at all and
kept running.
The small wash appeared out of nowhere, suddenly breaking the
seeming endless plain in front of them. Laughing, Jaicyen jumped off
the wash's high banks; groaning, Kris followed, dropping and rolling
as he hit the wash bed about twelve feet below. Jaicyen had apparently
had no need even to roll, he stood, staff in hand, looking at Kris
with the same penetrating stare as when the two had first met.
For a few seconds, Kris steadied himself, allowing his
regeneration to catch up with his exertions. At the same time, he
carefully relaxed himself, little by little, opening himself up to the
Force. The first couple of times, it seemed to flee from him; the
third time, he felt it flow through him; as he touched it, he felt a
cold, hungry darkness around him.
"What..." Kris said, careful not to lose his concentration...
"what am I feeling?"
"What _are_ you feeling?" Jaicyen asked.
"Something is wrong here," Kris murmured. Standing, he took a
few tenative steps, then turned and faced the arroyo's bank. In front
of him was a low cave, where past floods had washed away the soil to
reveal the limestone beneath. The hole might admit a human, crouched
over, carefully.
The cave reeked of the darkness; in a flash, Kris saw the cave
and its surroundings as if on a moonlit night, except that the
darkness flowed from the cave, eating away at the daylight.
The vision passed, and Kris took a step closer. "There is
something in the cave, isn't there?" he said at last.
"In ancient times," Jaicyen said at last, "a great battle was
fought here, between a Jedi Master and a Lord of the Sith. Since that
battle, this place, this tomb, has been strong, strong with the Dark
Side of the Force.
"You must go inside."
Kris balked. "I don't want to go inside. You've warned me more
times than I can count about the Dark Side, why should I want to go
in?"
"Sooner or later, Kristan, each of us must face the Dark Side
for the first time," Jaicyen said. "If you do not go in now, you
merely put off the inevitable for a day when you may not expect it."
"Am I ready?" Kris asked.
"No," Jaicyen replied. "There is no way to be ready."
"I'm afraid," Kris said.
"That is natural," Jaicyen said. "Be careful not to let your
fear control you. Control your emotions, do not let your emotions
control your actions, and you will be safe."
"What will I find in there?"
"Only what you bring with you."
Kris looked at Jaicyen, then at the cave, and then, taking a
deep breath, he crawled into the hole.
For a second, Kris saw the dimly lit cave, water dripping down
into the depths of an enormous cavern, shadows creeping at every
side...
Kris blinked furiously. The cave was gone; he stood in an
alley of some sort. Around him stood high sandstone palaces, carved
with the images of birds of prey, of hunting animals, and of tall
bipeds with leonine faces. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils.
Kilrah, Kris realized, this is the Kilrathi homeworld. What the hell
am I doing here?
Behind him, something exploded with horrific force, throwing
him to the ground. Fear threatened to overwhelm him, and he forced
himself to calm down. _There is no emotion; there is peace,_ he
thought.
The voice inside him which said, Yeah, right, did nothing to
help his state of mind.
Footsteps behind him, slowly crunching against the sandstone,
caused Kris to spin around. A humanoid form, roughly Kris' height,
dressed, cloaked and hooded in black, took long measured strides,
walking towards, and then past, Kris, without looking aside.
Suddenly, a Kilrathi female, holding a young cub in her arms,
stumbled into the alleyway, gasping and looking behind her. Looking
away from the avenue outside, the Kilrathi woman took a step, paused,
and gasped as she saw the smaller, human form before her.
The Kilrathi screamed.
The cloaked human raised a hand, and small bolts of energy
slashed through the woman's body. Screaming in fear and pain, she fell
atop her baby, carefully shielding the cub without crushing it against
the ground. The energy-shivs continued, cutting hole after hole into
the Kilrathi's body. Finally, the Kilrathi woman's screams died out,
leaving the crying of the cub as the only sound in the alleyway.
Kris gaped as the cloaked man strode forward, pushing the
Kilrathi's body off the cub. The cub looked up, silent and fearful, as
the cloaked man picked it up by the scruff in its neck. An energy
blade appeared in the man's hand, and wordlessly he raised it to
strike.
"STOP!" Kris managed to shout at last, and he ran towards the
man and cub, energy staff appearing in his own hand.
The cloaked man paid no attention; with a flick of the wrist,
the cub's head tumbled away, landing with a soft splotch. With a
gesture of disgust, the man tossed the lifeless body away.
"No..." Kris's staff vanished, and ignoring the cloaked man,
he knelt down and cradled the headless cub in his arms. Then, tears
steaming down his face, he looked up at the cloaked man and said,
"Why? Who are you! WHY?"
In reply, the hooded man reached up and pulled the hood away
from his face. Wild, unkempt blonde hair matted down on a pale head,
and a manic grin gleamed through a tangled red beard. Two slits which
might have been eyes glowed as red as the energy blade which still
glowed in the man's right hand.
Kris gasped, "You... you're me."
"Wrong," the man said quietly. "I am me. You merely think you
are me. But you are a lie, a denial. I am the true Redneck, little
man. And there are Kilrathi to kill."
"NO!" Kris said, and, dropping his link to the Force, he
focused all the energy at his doppelganger-
-and Kris stood, in a dark, damp cave, water up to his calves,
fists glowing with energy ready to expel.
No, he thought, carefully dissapating the blast ready to fly,
no, that wasn't me.
That was only a vision. It isn't real.
I would never be that cold, that wild a killer.
I hope.
And outside the cave, Jaicyen watched and waited, and thought.
And he kept his thoughts to himself.
The dreams again, the images, the searching.
A week had passed since his trial at the cave. Jaicyen had
refused to tell kim if he'd passed or failed, and Kris didn't know
himself. The image of himself as a cold, heartless killer filled Kris
with terror, a terror he had to wrestle down almost constantly.
The images returned, and this time Kris felt he was on the
right track. A black-haired woman with horns, a redheaded elf with an
ancient sword, and a scantily-clad blonde woman in a fedora; these
were images totally unknown to him, as were the images of a small
redheaded child, smiling happily up at him. He saw a person who looked
somewhat like Skuld, one of Doraemon Base's AIs... only grown up, in
armor, facing off against the Midgard Serpent. A man both old and
young, man and machine, enemy and friend. A man with an insane grin,
and glowing red eyes, wearing a blue business suit...
Then, Kris fell into a dark, dark pit...
... running through the black-walled corridors, beam-staff in
hand, seeking... what?
... anger, much anger, whose? Fear, fear and hatred soaked
through the walls- how am I feeling this? Turn a corner and-
-the pain, the pain of the innocent- who is doing this? I hear
the screams, what are they doing? Why am I here? WHY?
"Kristan! Wake up!"
Kris jerked up from his bunk, sweating. Above him stood Master
Jaicyen, sad eyes watching him concernedly. "You were seeking the
future, I see," he said sadly. "And you have found it."
"Did you... did you see that?" Kris asked. The image was fresh
in his mind; he fought to lock away the fear and anger he'd felt in
the dream.
"I am not sure," Jaicyen said. "I saw something which gave me
concern... and I awoke and felt your fear. Wherever the place was you
saw, it was deep, deep in the Dark Side... and you were in grave
danger."
"Danger? From who? I didn't see nobody."
"From yourself," Jaicyen said. "Much of the anger, the hatred,
was yours. I cannot teach you anymore."
"What?" Kris started. "But Master, I was just beginning to
learn! What about the other lessons, the other techniques?"
Jaicyen sighed. "I saw two futures," he said at last. "Maybe
one is true, maybe the other, maybe neither. In one, I taught you and
made you a Jedi Knight; that much ability is in you. And then you fell
to the Dark Side, and had not the strength to come back. In the other,
you left me, and you learned a little on your own, and you came close
to the Dark Side, but stepped away from the edge.
"For your sake, and the sake of those you call friend, I must
refuse to teach you anything else. I would appreciate it if you left
this world at once." Jaicyen gestured to a rack, upon which some dried
meat had been hanging. "I have prepared some supplies which should see
you as far as the next system. There you will find an industrial world
capable of servicing your ship. May the Force be with you." The old
man strode out of the hut door into the pre-dawn shadows, leaving Kris
alone to dress and pack.
A few hours later, a battered scout ship floated across the
plain slowly, criss-crossing the grassland.
Jaicyen's hut was nowhere to be found.
(expand the last couple of paras)
Chaper 3/NOW
Staring out a window- whose window?- watching ships in
combat... the battle is one-sided, a huge fleet of huge ships smashing
a smaller fleet of much, much smaller ships...
...a redheaded form flashed by, in the cockpit of an X-Wing,
flying into the heart of the fighting. The laser blasts found the
fighter, and the redhead screamed as Kris watched...
"TERRI!"
Kris sat up in his bed, sweating wildly. The dark room on the
CFA Washington lay quietly around him, dimly lit by the running lights
and engines of the fleet shining through the viewport. Shaking
slightly, Kris got up from the bed and walked over to his desk,
checking the time and date; 0342 8-3-88, the small readout glowed.
The dream faded slightly, and Kris forced himself to calm
down. A battle- must be us against GENOM, no one else has a fleet that
big- and Terri? Terri dead? ...
Kris wrapped a robe around himself and strode through his
office, past the reception desk and out into the corridor. Even at
this late hour pages for the Legate and crewmen passed by on their
errands. Across from Kris' office door lay a plain wooden door,
familiar to any child who ever watched the educational TV series
"Washuu's Lab." Where Kris' door slid open, the wooden door hinged,
into a vast, vast space not shown in the blueprints of the ship...
mostly because, Kris knew, the space didn't exist in the ship, or in
this dimension, at all.
The door closed behind Kris, vanishing as it did so. Kris knew
where to find it when he wished to leave; this was hardly his first
visit into Washuu's laboratory. As usual, Washuu sat near the door on
a cushion suspended in midair, typing madly away on a holographic
terminal. Hearing the door open and close, she looked up and smiled as
she recognized Kris. "Hi, Kris!" she said. "Having trouble sleeping?"
Kris walked over to Washuu and knelt so his face and Washuu's
were on the same level; where Kris was a hair under six feet tall,
Washuu was between four and five feet tall, and sitting didn't make
her any taller. "Washuu, I need to ask some advice," Kris said.
"Go ahead," Washuu said, more sober than usual.
"I'm in love with a person," Kris said, and Washuu's eyes lit
up excitedly. "The problem is, I think- well, I had a premonition-
well, there's a good chance she's going to die soon. I don't know what
to do about it."
"Die?" Washuu said. "Are you sure about this?"
Kris hung his head miserably. "I don't see any hope of
avoiding it," he mumbled. "I'm as sure as I am of anything, more so
even."
"Well, if you really think she's going to die, then there's no
time to waste!" Washuu said. "You need to tell this person right now
just how you feel! Use the time you have together to the maximum!
Don't let the opportunity slip away! Once she's dead, you'll never
have the chance again!" Sitting back on her cushion, she said, "I've
made that mistake too often to let it happen again, if I can help it."
"When was this?" Kris asked.
"Oh, back way before you were born," Washuu said. "That's not
important now. Listen to me. There is nothing more precious in this
universe, in my experience, than love. Nothing is harder to find,
harder to keep, and harder to part with. If you love someone, and you
think you're going to lose them, then you hold on tight, and you make
every moment you have together the best it can possibly be."
Kris nodded. "You're right," he said. "It's obvious, really!
Thank you for pointing it out to me!" Kris hugged Washuu tightly, and
Washuu shed a tear of joy. Releasing her, Kris said, "I'll go ask
Terri right now!"
Washuu's smile faltered. "Terri?"
"Yes! Terri and I are gonna be- well, if she accepts- I gotta
go propose!" Kris turned and ran through the door, banging it against
the bulkhead outside in the ship. Washuu stared through the door until
it swung closed, and the small crab chime clattered above the frame.
Then she put her head in her hands and cried.
<Gleep.>
<Gleep.>
"Yawn... whuzzisit?" Terri groaned. Stumbling from the guest
bunk she'd requested for the night, she wrapped a nightgown around
herself and keyed the door open.
For a second, she looked around and saw nothing; then she
noticed the man kneeling in a bathrobe in front of her. In his hand
was an ancient ring-box, a small ring crowned with a cluster of tiny
diamonds inside.
"Theresa Amy Curtiss..." Kris said quietly, "I ask for your
hand in marriage."
"huh?" Terri hadn't woken up yet.
"Terri..." Kris said, slightly annoyed, "Will... You...
Marry... Me?"
The words sank in at last, and Terri staggered slightly.
"M-marry?" Terri took the ring-box from Kris' hand and looked at it,
and him, like a startled deer entranced by a spotlight. "M-m-m-m-m-
marry me? Marry you? But-but I- but-"
"Terri... I love you very deeply. And I don't want to lose
you."
"But... but this is so... sudden," Terri said. "I need time to
think about this... maybe..." Terri closed the ring-box and turned to
the door. "I'll have to think about it," she said. "I'll let you know
when I have a decision."
"Don't take too long," Kris said, rising up. "We may not have
much time... and I don't want to waste one minute of what we have."
Terri smiled. "Is that a come-on?" she said.
It was Kris' turn to stutter. "Uh, wha, bwa?"
"Great!" Terri said. "I get a test-drive before I buy!"
Grasping Kris' robe by its lapels, she pulled him into the stateroom,
keying the door closed behind them.
Washuu kept crying on through the night, unable to stop,
emotions pouring from her like the tears running down her face.
I've failed, she thought.
I've failed.