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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:01:44 GMT -6
This story was originally written around Halloween, though it wasn't written with the holiday in mind. Since I ran across it again, since it's around Halloween, and since many of our members probably haven't seen it, I'm posting it here at our new home.
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SAFE-TY SYS-TEM
Honorable people often inflict worse punishments on themselves for their mistakes than would their peers. Such was the case of the man on the cot this night. Anyone who knew him would attest that he was indeed quite honorable, or at least, tried to be as honorable as anyone could be in his condition. As a result, the self-inflicted punishment he was experiencing was quite severe. His sleeping body suddenly jerked, stiffening, allowing a single foot to stick out from under the sparse sheet that covered him. A keen observer might have also noted that, unless the man was a skilled contortionist, his left leg did not appear to be where one ordinarily should be.
As he stiffened, he cried out yet again, abruptly concluding his ritual nightmare for what he guessed would have to have been the five or six hundredth time. It was a rare night since he’d awakened after the accident almost two yahrens before that he had not experienced the dream at least once. Each time, he saw himself lose concentration just before the critical moment and saw himself make a tiny error, leading to a tearing of metal, an explosion just outside his cockpit, and the long scraping noise as the remains of his Viper hit the ground hard and slid along for almost 1,500 meters. The dream always concluded with Joster’s pale dead face staring lifelessly at him, silently mouthing words that Urdea still could not understand after countless viewings. He’d even considered studying lip-reading to help decipher the words, but he decided against it since he wasn’t sure how effective this would be anyway. His rather limited experience with pale dead nightmare ghosts was that they generally didn’t make a habit of enunciating their words all that carefully. He’d finally decided that the ghost was saying, “Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem.” which he took as being an accusation about his carelessness. Now, viewing Joster’s ghost was both his nightly torment and his nightly penance.
Although the search had been quite intensive, very little of Joster’s remains was ever located, with most having been pulverized and then consumed by the fiery explosion. The rescue team had found Urdea’s “remains” almost three centars after the crash. Although he was technically still classified as alive by the attending Medicians, the damage had been severe enough that “remains” had seemed almost applicable. They later told him that his flight suit has saved his life, so he cursed it soundly and swore then and there that he would never wear another one. Of course, it was already obvious to anyone observing him that this was no longer an issue anyway. His days as a Colonial Warrior were over.
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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:02:51 GMT -6
Almost a yahren after the accident, he’d been released from the care facility with most of the physical damage either stabilized or corrected. Twenty-three bones had healed, mending the close to forty fractures he’d suffered, although he’d carry nine of the pins, five implants, and three plates permanently. He’d also received four organ replacements, several substitutes, most of a mouthful of teeth, and countless grafts and plastic surgeries, all taking more operations than he cared to remember. In addition, his lower left leg had been amputated and replaced by a prosthesis. Combined, this left most of the visible damage corrected, but the psychological damage was another story entirely.
Far more damaging than the actual injuries, the accident had taken both of the people Urdea cared most about in all of the Twelve Worlds. His new wingmate, a slender young Libran named Joster, had been with him for only a few sectons. They’d been teamed together by the Command Staff so Urdea could “help take off some of Joster’s rougher edges,” and eventually turn him into a real pilot. Instead, Joster had been killed as a result of Urdea’s momentary loss of concentration, his stupid act of carelessness. He’d let his mind drift away from the important task at hand, preparing to land his Viper in formation on the planet Sagitara. He’d thought briefly of his beloved Abighiá, who he would have soon been seeing for the first time in fourteen sectons. Just before the start of that very patrol, he’d decided to ask her to take the Seal with him. The mission being all but over, he’d let his mind wander as he thought of how he might ask her. His hand had evidently twitched slightly to the left, but it was more than enough to bring the two Vipers into contact and then to their mutual destruction as they had been preparing to land.
His Abby had been studying agronomy on the planet, but she interrupted her studies, and started coming to see him every day, spending as much time as the medical team would allow, while he was unconscious. She saw clearly the ravages his body had experienced, but she stood by him, doing her best to nurse him back to health as his body began the long recovery process. Still, the sight of his broken body left her largely unprepared for the impact the accident had had on his mind. When he’d awaken and realized the extent of his injuries, he’d refused to see her any more, hoping to somehow spare her any more anguish. She’d tried time after time to change his mind, sending letters, notes, and cards, all completely without success due to the guilt in which he was already beginning to drown himself. After some sectars, the frequency of the attempted visits decreased, and then trickled to a halt, as did the letters a short time later. With the exception of his nightly visitor, Urdea was now truly alone.
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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:03:44 GMT -6
Joster had been single, with his only remaining family being his mother and two siblings. Urdea had tried to contact them through Colonial Military channels, and had offered to set up scholarships for the siblings, but Joster’s mother had declined any contact with the man who had killed her son, no matter how sorry he seemed. Wanting to get away from it all, Urdea had bought an old shuttle, packed it with a few items, and planned to go to the frontier on Canceria, his home planet. He’d programmed the shuttle’s course before bed that cycle, and then suffered through his nightly visit, with those flaccid lips mouthing, “Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem.” When he’d awaken some centars later, he was surprised to find that the programmed flight course had changed, and he was instead headed directly toward Libra, Joster’s home world. Urdea had immediately reprogrammed the course, and watched as the shuttle changed direction. A few centons later, however, he was surprised to see the course changing back toward Libra again. He’d fought it for a full cycle, but finally given up when he realized that whatever was causing the course change would not easily be corrected. The shuttle had finally landed, automatically it seemed, in open and uninhabited grassland just over thirty kilometers from the nearest human settlement. After studying the area, he decided that this land would become his home. He’d visited the settlement, with the shuttle nav-computer working perfectly without any repairs, and he’d laid claim to the land and purchased supplies with the last of his money. He’d built a combined hangar and barn with most of the supplies, and with the leftover pieces of building materials, he’d built a small sod-covered hut and started a small farming operation. He’d succeeded in isolating himself as much as was possible, with only Joster’s unwelcome nightly visage for company, so he could stew in his own guilt, frustration, and loneliness.
This night, on seeing Joster again mouthing the silent words, “Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem,” Urdea had risen from his cot, and attached his prosthetic leg to the implant just below his left knee. He wiped sweat from his brow and walked to the pitcher of water he’d drawn from the well the afternoon before. As he reached for his cup, he glanced through the small opening in the exterior wall. He was only mildly surprised to see flashing lights in the distance in the direction of Kenkillen, the nearest settlement. He’d heard on the local broadcast that Adar’s peace treaty with the Cylons was being signed today, so he assumed that the flashing lights were celebratory fireworks. He flipped on his small broadcast comm to get the latest word, but received only static in reply. He’d planned to travel to Kenkillen the next afternoon for supplies anyway, so he returned to bed without another thought of the lights. Instead, Joster’s pale face dominated his thoughts once more, as he wondered yet again just what he meant by “Safe-ty sys-tem.” Outside the little hut, somewhere in the distance, a hooter sounded, its eerie wail breaking across the plains, where darkness ruled once more.
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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:05:10 GMT -6
Shortly after dawn arrived, red streaks across the sky quickly yielded to a bright cloudless morning. Urdea went about his morning chores having never slept again after the nightmare. He’d quickly completed his typical morning chores, and then run through his list of special items for the day. After a quick lunch, he’d packed a small emergency bag in the shuttle, along with a few other items that always resided there. A few centons later, the shuttle’s engines boomed into action, and within a centon, he was on his way to Kenkillen.
Urdea made it a practice of flying low, skimming just above the tops of the small rises that were frequently seen on the plains. It was the biggest thrill he could get in a cockpit since he knew that he would never again fly a Viper. Of course, his enemies here, instead of metal-skinned robots, were the lanky, shorthaired residents of the plains, the jack-hoppers. They always seemed to bound into the grass as the shuttle approached their positions. Urdea watched the fleeing wild creatures with a touch of amusement, but also a sense of compassion. He would not be bothering these creatures again any time soon.
He was only five kilometers from town when his scanner sounded, warning him of unfamiliar terrain in the area. A quick check showed that something was wrong…with the town! He slowed his shuttle to a virtual standstill, and traveled the next couple of kilometers mere meters above the ground as he evaluated the changed topography. Soon he saw plumes of smoke in the distance, and a short time later, the destruction became visible.
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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:06:08 GMT -6
He brought the shuttle down about a kilometer and a half from the outskirts of town, settling it behind a small hillock. As he did so, he suddenly drew back when he saw in the viewshield the reflection of a gray-skinned Joster sitting in the co-pilot’s chair. He was wearing the uniform of a Colonial Warrior but his face had that dead look. Urdea whirled toward the co-pilot’s chair as fast as his body would let him, but he saw only an empty seat. This was the first time he’d imagined seeing Joster during the awakening hours, so Urdea wondered, with some degree of amusement, if he might need a new medicine for some malady the doctors had not yet even discovered that he had.
Shaking his head, he dug into the locker and removed his emergency kit, plus his back-up laser pistol and holster, his old Colonial Warrior’s jacket with the retired patch just below the emblem of the Battlestar Atlantis (his last posting), and a few miscellaneous items including binocs, a comm unit, a first aid kit, a water bottle, and four solenite charges he’d been able to obtain, ostensibly for “rock clearing operations” on his completely rockless farm. He packed everything on a utility harness, or in his small belt pouch.
He began to trek toward the remains of the town, knowing something awful had happened, but not knowing what. He took his comm and tried to establish communications with the regional system, but he received no response. He shook his head again, wondering why, when bad things happen, nothing ever seemed to work right, making the bad things even worse. From what he could tell, there couldn’t be much worse here. Even before he reached the edge of what had been the village, the smell of death and destruction had filled his nostrils. Not knowing what he’d find, he decided to stay hidden as he worked his way toward the carnage. He dropped to the ground, and wriggled forward, slowly and cautiously making his way to the first group of burned or bombed out buildings. Less than 100 meters from the edge of “town,” he saw a large gash and a large hole in the ground that he thought would provide some cover. He clambered toward it, and soon dropped into the rift in the ground. By bending forward at the waist, he was able to stand upright as he covered the forty or fifty meters toward the hole at the end.
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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:08:21 GMT -6
In the crater were the remains of a Cylon Raider. Scorch marks on the lower front edge made it appear that the vessel had been hit from below, probably by a ground based defender. Seeing the entry hatch had been flung open by the impact, Urdea climbed up on the ship with his laser pistol in hand. He silently moved to the opening and peered inside, with the intent of dispatching the Cylons inside if they had not been destroyed by the impact. The first had been crushed as the ship crumpled around him. The second wouldn’t be causing any more trouble either, since its headpiece had been sheared from its torso. In fact, the head was missing entirely, probably buried under the debris that had been the cockpit prior to the crash. Due to the condition of the cockpit, it was difficult to tell where the pieces of the third Cylon even were. It didn’t take too long to figure it out though. The Command Centurion’s pieces just weren’t there. He, or it, was missing.
Urdea whirled around on the realization that the Centurion could be anywhere around him. Blood pumped in his temples as the adrenaline seemed to shoot into his system. He realized that what he was feeling felt like the apprehension before combat. Now, he might actually be in it again. For the first time since the accident, he felt completely alive, regaining a sudden will to live for the first time in his recent memory.
He slid down the front of the Raider, and continued to make his way forward, being ever watchful for the third Cylon. He loped across the last few meters, and pulled up behind the smoldering wall of what had been a house, or maybe a business. He aimed his laser pistol intently as he used the binocs to try to penetrate into the smoke in the distance. Seeing nothing that would help him, he began to dart from debris pile to adjacent debris pile as fast as his artificial leg would carry him, watching the whole time for the missing Centurion.
A few centons later, as he passed another pile of what had been a home, he saw an elderly white-haired lady wearing a night robe a few meters away. She was bent over, with her back to him, both hands reaching toward the ground, as if trying to locate something she’d lost on the ground.
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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:09:39 GMT -6
He approached cautiously, speaking softly to her as he neared to keep from surprising her. “Pssst! Ma’am,” he whispered, “what happened here? There’s a Cylon Centurion about,” but he received no reply. As he neared her, he realized that something was more wrong than he’d suspected. The lady’s hands, Urdea saw, weren’t really moving of their own volition. One end of a large steel shaft had been embedded in her chest, and the other had been driven in the ground enough so she was now supported in the position he’d found her. The pole vibrated slightly under another small breeze, leaving the corpse to continue its macabre dance.
Seeing there was nothing he could do for her, he muttered another, “Excuse me, Ma’am,” and went about his way, continuing his search for human life and for the Cylon. He spent the next fifty centons searching, but finding only death. A couple of the more intact bodies had burn marks that reminded him of those left by Cylon energy weapons, but many times, he saw only body parts, as if the people had been blown to pieces. He kept up his guard, determined to pass along the word of what had happened here to someone, somewhere, who could do something about it. Someone in the Colonial government would make those damnable Cylons pay for the evil that they wrought there. If he ever found it, he’d personally make the Centurion pay.
It eventually began to dawn on Urdea that the chance of finding anyone alive was becoming increasingly remote. He started down another former street, now piled high with debris of the collapsed buildings. He was still dodging from point to point, when in the distance, he saw a human shape emerging from the smoke. Keeping low, he tightened his grip on his laser pistol, in case this “shape” was the Cylon. It came directly toward him, as if it knew in advance Urdea’s exact position. Urdea aimed the pistol directly at the figure as it neared, but he hesitated firing, as his eyes began to take in the sight of the figure. It was a thin human male figure, with skin that was gaunt and pallid, covered by the uniform of a Colonial Warrior! Its hair looked unkempt, waving in the breeze. Try though he did to make it out, it was difficult to see the face until it was only about three meters in front of him, as if smoke was clinging to its skin, obscuring it with a type of waviness. As the man raised his hand, pointing it directly toward Urdea, the sense of waviness vanished, and Urdea suddenly felt his heart grasped with fear he’d never felt before, even when thinking of going one on one with the Centurion. Standing directly in front of him, he saw the dead figure of Joster! For the first time in his life, he was experiencing a real panic attack, with his breath coming in short bursts, and sweat almost boiling from his pores. He recoiled from the figure, trying to get away, but the sight of ghostly Joster’s upturned hand seemed to arrest his escape. He stopped struggling, and the Joster shade pointed his index finger directly at him, and mouthed those accusing silent words again. “Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem.” This time, however, the ghost curled the index toward itself, as if to say, “Come.” The Joster ghost turned away, and made its way down the remains of the street, with a reluctant Urdea following, a few moments later, only a short distance behind.
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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:11:03 GMT -6
Within fifty meters, the Joster ghost came to a halt, and pointed to a pile of rubble. Urdea tilted his head slightly to the right, wondering what the ghost wanted, until he saw it mouth the silent words again, “Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem.” Urdea wondered why anything to do with the safety system would be there, but considering the problem sleeping, he decided he would try to figure it out. He removed several sections of debris as quietly as he could, in an attempt to keep from alerting the Centurion. He winced at the noise, hoping that it would either not carry far, or would be perceived by the Cylon as just another building section falling. On shifting the last section, he saw a small shaft extending downward into the ground. Joster again pointed, this time directly down the hole, and mouthed wordlessly, “Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem.” Urdea whispered, “Yeah, yeah,” rather sarcastically to himself, and then started into the hole. He noticed that the ghost was not coming with him.
At the base of the steep stairs, the cellar floor flattened out. The small room had two exits in addition to the way he’d come. Seeing nothing of interest in the room, he carefully opened the nearest door, and found nothing but shelves covered with some type of supplies. Nothing looked like a “safety system” to Urdea, so he closed the door quietly behind him. Next, he tried the second door, but found the latch resisted his attempt to raise it. From his position next to the doorjamb, he listened intently for a few microns. He thought he heard something inside, so he raised the handle once more. Feeling it give slightly but not open, he curled his right hand into a fist, and tapped on the door very lightly with his knuckles. From inside, he heard a very small, “Who is it?” followed immediately by at least two hissed “Shhh!”’s.
His face broke into a small half-grin for the first time since he’d landed the shuttle. Urdea whispered back, “Quiet! I’m a friend, here to help. Open the door.”
A moment of hesitation was followed by a scraping and a click of the latch, and then the door swung a short way into the room. Urdea, with his laser pistol pointed straight up, peeked around the corner before drawing his head back quickly. In the brief glance, he’d seen a couple of young children huddled together behind a crate. He stepped into the room with the pistol in the lead, and immediately had to dodge to avoid a board that came swinging from behind the door. He slammed into the door, knocking into the side of his attacker, as he raised his left arm to absorb much of the force of the blow. Raising his other arm, he caught the piece of wood and yanked it down and around, pulling the trailing figure behind it. As he twisted, the force of the action caused him to twist, making him loose his balance on the bad leg. Falling, he saw that his attacker was a slim, young woman whose eyes suddenly widened in shock as she realized she was attacking not only someone there to help, but a Colonial Warrior! Urdea landed directly on her, becoming entangled with her, saying, “Sorry, Ma’am,” and rolled to the side, pulling the board out of her hands. He grabbed his laser pistol from where it had fallen on the floor, and as he rose to one knee, he shoved it into the holster. He quickly held out both hands as if to show he meant no harm, saying in a hushed tone, “Hold on, I’m really here to help!”
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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:12:00 GMT -6
She was a mess, but she looked at him with fiery eyes, as if she was ready to launch herself at him to tear him to shreds if he even looked the wrong way at the children. On looking closer, he realized that she was probably only sixteen or seventeen yahrens of age. She hesitated for a moment to give him a chance to prove himself, although from her look, he knew that she was not going to give him long. It took a couple of centons to convince her, including showing the retired patch on his jacket to make her believe he wasn’t just a cowardly deserter who’d allowed the destruction above to occur. When the girl finally relaxed slightly, showing that she had begun to believe him, he glanced around the room, and seeing no computer or other mechanical equipment of note, said, “No time to talk now. We’ve got to get out of here. Be very quiet and follow me.”
The girl nodded, signaling the two younger boys, who appeared to be about five or six and maybe eight or nine yahrens, to follow quietly. As they neared the top of the stairs, Urdea signaled them to stop as he crept forward to check out the area around the entrance. His laser pistol in hand, he stuck his head up just above the level of the entrance, and began to turn—
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Post by LucianG on Oct 30, 2004 14:13:07 GMT -6
A low whir from behind was the only warning. Incredible pain shot through him as Urdea felt something clench his right shoulder. In one motion, his entire body was jerked off the ground and out of the shaft. He was flying through the air a moment later, crashing against a wall almost four meters away. He rolled as he slammed into the ground below, and came up to see a silver and black shape stepping toward him. He raised his hand to fire his laser pistol as he rolled away, but the Cylon hit it, sweeping it away and behind him. The Cylon grabbed for him again, but Urdea scampered backward, trying to escape. He looked frantically, wondering if there was anything useful to fight Cylons, but saw nothing. His laser pistol was far too far away to be retrieved, especially when one didn’t even know where it was. Suddenly, he saw Joster standing well behind the Cylon, pointing to the ground. The Cylon, which he saw was unarmed, grabbed again, this time catching his right foot, and then swung him around like a doll, releasing him after he’d traveled through an arc approaching 180 degrees. Urdea rolled as he landed, but he was unable to regain his feet due to the rapidly approaching Cylon. He continued to backpedal toward the Joster shade, hoping that the safety system was actually the safety on his laser pistol! He was within a meter when the Cylon again grabbed him, latching firmly onto Urdea’s left ankle. As the Cylon again jerked to throw him again, Urdea slammed his left hand against the side of his leg and pulled upward. The Cylon continued its arc with Urdea’s leg, but the robot fell sideways, off balance. Urdea, having hit the quick release mechanism on his implant, rolled to his right as the leg detached, and he scampered the last meter to the spot Joster was indicating on his hands and knees. He grabbed the laser pistol from below Joster’s ghost, whirled, and lying on his back on the ground, fired. The blast hit the approaching Cylon full in the chest plate, knocking it backward. The red eye swung unsteadily, then flickered, dying, as the robot fell backward onto the ground. It remained still.
Urdea found his prosthesis, and as he reattached it to the implant, looked back at the Joster shade, standing just above the shaft entrance. Urdea said, “Thank you my friend. I couldn’t have done it without you.” For the first time, the ghost seemed to be almost smiling. Its lips suddenly started moving, taking Urdea by surprise. It had delivered, for the first time, a different message. True to form, the Joster ghost repeated the statement. Urdea, watching as intently as he could, the second time anyway, deciphered, “Thank you for safe-ing my sys-tem.” He nodded, but turned in surprise when the girl exited the shaft asking, “Who were you talking to?”
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