just some random thing. havn't thought of a name

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Reliant121
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just some random thing. havn't thought of a name

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Nothing really could have prepared Azami's parents for her conception. They weren't looking for children. In fact they hated the things. Besides, on the Fuso Imperium planet they inhabited at the time, New Honshū, it was rather expensive to maintain a child. Childcare prices were extraordinarily high, as was the cost of education when she became of that age.
All this trouble over one blob of neonatal protoplasm. Well thats what Takumi, her father, called her anyway. It certainly did not befit him to have impregnated his wife. Suzume had, after persuasion from her mother, deemed the child a blessing, however blatantly expensive, annoying and downright dangerous the child would be, which of course, to add insult to Takumi's mental injury, Azami was.
If there was ever a child that would be labelled a health and safety hazard, it would be Azami. Unbeknown to the public, the fatal mooring accident of a Musashi Corperation freighter, the Ashajio, had been caused by her. Takumi made the rather stupid mistake to leave Azami in the care of one of his minions who was certainly not a sharp knife in the draw. He had ignored Azami, and being the infectiously curious being that all babies are, she went on an expedition. And found the mooring clamp control systems. Punctuating this disaster perfectly, she promptly nibbled through the luckily inactive plasma regulator cable.
When the monstrously huge Ashajio, a 1300 metre freighter, came to dock, the accident was set in motion. When the clamps that held the hull locked on, they failed to have a regulated pressure. The sheer power behind the clamps tore into the hull, leaving the freighter with no suspension. It dropped to the bottom of the docking bay, slamming several hundred thousand metric tonnes onto the cold, hard, reinforced floor.
This is only one of the many incidents Azami had created. Each and every time, it was never traced to her. Miraculously, she escaped unscathed. And her parents escaped without a court sentence, a miracle indeed.
By the time Azami was 14, she had managed to curb her...destructive tendencies. On average, she had cut her catastrophic accidents to one per year, which was like gaining sainthood compared to before.
Instead, she had earned a reputation for being rather...unusual as a child. The fashion of the time on New Honshū was very traditionalist Japanese: Stylised Kimono's or dresses that had very oriental patterning printed on. It was often quite formal, and the differences between a formal dress and a casual one were often hard to distinguish.
But she very much did not conform. She often insisted on wearing trousers, normally either tight fabric or leather ones. Then a tight t-shirt underneath covered by either a fabric or leather jacket that fastened at the front. If there was no jacket, she would wear a black fabric coat that reached down to her knees.
As for make-up and hairstyles, again she was quite unorthodox. She had earned the nickname of 'mutant panda' because her eyeliner was always pitch black and very thick, at least compared typical Honshū fashion.
Her hair was very long, another uncommon thing. It reached down to the base of her spine. When she kept it down that is. Her fringe swept over her eyes, and the tendrils at the sides fell flatly down her chest. Sometimes she would clip some of her hair back to form a miniature bun, but there would always be some hair left over, which she left dangling down her back.
Her parents had attempted to curb her rebellious nature many times and failed. Secretly though, they were very proud. She was an amazingly capable artist, And a cunning linguist, fluent in several alien languages.
This, as you'll find out soon, does come in handy.




Azami stepped out of the shuttle doors and on the platform. She was the only person getting off the shuttle. She turned around to the sound of the plasma stream engines springing to life, powering the personnel shuttle away from the suspended platform. She looked up, ignoring the heavy thunderstorm rain. She was used to it by now. New Honshū rarely saw any weather but rain.
Ahead of her, lay the small pathway leading to the central plaza of Musasu district. She started down the path, striding into the rain.
There were very few people around, not surprising at this time of the morning when the bright yellow star sent bolts of light to pierce the purple sky.
She walked through the blue stone arch, the same colour as almost all the buildings in the city, and entered the plaza. In the centre was a great statue, modelling one of the majestic Fuso Imperium battleships, the Yamashiro, in all its glory,, A testament to the many fleets that defended the great Imperium.
She ignored it. It meant nothing to her. It carried no meaning. She had never really been interested in the political aspect of the Imperium. She just resented it for its archaic attitude.
She walked along the path that ringed the circular statue, and found her destination. Her favourite haunt: Kukushi's Sushi Bar.
She walked through the ornate heavy door, and was greeted by the familiar smell.
"Ah, Hi Azami!" The owner, Kukushi said, beaming at Azami. Kukushi was quite a stereotypical cook mistress. A big woman with a heart, and eating capacity, that was huge. Azami regarded her as one of her only true friends.
"Good morning, Kukushi," Azami replied, smiling.
"What can I get you?"
"Temarizushi. The Usual please."
Kukushi smiled again, and turned to her work, forming the precious art form she called Temarizushi.
But her lunch would be interrupted. The door slid open and two men walked through, carrying plasma rifles. Kukushi shouted in protest and pulled a small pistol out. The first man fired, blasting a hole in Kukushi's stomach. She fell back, her face turning deathly white. Before long, she was a lifeless corpse on the floor.
Azami stared at the guards. They stared back, holding their weapons at her. She looked down the barrel of the ornately decorated plasma rifle, almost like peering at the harbinger of death itself.
"What do you want," She asked, nervously speaking at the helmeted faces. The reply sounded like that of a computer, processed and mechanically grating.
"A Relative in your family has been found guilty of treason. You are being taken into 'protective custody' pending further inquiries," The first man said. She could not believe it. Someone in her family? Mother? Father? Who could it have been?
"I've done nothing wrong, i should not be incarcerated," She said, her voice faultering.
"Irrelevant. I have my orders. And I will follow them."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you shall suffer the same fate as the traitor. Only, lucky for you, you destruction shall be quick and effortless. Theirs will be excruciatingly slow and painful," He replied. The other guard sniggered, producing a rather peculiar sound of a mechanized cackle, due to the battle armour helmet he wore.
"I will not go."
"Then you will die." The guards turned up the power on their rifles and aimed squarely for her head. Poignantly, she merely held her hands behind her back, and straightened herself almost as if she was on parade.
Suddenly, a woman miraculously appeared, ensconced in a wave of dazzling light. She held out a hand at the guards, and produced a bolt of lightning from her index finger. It arched between the guards, spiking 1,000,000 watts of electricity through their body.
Two limp bodies struck the floor.
Azami stared at the cloaked figure, mysteriously walking toward the bodies. The figure picked up the plasma rifle and held it in her arms.
"A HPR-889. Sufficient," She spoke, her voice soft and calm.
"Who are you?" Azami asked.
The hooded figure turned, looking toward Azami, her face cloaked under a thick, red, velvet veil.
"I am a friend. That is all you need know, for the time being at least."
The Figure handed Azami the plasma rifle. Azami hesitated, and then took the rifle. She also bent down to one of the guards and took the weapons licence he possessed.
"You may call me Kadira though," The woman spoke. That was an extremely unusual name. It sounded Maltaraan. Yet she spoke without even the slightest accent to belay such nature.
"I am Azami."
"I know. I know a lot about you. More than you likely know," Kadira said. Azami did not like this. It annoyed her that this woman spoke like she was just some child. A miscreant child that Kadira was trying to scare with her words of apparent wisdom. It was not working.
"We must not stay here, I will have activated their termination chips. The Authorities will arrive very soon. Follow me. We will have to lay low for a while. Can you pilot a shuttle?" Kadira spoke quickly as she left the bar.
"Yes I can. Where are we going?"
"I will input the coordinates. It is somewhere safe, outside the city limits."
Azami was worried. She had never been outside the city. She was at home with the several hundred story towers and the aerial plazas and platforms. Not some suburban homestead.
Kadira weaved and dived through narrow alleys and small pathways until she came to a small shuttleport. She walked up to the first shuttle in the park, a sleek and new vessel, one that would be fast and manoeuvrable. Kadira waved her hand over the hull and the cockpit lid slid open, revealing two seats inside.
Kadira clambered into the passenger seat, and Azami followed suit, entering the pilot chair. As she sat down, the pressure sensors in the seat registered her weight, and turned the dormant craft's computer and power systems on. The HUD activated, showing a line diagram of the shuttle as well as status reports in Fusoji. She keyed in the start-up sequence, diverting power to the plasma-stream engines. Before long, they reached full power.
She gently lifted the craft off the deck, and powered off into the skylanes of the city. The traffic had started to build up now, and hundreds of shuttles and small transport trains (like articulated cargo ships) filled the skylane, weaving in and out of each other like a swarm of bees.
She headed down the Asyuga Esplanade skyway, powering toward the closest space port, Kigashinotsumata planetary port. Before long, bigger and bigger ships were appearing in the skyway, interplanetary frigates and freighters, even the occasional military ship. The characteristic solar fins that protruded from different aspects of the ship would glisten in the dawning sunlight, giving them a sleek and new look that was uncommon in civilian ships, except for expensive luxury models of craft such as the one that Azami was currently flying.
Then, like the sun that was beginning to rise, the spaceport came into view. A Towering dome at least a couple of kilometres high, stretching into the atmosphere. The dome appeared to be like a giant glass greenhouse, not unlike those of the Old Earth Eden project. But on closer inspection, it was a huge shield grid. The Hexagonal pattern was constructed by the shield emitter scaffolding, which was what gave the shield a hexagonal quality. The Scaffolding was constructed as such that it could have the equivalent power of one high power shield emitter for every hexagon, greatly increasing the shield strength.
This in turn presented a problem. Each hexagon was no more than 50 metres in diameter. Which meant interstellar craft could not pass through them without slicing off one of the struts that formed the hexagons. The solution was that the struts were all detachable. They could be released from their holding place at the touch of a button, making the field a lot more flexible. If many of the struts were disconnected and moved, then a large ship could easily make it through the barrier.
Azami always smiled when she saw the spaceport. It was a massive beacon to the loyalist people. She had always respected its political clout. And this wasn't even a major port. This was a city provincial port, a medium sized one if you will. The New Honshū official space port was at least twice the size of this one.
She swung the shuttle into the ring shaped skyway that clung to the perimeter of the spaceport. After drifting across the surface of the shield for a minute or so, she turned off into one of the smaller skylanes, heading north towards the outskirts of the capital city.
It did not take long to leave the city, Leaving the Ekatsu plains and heading off into the abyss known as the Misukawa darklands. They were named as such for the constant atmospheric storms that battered the region, blocking long range communications and rendering all but short range high intensity scanners incapable of detecting anything notable.
"Kadira, these coordinate appear to be a mountain?" Azami said, looking at the display.
"Correct. Manoeuvre outside the mountain, and I will transmit the Sardinath pattern," Kadira replied.
"The what?"
"It is not important. Just get us outside the mountain."
Azami decided to do as she was told. This Kadira seemed like someone who would not take kindly to a 'no'. Besides, she didn't want some fire burning away at her heart or some other magical death.
The mountain loomed in front of them, a huge spire in the bombarding rain that slammed against the hull. Thick precipitation clouds hung like curtains around the dips and spikes of the uneven mountain, draping it in a sheet of shade.
"In transmission range of the mountain core," Azami said.
A long, bony hand reached for the console. Kadira accessed the communications system and entered some random code. Then she randomly started rotating them. Finally, she clipped in a small data clip, and activated the programme. She pressed the large red transmit key.
The signal shot out into the mountain.
Then, suddenly, a huge section of mountain dematerialized revealing a large hangar bay. A tractor beam enveloped the shuttle pod, and dragged it into the mouth of the bay. Once inside, the mountain image reappeared.
"Where the hell are we?!"
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