This entry is a basic format of audio recording via neuro-linguistic input. In place of an active camera feed is Senn's recorded DED portrait, along with a digital audio meter, date and time, and a panel displaying the internal system readings throughout the pilot's current vessel including heart rate, stress levels, organ condition, brain activity, blood oxygen levels, and the status of the capsule's nutrient feed to the pilot.
At the time of recording, it is 0200 hours, and Senn's readings all appear within normal limits. The date indicates that he has been mobile for eight days. His stress levels have elevated slightly, though he appears to be able to ignore the initial discomfort of prolonged pod exposure. In his isolation, it is clear he has settled into the solitary mindset ingrained by military training.
"At time of recording, I am in orbit above site Beta, distance three-zero-five klicks. Multiple targets confirmed."
A brief pause is punctuated by the activation of the ship's thrusters, which operate at just fifty meters per second, a "run silent" speed with little ambient signature.
"Slow orbit is being maintained. Visual on advanced ship types - HAC's, recons, third-gens. Strobe confirmed."
The data attached to the video file, sent through secure channels, include captured images of a multitude of ships, bearing signs of all manner of armament, defenses, countermeasures and electronic superiority equipment. Along with them is a solitary image of an unnamed station.
"Primary objective complete. Secondary objective in progress, will advise on next contact with Mother."
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Entry 46
The camera has been running for roughly forty minutes. Perched safely on the side of the room, the drone provides a somewhat elevated view of Senn in his casual clothes, pacing around the center of the barren station quarters. Pacing opposite him is a muscular, grey-brown slaver hound. It is not Voodoo, who lies a few yards away on Senn's cot, watching the new beast circle his brother. This hound is significantly larger, and since the camera activated, has been periodically attacking and wrestling with the pilot.
"People say slaver hounds are murderers unless they're raised as puppies," he says in an absent tone, bespeaking the concentration required not to have one's throat bitten out by this beast. "Usually that's true. They can smell fear. They feed off weakness. If they don't like you, they'll eat you."
Even as he finishes his words, the animal lunges for him and tries to close its lethal jaws around his neck. Senn sidesteps the hound and wraps an arm around its throat, catching his hands together and using his body's weight to pin the beast. However, within seconds it has thrashed and bucked its head free, and circles once more. The moments are tense as the two continue their juking, circling and twisting, testing one another.
"In the wild they run with alphas. Despotic hierarchy. The males fight constantly. Prove who deserves to lead."
Again the two lock horns, and again the pilot manages to overpower the larger beast. He never moves to harm it, only to prove he can overpower it, and each time the hound fights back. Slowly, the hound begins to lose its stamina, surprising considering its advantage in weight over the capsuleer.
"Some Blooder officer had this boy aboard his battleship. Mr. Caman found the leech in a complex, along with plenty of friends, crowding one of their cathedrals. Took all the ordinance we had to put them to sleep. When the firefight ended, the only escape pod had a hound in it. Either he had a personal one, or the leech had the heart to give up his own."
This time, the animal tries to jump upright to push Senn over with both paws, but the pilot uses its weight to his advantage and flings it on its side. The hound scampers to its feet and rushes in for a vicious strike, capturing Senn's arm in its teeth. The pilot grits his jaw and breathes through the sensation of fangs sinking into his flesh, blood seeping around the hound's jowls. It stares up at him with wild eyes, its ears flat against its skull, the fur around its shoulders bristled imposingly. Senn holds back its shoulder, sparing himself being clawed at, and leaving the two in a standstill.
"You're a fighter," the pilot says. He speaks through clenched teeth, staring squarely into the eyes of the canine. "I think you were waiting for us... I think you guided us to the leech."
After a few more minutes of struggle, the hound's features soften. With no strength left in its body, it lets its jaws part and sinks down towards the floor, lying on all fours and resting its jaw on the ground. Senn takes a moment to treat the bite marks in his arm, brushing away the clotting red fluid on his skin. He crouches down and sets his palm firmly on the hound's head, ruffling its fur slightly. The beast seems suddenly docile.
"You're 'Shaman' now," the pilot instructs. The hound makes no protest.
Voodoo lets out an excited panting sound, padding over to the newest member of the pack and biting his ear in a strange show of acceptance.
"People say slaver hounds are murderers unless they're raised as puppies," he says in an absent tone, bespeaking the concentration required not to have one's throat bitten out by this beast. "Usually that's true. They can smell fear. They feed off weakness. If they don't like you, they'll eat you."
Even as he finishes his words, the animal lunges for him and tries to close its lethal jaws around his neck. Senn sidesteps the hound and wraps an arm around its throat, catching his hands together and using his body's weight to pin the beast. However, within seconds it has thrashed and bucked its head free, and circles once more. The moments are tense as the two continue their juking, circling and twisting, testing one another.
"In the wild they run with alphas. Despotic hierarchy. The males fight constantly. Prove who deserves to lead."
Again the two lock horns, and again the pilot manages to overpower the larger beast. He never moves to harm it, only to prove he can overpower it, and each time the hound fights back. Slowly, the hound begins to lose its stamina, surprising considering its advantage in weight over the capsuleer.
"Some Blooder officer had this boy aboard his battleship. Mr. Caman found the leech in a complex, along with plenty of friends, crowding one of their cathedrals. Took all the ordinance we had to put them to sleep. When the firefight ended, the only escape pod had a hound in it. Either he had a personal one, or the leech had the heart to give up his own."
This time, the animal tries to jump upright to push Senn over with both paws, but the pilot uses its weight to his advantage and flings it on its side. The hound scampers to its feet and rushes in for a vicious strike, capturing Senn's arm in its teeth. The pilot grits his jaw and breathes through the sensation of fangs sinking into his flesh, blood seeping around the hound's jowls. It stares up at him with wild eyes, its ears flat against its skull, the fur around its shoulders bristled imposingly. Senn holds back its shoulder, sparing himself being clawed at, and leaving the two in a standstill.
"You're a fighter," the pilot says. He speaks through clenched teeth, staring squarely into the eyes of the canine. "I think you were waiting for us... I think you guided us to the leech."
After a few more minutes of struggle, the hound's features soften. With no strength left in its body, it lets its jaws part and sinks down towards the floor, lying on all fours and resting its jaw on the ground. Senn takes a moment to treat the bite marks in his arm, brushing away the clotting red fluid on his skin. He crouches down and sets his palm firmly on the hound's head, ruffling its fur slightly. The beast seems suddenly docile.
"You're 'Shaman' now," the pilot instructs. The hound makes no protest.
Voodoo lets out an excited panting sound, padding over to the newest member of the pack and biting his ear in a strange show of acceptance.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Entry 44
At the time of filming, it is 0200 hours. The camera drone sparks to life and focuses slowly on Senn with a lowlight filter, capturing the slightly disheveled pilot sitting at his desk with his body half-turned towards his holoscreen, watching a competitive sport too far from the camera to clearly make out. The nearby ashtray is even more overfull than usual, visible only by the holoscreen's flickering blue light. Voodoo rests on the bed, having fallen asleep much easier than his companion.
"The medics can't find a reason for the aches," the pilot states in a wearied voice. "Not a medical one, anyway. They're not sure if the lack of sleep is causing it, or vic versa..."
He takes a lengthy drag of his newest cigarette, following it with a long sip from a canteen in arm's reach. He lifts his hand to his head, pulling back his hair with deliberate sluggishness. It is clear the movement pains him, albeit very slightly. Frustration effects a bit of a shake from his shoulder.
"I can feel the ship around me," he continues in a lucid tone. "It'll catch me by surprise. Walking around, I suddenly find myself trying to activate thrusters that don't exist to move me where I want to go. It's causing a problem, but not one the medics acknowledge or know how to treat."
The pilot pauses, as he often does, to consider his own thought before voicing it. On-screen, an athlete is driven to the ground by another, stronger competitor. The cheering crowd can be heard, like a rushing wave in the distance.
"I've been roaming more often. The aches stop once the neural jacks are in. Lately, I'm not even performing tasks handed down by my CEO. I'm jumping between systems looking for fights I never find. I'm fine for a day or so after that... then it starts again."
"I shut off my IGS feed, against better judgement... I can't take that sound anymore. Just the same complaints out of a hundred different mouths. Everyone thinks they have all the answers. Everyone thinks they're special. If anything got solved by talking, talking would have solved something by now..."
He finishes off his cigarette and extinguishes it against the mound of others, the ashes flaring up for an instant before dying out. He gets to his feet and staggers to his bed, slowly shoving the still-sleeping slaver hound to one side. "Lets try this again," he mumbles in a defeated voice, the camera feed shutting off as the two animals fall into a heap and the holoscreen shuts off.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)