# Gothic Night



## jaggedjaw (Oct 2, 2010)

The system was silent. Space was naturally silent, it was civilization that made it buzz. Without space travel, everything would stay still. If everything stayed still, then civilization would fade away. That was how it was intended, silence and stillness. But nature rarely get's its way.

An area of space exploded, sending out shards of reality hundreds of yards away. Where there had been blackness, there was now a blue and white portal to the Nightmare Realm. A single ship slid out of this portal, like a sword from it's sheath, and sent out a single pulse. The shards of reality flew back into place, as if someone had reversed a image-stream of a broken mirror, and then acted like its old self. But what happened wasn't interesting; the ship itself was the center of focus.

To an unsuspecting eye, the ship would look like and Empirical ship. It was long, spouted the large engines, guided itself with it's fins, and its eye stared unflinching into world. But they would have failed to notice the lack of insignia. This ship wasn't sent by the Empire to scour some threat, and it wasn't loaned to their L.A.D.s for a patrol vessel. The ships was the possession of the Del'lera pirates.

********
The deck of the Del'lera Midnight was strewn with a dozen or so crew clanking away on the Data-looms and blabbing away on some Voice-stealers all making sure everything had worked. With the pull of an input lever, one of the Data-looms displayed a thousand numbers and charts ,which would have meant nothing to any other being. 

"Captain Anabel", the operator said, without turning around," we have successfully exited Hyperspace and are about 62.45 standard minuets from target."

"Good", she replied,"tell me when you, when anyone has visual on our target."

"Ayi-ayi", the majority shouted.

"Yez Kapten", Gelthu said instead.

Gelthu was standing next to Captain Anabel, so anything he learned would have been around the same time as Anabel would, but it was still reassuring. On her right, P3N-T3K was observing and listening to the clank of the data looms, listening for some malfunction or other. Content that everything was in order he turned to Anabel's throne.

"Captain Anabel?" P3N-T3K began.

She turned her masked hood towards it and said, "what is it P-T?"

"I will ignore the name discrepancy ONCE again," P3N-T3K irked.

"Good", she said.

"Now then," P3N-T3K continued, "may I enquirer, once again, how you came across this 'treasure'?"

"HA!" she laughed, "What difference would it make as to how I came across it?"

"None." P3N-T3K said.

Anabel stood up, the folds of her black robe took a second to realize there was no wind, so it strived to create its own. She was tailed by Gelthu, his own trench cloak made no such effort, still cradling his Blaster. 

"Then why did you ask again?" Anabel jested.

"Mass," was P3N-T3K's reply.

She once again turned to face it.

"What do you mean 'mass?' The bigger the 'mass'," she continued, "the bigger the haul is. After all that's what ship scrap is..."

"May I inquire if this ship crashed on a planet?" P3N-T3K interrupted.

"Of course not," Was her reply.

"Vay," Gelthu added, "Plenet side skrap iz no good. Ell burn-ed it is. No good et ell fer shipz. Spece side skrap iz very good. E-Z pik-ing it iz."

It took a moment for his accent to be understood.

"Yeah...," Anabel finally said, "what he said. But this ship should be easy pickings for us."

"But its mass is..." P3N-T3K started.

"CAPTAIN!" someone's shout interrupted. "We have a mass index on the object. I think the Loom's faulty though."

"Why?" was Anabel's only Demand.

"Well," he said, "it has about the same mass as... well... as-"

"Jasmine's Sin." P3N-T3K finished.

The loudest thing in the room was the static on the stealer boxes. 

"What?" Anabel finally asked.

"Its just as he said," the operator replied, "This ship has the mass of, well, a small planet. It's size is estimated at 800kloms long, an average of 100kloms wide, and 100kloms tall. But...the rear of this thing has to be at least 450 all around."

"Are you joking?" Anabel stammered.

"We have visual in 1.3 standard minuets," he said. "So...we'll see."

Those 1.3 minuets felt like twelve years. When they were up, even the static was awestruck. 

"By tha Kommrad," Gelthu said, "Vat theng hez more metal on it than my home-plenet."

Seeing as he came from a dry-dock industrium, the impression sunk in very fast. A new feeling also descended on the deck.

"Well then," Anabel clapped, "we should get going. Gelthu! My magnum! My power sword! Get together a strike team and a shuttle! We leave in 60 minuets!"

"Ayi-Ayi Captain! Great idea Ma'm" was the reply.

But no one said what they felt.

It had to be a trap.

******
Lug 'ead Smelz Bed took in a large whiff of his quben. Goed stuf, he thought. He then pulled down his visor and watched his apentacez, iorn unez, and naught-ded work. He gave himself a large grin; everything was going according to "skeduel".


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## Dave T Hobbit (Dec 3, 2009)

I can see your intent with the dialects; however it does make the work a little hard to follow in places.


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## jaggedjaw (Oct 2, 2010)

sorry about the delay, here's the next part
********
The corridor was as silent as space. It was trying to be like space too, the only differences being a survivable temperature and the occasional beep on the wall lecterns or a slow flash from innumerable floor lights. The corridor was a perfect example of what nature intended life to be like: silent and still. But, it had had an unforeseen fate that would ruin this effect. The corridor was positioned on the edge of the ship.

There was a dull thud. This was then followed by torches burning their way through the dense hull. Finally, after cutting through, there was a thud as the cut hull was kicked away. Immediately, about fifty bodies stepped through and raised their weapons: a few dozen semi-autos and shot guns, about three fire spewers, three buzz arms, a revolver gun, a blaster, and, after much consideration, a blank filled snubnose.

"Ell klear Kapten!", Gelthu announced.

A moment later, Captain Anabel stepped through the breach, her robes flowing again. She took a quick look around. The corridor they choose was long, and she could see it was designed like a trench, so that once you got in you didn't have a clear shot all the way down (and so they could fit in cannons and quarters). She saw that, down a corridor right in front of her, it followed the same design, and would likely go on for a very long time before reaching anything important. But what intrigued her the most WAS the design.

The corridors, wall lecterns, lights, supports, everything had been designed like a tomb. The floor and walls, though obviously metallic, looked like they had been cut from stone and fitted together, the lighting seemed to make the passages darker then they were. The air even carried this stale quality, despite readings that the circulation system was running. In all her life, she had never seen a ship that had been so purposely designed for death. She made up her mind.

"I like this ship", she announced.
********
In an attempt to find the brig faster, they had broken down into three teams, with Anabel, Gelthu, and P3N-T3K. Each team had been assigned one buzzarm (for tough walls and doors) and one of the Teal triplets (for clearing out what was behind that door). Naturally, P3N-T3K, with his revolver gun, was given the least additional men, so that his party only numbered a dozen excluding him. This was fine by P3N-T3K, as he didn't like large groups of people and enjoyed having clear firing lanes. What annoyed him, was that Felip Teal wouldn't shut up.

"So iron ass", Felip began, "why do we have to listen to you again?"

"First", P3N-T3K said, "my name is not 'iron ass' it is P3N-T3K, and second-"

"Why do you need a gun that big", Felip continued, "are you compensatin'?"

"If you would like me to answer your question", P3N-T3K irked, "then do not interrupt, and what do you mean by-"

"Have you ever used that, or is it just for show?"

"Will you please-"

"How come you never wear pants and no one says anything, but when I do I get called weird?"

"That is because-"

"Why are you so boring?"

"I am not boring, I am walking an-"

"Why is your name so stupid?"

The conversation continued like this for the better part of an hour before P3N-T3K, in an attempt to conserve ammunition said:

"Mister Felip, I will have you know that I do not have a mother, fraged or otherwise, 
I have never killed a man with a spoon, I do not even wear underwear and-"

"Shh!" Felip whispered.

"What is-", P3N-T3K began

"SHH!"

With his programs not so focused, P3N-T3K realized that there was someone working up ahead. Wasting no time, he switched on his soul vision and looked at were it was coning from. He couldn't believe his image-weavers. Around the next corridor was a team of tecnos, about eleven workers and guard, working on a section of wall. What astonished him the most was, he recognized the classes.

"Those are Fel-14-6 class workers and a skel-8-10", P3N-T3K said.

"Is that good?", Felip asked

P3N-T3K shook his head.

"Explain later", Felip said, drawing a snubnose, "I'm too bored for any tecno babble."
********
DR3-N41R-3 considered himself a lucky tecno. Well, he considered himself as far as his slave drive and sustained flaws would allow, but considering that he was ten years old, this wasn't all that bad a sense of identity. He, DR3-N41R-3 called himself he because it was easier then DR3-N41R-3, had been assigned to this "project", as a mindless tecno but, after much hardship, had proven himself of superior intelligence to all other tecnos on the ship, including his former commander who had unfortunately been made a claustrophobic, and was now a silver commander, despite never having been in a battle, and was only about two promotions from being allowed to command his own regiment. All he had to do was make sure that the schedule was kept to.

"All right then", DR3-N41R-3 said, "It has been an hour. Tell all units to check in."

"Remere", came the affirmative.

In the communications room, about a Heresy platoon worth of Skel-8-10 clocked in the responses of over a thousand different worker teams: zed, tecno, human, and (shiver) Trol work teams all called in. After a minute, DR3-N41R-3 became worried, the replies had ended around .5 seconds sooner then they should have, and a tecno who works with the same number of teams for ten years knows exactly how long it should take.

He walked over to one of the data-weavers and said, "Did all the teams check in?"

"No sir", came the reply, "about three outer-edge teams haven't responded."

"Are they Trolz or new-ones?" DR3-N41R-3 asked.

After much thought, the weaver said, "mmmmNo. They were Tec-312, Tec 417, and Tec-201."

Now DR3-N41R-3, didn't have emotions (no personality matrix) but he felt the closest thing to fear a tecno could. Tecno teams called in even if their report happened to be annoyed by the sounds of explosions, fire, or screams, nothing would stop them.

"I'm going to tell...", DR3-N41R-3 said, "...actually, divert some teams over there to see if its just a malfunction."

A breach in protocol, DR3-N41R-3 thought, but I REALLY don't want to talk to Smelz Bed


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## jaggedjaw (Oct 2, 2010)

part 3
********
The last tecno was dispatched with a resounding bang and shuddered off. With that, the team took stock of the damages. Anabel hadn't been involved in the fighting, magnum ammo wasn't worth it on a tecno, and had already had a pretty good idea of what they were doing. They must have been repairing some problems with Grav-plates, as there was an open panel on the wall, and a couple of broken parts were free floating. Still, something was definitely wrong. 

Anabel signaled the man with the stealer box to come over to her. In a few moments, she was in the voice net.

"P3N-T3K! Gelthu! Respond!" She yelled.

As it turned out, they were already on.

"Kapten!" Gelthu announced, "We eteked som tekno wurkers! Ebout seven uf them!"

"The same goes for us, Captain Anabel.", P3N-T3K added, "They were Fel-14-6 class workers and a skel-8-1."

"Well", Anabel responded, "What does that mean?"

"What it means", Said P3N-T3K, "is that the Heresy have taken a vested interest in this ship. Those templates are hardly a hundred years old. These units seem to be only about two years or so old."

"So basically this is a Heresy ship", Anabel gathered.

"Oh no", said P3N-T3K, "this ship would never meet their exacting aesthetic designs. It doesn't have enough green, and it has far too few triangles. Also, I estimate that a ship this size could never be produced on the scale demanded for the Heresy."

"Then its pirates or independents", Anabel surmised, "I've seen them do it before."

"Unfortunately captain", P3N-T3K corrected, "The Heresy doesn't sell Skel-8-10s with their lightning guns. And they would bare the foreign sale stamp on them."

Frustrated, Anabel simply said, "Then its a salvage crew of tecnos."

"Possible", said P3N-T3K.

Just great, Anabel thought. Competition. Well at least...

The frantic, repeating click of a snub nose tore Anabel's attention back to reality. One of the team members was "firing" at an intersection. A few seconds later, about a dozen tecnos came into that intersection. A moment or two after that, they were twitching piles of scrap. Anabel then turned to the person who "fired".

"Yes Ma'ma?" she said.

"Precog", Anabel began.

"Sorry, I thought i was in the present", she replied.

"Why didn't you just tell us they were there?" Anabel asked.

"Understood Ma'ma!" She finished.

"Just try not to do it again", Anabel said.

It always took Anabel a little while to realize that the conversation was out of order. Then again, she didn't care. Anabel grabbed the stealer horn.

"All righ...", she began, before the sound of gun fire nearly blew out her ear drums.

"Captain", said P3N-T3K, "please wait a little longer."

Truth be told, she waited a whole twenty seconds.

"ALRIGHT", Anabel demanded, "WHAT'S GOING ON?"

"I du nut know Kapten!", Gelthu announced.

"It may be a coincidence", P3N-T3K began, "But I highly doubt that. I suggest we..."

"FINE THEN", captain Anabel decided, "we continue on. Report in regularly. Now then MOVE OUT!"
********
P3N-T3K was holding a dead stealer horn in his good claw.

"...that we head back for the ship", P3N-T3K finished.

There was a long silence in hie group. And then, with his value proven...

"So Iron Ass, what's on the menu now?"


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## jaggedjaw (Oct 2, 2010)

DR3-N41R-3 decided that he was not a lucky tecno today. Six more of his work teams had not reported in, in addition to the three he had sent to check up on the first three. Worse still, with twelve tecno work teams not reporting in, he knew that the schedule would suffer delays, albeit minor. But talking to Smelz Bed was out of the question, the stupid Trol would never listen to him. So, despite the breach in protocol, DR3-N41R-3 would have to talk to the chief of security. Fun.

It was not that DR3-N41R-3 didn't mind zeds, it was their fault they that were able to catch to diseases after all, but a Necromator was a completely different matter. The thought of a human who WILLINGLY infects themselves with the Besmeirten for the purpose of power, never settled well with DR3-N41R-3. And the fact that Filip changed his appearance to look like the image-show reels just made it worse. Also, he was a real douchebag. 

"Yes scrap metal?" Filip said.

"Well Mr. Filup", DR3-N41R-3 said, noting with a blank satisfaction at Filip's wince, "I seem to have a problem."

Turning to face DR3-N41R-3, and allowing his rotted cape to bellow, Filip replied, "And why didn't you go to...good point...so you lost some work teams?"

Despite not being alive, DR3-N41R-3 still had a mind (sort of) so there was still something for Filip to read (an important ability that many Necromator's laugh off, until their zed decide THEY would make a nice snack, and not the guy with the gun). 

"So then...is that right...techni's on top of that...two hours...." Filip's one sided conversation went on for about two more minuets. "Alright then", he finally said to someone, "I'll help you, only if you give me access to the workers for some pet projects...20 teams...not 2... fine I'll settle for 15...no?....how about 10?...THAT'S LOWER...fine 5 teams of non-tecni's."

DR3-N41R-3 really hated when he did that.

Turning to his Zed data-weavers, and making sure his cape bellowed, Filip gave orders to a Techno platoon and then went to fix his pointed hat. In a few minuets, Filip would be in a sour mood.

*******
With a resounding bang, the last Tecno was dispatched. Gelthu stood over yet another work team, by his count this was the fifth they'd com across, and he kicked one of the husks for good measure. Tecnos. The only reason Gelthu tolerated them was for target practice, they weren't good for anything else. Anything one of those stupid hunks of tin and iron can do, a human could do a hundred times better.

"Gelthu", said someone, "should I report or should you?"

"No, E'll do et", Gelthu said.

In less then a minuet, Gelthu had reported in, the total number of teams encountered had been talked over (seventeen), and then went back to his mission. They had found a high energy spike, which they assumed it must be the engines, and had been following it the whole time. The higher encounter rate also meant that they were onto something.

"Yo Gelthu", asked Felop, "why are you soooo boring?"

Learning from past mistakes, Gelthu ignored him.

"Well", Felop continued, "You've got to have some reason. I mean, what good does it do you to be boring all the time? I mean, to be as boring as you are, you would have had to be born to a boring family, in a boring house, given only boring food, told only boring stories, and given only the most boring of toys. Then, when you reached the age of six, your parents sent you to a boring school, filled with other boring kids, who read boring books, given to them by boring teachers, and had the most boring homework ever. Then, you were given a boring letter, filled with boring details, where you "volunteered" for the most boring unit, had the most boring training, and then were sent to a planet five time as boring as yours, where the women were boring, the war was boring, and the training was so boring that you decided to quit, but then realized that you loved you boring unit on a boring planet, in a boring section of space so you-DUCK!"

His "Duck" saved the whole unit's life. About a dozen Skel-8-10s had sneaked up on Gelthu's unit and already had green lightning streaking towards them. Most of the men hid out in hallways, or just hit the deck, but they were already firing on the Tecnos. Saying their armor was tough was like saying black is white, but it did deflect the occasional bullet. As for the plasma from Gelthu's blaster...not so much. 

Then, when there were only about three left, a flanking force opened fire. Gelthu dived behind the crate Felop was using for cover.

"Thes hes got te be et-lest a pleton of tham", Gelthu screamed.

Despite the fighting, and the fact that someone who had went to shoot was now a chard corpse resting on his back, Felop smiled wider then the corridor.

"Does that me-", he managed

Gelthu rolled his eyes, "Y-"

Already the fire spewer was gushing and was followed by what only can be described as the laughter of a mad man on drugs after hearing a REALLY funny joke. The Tecnos never stood a chance. In fact, Gelthu believed that some of them actually tried to run away. When it was over, due to fuel issues, there was now, in place of sixty or so tecnos, a very chard corridor and molten metal. After taking a roll call, it was determined that about five team members were dead.

Gelthu picked up the stealer horn and said, "We hev a preblem..."

********
Thanks to several image-stealers, Filip and DR3-N41R-3 both reached the same conclusion.

"Sheite."


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