enjoy, and wish me luck
______________________
Ariel: Fury
Among a million stars that filled the the universe, 24,000 were grouped into the biggest interstellar empire known to the sentient races: The Ariel Republic. A collection of around 520 races, all of whom swore allegiance in varying levels to that single entity that was the Republic. Of all those 24,000 stars, each of which were orbited by countless planets, asteroids and other plethora of interstellar phenomenon; A lonely frigate drifted on the fringe's of the Republic. And this small little patrol ship, frankly minuscule compared to the rest of the universe, would become the most famous vessel of all time.
Robert Pascale, a man of some 25 years, sat with his fingers splayed over his helm console. In front and below sat his station, littered with engine controls, status readouts and navigational panels. Each panel glowed a light blue, gently bathing his face in soft light. He checked the engine readout once again, making sure nothing was wrong. Once again, the port plasma-stream engine was fluctuating at 45% output, a fault that was meant to have been corrected an hour ago. He slaved the starboard engine to the port, to make sure the difference in output didn't shift them off course.
"Helm, status please." The commander, a tall and slender Danarian named Tel'aak, stood up behind him and looked toward the windows in front of him. They weren't really windows, instead large scale screens that used sensors to create the illusion of windows. It had been a favourite feature on board Republic Navy ships for quite some time. The composite image the screens created, that curved around the semi-circular dome that protruded from the front of the command centre, showed a virtually empty black space, populated only with distant stars and the faint yellow glow of the star Riikari Minor which sat somewhere off the right side of the screen.
"All systems nominal, however that fluctuating in the port engine is still present, Sir. I've slaved the starboard engine to the port to make up the shifts." The commander tapped the intercom button at the side of his command chair.
"Engineering, Tel'aak. The engine fluctuation is still happening, what happened to those repairs?"
"Ahh, yeah, we've got a malfunction with negative charge rea..." Came a distinctly cocky, young voice in reply.
"Enough, don't need the long version. Can you repair it?"
"Er...not without shutting the whole engine system down and leaving us dead in the water, no sir."
"Very well then, do what you can to make controlling the engines easier. Bridge out." The line went dead. "Try and compensate as best you can. Sensors, give me a full sweep of the system."
After a few seconds of artificial beeps and chirps from the rear of the control Centre, a long and boring list of very minor anomalies and the odd command; the commander settled into his chair. The long distance patrol missions such as the one the ARS Scorpia was on were well reputed for being dull and uninteresting. Danarians in particular had a tendency to tire and bore easily, often preferring posts where there would be a lot of action or movement such as policing roles, training fleets or exploration missions. Patrol missions such as this were the anti-thesis of what a Danarian would normally choose. However, as un-Danarian as it seemed, Tel'aak savoured the peace and quiet (relatively speaking) patrol missions offered. Or so he thought.
"Warning, slipstream event...200,000 KM to our stern. It appears to be a high energy event, probably from a high speed slipstream drive." Sensor officer Karis Hazeman reported, alarm evident in her energetic voice. The captain nodded to her, and then flicked his head toward the windows. Suddenly they shifted to show the slipstream event behind them. A massive tunnel of pulsating energy filled the screen. And then, a large yet sleek vessel emerged. The main section of the hull was like a rough disk, curving to a slight point at the bow. Roughly boomerang shaped spires framed the rear dorsal and ventral sections, each curving forward and over the front section of the vessel. All of the hull was painted deep green. "Vessel's identity is unknown, no transmissions of any kind. Energy signatures are unknown, and there are no markings on the hull at all."
"First contact procedures. Go to condition yellow, come about 264.12 degrees. Give me full power to deflectors." The captain ordered, as the bridge erupted into life around him. The lighting changed from a soft yet comfortable white glow to a harsher, slightly darker yellow colour. Each panel flashed with a yellow band at the top, signalling yellow alert. The mood of the bridge shifted almost instantly from a gentle, ambient mellow to a frantic and tense anticipation. Everyone stared at the massive vessel approaching, wondering the same question: Friend or foe?
"Captain, reading energy going to the tips...It could be weaponry, the power levels are far more than I would expect for anything else." The captain squinted at the screen. There appeared to be no discernible change to the vessel. He turned once more, just in time to miss it.
"Captain, incoming fire!" he turned, and saw the massive green ball of energy explode out from the tip of one of the spires. The bolt tore into the frigates shields, shattering them instantly and tearing into the hull. The angle meant that it ripped straight through the midsection of the hull, almost ripping the ship in two. Consoles around the command centre exploded as feedback energy from the explosion hit the systems they were connected to. The captain was flung across the bridge, slamming into the sensor panel. He took a huge hit of shrapnel from the roof line, serving as a protective barrier for the ensign Hazeman.
"Helm unresponsive, engine power minimal! Slipstream drive is dead, only the battery power is active!" Pascale shouted, reporting to the second in command who at the moment was the tactical officer, Rashid Al-Haayid. The tactical officer leaped over his console and darted to the helm panel, quickly taking stock of the disastrous state of power. Whatever that ship was, it was far more than a match for his ship. His only duty now as to the lives of the 60 people under his command. To that effect, he ordered the evacuation. Within minutes, escape pods across the ship were flung into space, all heading toward the shuttle bay. In the event of an evacuation, the bridge officers all scrambled to the shuttle bay just below the bridge and used the ships only shuttle. The shuttle was capable of slipstream, and would be used as a slipstream "tug" for the escape pods,
The entire remaining bridge crew all clambered into the cramped mark 2 shuttle. Al-Haayid tapped Pascale's shoulder, signalling the go ahead. The shuttle shook slightly as the plasma-stream engines flickered into life, lifting the shuttle softly off the ground. Ignoring all procedure, Pascale shoved every ounce of power the shuttle had into the engines. The shuttle shot out of the bay, and into the hellstorm of debris that had been torn from the stricken Scorpia.
____
Can I have feedback please? i want to know whether I should bother to continue or not
