Board Thread:Archive/@comment-24866242-20140529222738

Katrylle Morgahn posted January 24, 2000 10:10 PM

Same run-down joint. Same run-down barflies. Only difference was the name of the rock this one had attached itself to. She couldn't help being annoyed and frustrated. She'd been gone from RhyDin for almost six months, yet, buy the looks of the dive she was currently in she had never left. Same ol' same ol'.

She sighed loudly in frustration as she turned her back to the dingy crowd and leaned heavily on the bartop. As she lifted the semi-clean tankard to her lips, her attention was suddenly drawn to the reflection in the mirror behind the bar. It showed a small mousy man standing at her back and slightly to the right. It hadn't been his greasy black hair or his weak chin that had caught her attention. Even his thin mustache wasn't much to note. The fact that he seemed to be nervously awaiting her notice wasn't a concern either. It was his eyes. Small, beady and..... terrified. His gaze continuously shifted around the room as if afraid to be seen anywhere near her. Even so, he was obviously waiting to speak to her.

She made him wait. The tankard continued its journey to her lips and she slowly sipped the luke-warm coffee. Just as slowly, she returned the tankard to the bartop, though she never removed her hand from it. Her face completely void of expression, she waited until the beady eyes settled on her own single eyed gaze reflected in the mirror.

"Want sumthin?" Her voice dripped with icy sarcasm. Still, the sound was all the little man needed to step closer. Too close. Her nose wrinkled of its own accord as the noxious scent of his body drifted like a cloud over her. She resisted the urge to pull away from the offence that might have once been human-like when it was younger.

The man leaned even closer causing the trademark eyebrow arch to appear on Kat's face. In a staged, dramatic whisper that emitted fumes even more deadly than his body odor, the man spoke. "I got your information, Ms. ZyThyrn.

The muscles in Kat's jaw worked furiously, partly to keep from tossing her lunch all over the bar due to the little man's smell, partly to keep from killing him instantly at the mention of *that* name. Calming herself only slightly, she realized there was only one explanation to his knowledge of a name she had not used since she was five years old. The "imposter" was near.

"Dunno whacher talkin aboot, smeg. Bugger off affore I ignite yer fumes an' launch ye inta th' next galaxy." With that said, Kat dismissed the piece of slime. *She* was close....she might even step through the creaky old bar doors any moment. Kat's single gold-flecked green eye narrowed in rage and anticipation of the possible confrontation. She was swiftly running through her options of attack of the imposter when.....there was no question of "if" in Kat's thoughts... the bitch arrived.

The stubby fingered hand gripping her arm drew her back from her planning. Slowly, she turned her head and looked down at the appendage. Then, with the same deadly look that the planning of the imposter's death had placed on her face, she raised her single eyed gaze to the beady little eyes. In a voice that, even though it appeared calm, reflected the look on her face, she simply said, "Surely hope yer left 'anded, m'boyo.

The man must have been smarter than he looked. He rapidly snatched his hand from her arm and crammed it into the pocket of his dirty, worn pants. His anxiety caused his squeaky little voice to take on an annoying whining aspect that hadn't been there before. "But the shipment....the Altaras opals. You said they were urgent! You promised to pay me if I found out when Prrim was gonna move 'em! You *promised*."

Inwardly, the mental gears clicked and clicked hard. Here was a way to take revenge on the bitch and come out a bit richer in the process. At the mention of the Altaras opals, Kat's hand almost reached to touch her eyepatch. Years of restraint stopped the movement so it appeared to be only a twitch in her fingers. A twitch that suddenly launched the hand off the bar to connect to the greasy front of the man's shirt. Yanking him off balance and, despite her disgust, closer, she hissed, "Damn ye, ya friggin moron! Y'want it gittin back ta Prrim yer rattin on 'im? 'e'll kill ye fer sure!"

In the same quick movement, the man was suddenly on his back in the middle of a splintered, collapsed. Her voice raised, the rage she had been feeling making itself heard for the first time, she screamed, drawing her blaster for effect. "Git yer smelly arse oot o'me presence! I catch ya in here agin, I'll raise yer voice another octive... by shootin off yer balls!"

The little man caught the hint and, with motions that reminded Kat of a scurrying rat, made it out the door in record time.

[This message has been edited by Katrylle Morgahn (edited March 05, 2000).]

Katrylle Morgahn posted January 28, 2000 02:51 PM

She had caught up to the little man about an hour after he had left the bar. It hadn't been hard. It seemed the little rat was well known by the patrons. All she needed to do was threaten his being a few more times without him present to have one of the others in the bar agree with her, calling the little man by his name in the process.

She had even suceeded in knocking down the little man's price agreement with the imposter by 500 creds. To keep the little man from talking, Kat had insisted that he leave the system with the creds she gave him. Of course, he agreed. Especially when Kat mentioned again that Prrim would kill him.

Whistling contently, she boarded the Angel and headed back to the Krita. Yes, this trip was definately turning out for the better.

Several days later, the Krita held her position behind one of the huge asteroids that free-floated in this system. By the little man's description, it shouldn't be much of a problem to jump the transport and..."import"...its cargo. She chuckled softly, coldly.

It had been nearly a year ago that Ry had come home and told her of the imposter. Clone was more like it. According to Ry, the woman looked exactly like Kat...or rather the way Kat had looked before and after her transformation to felinoid form in order to survive the pregnancy. There were subtle differences, however. The imposter didn't have Kat's distinct way of speaking and, although she seemed to prefer leather as Kat did, her clothing leaned more towards buisness suits. Even still, it hadn't been hard for Ry to realize this woman was not Kat. He had been kidnapped by her when Kat was in the middle of her pregnancy. A sneer formed on her lips as she thought again how the imposter was not as well informed as she thought she was.

One disturbing factor, however, was that she had somehow paired up with Ry's own double, Axen. The rivalry between the two went beyond any feelings she had for her own imposter. Axen wanted Ry dead. Perhaps he would have succeeded that day. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the woman. The end result was Ry simply walking off their ship and coming home.

Now, Kat would make herself a nusance to this woman. It would just be a matter of time......

[This message has been edited by Katrylle Morgahn (edited March 01, 2000).]

Lenits posted January 30, 2000 03:52 AM

He was sick of it. Oh, Martyrs, how he was sick of it! It was to the point now that he was actually ill at the prospect of signing up as a tech on another freighter. His guts were twisting themselves even now as he stepped forward, keeping his place in line. There were about four or five men ahead of him, slowly moving toward the small collapsible table set up in front of the airlock to sign away the next three months of their lives on their way to some such port in some such system. He didn’t know much about the other men in line but he did know one thing: He was one of them.

He was tall and thin. His brown hair was straight and stringy and it hung to his chin around his face. Wire rimmed spectacles covered hooded blue eyes and were pushed high up a straight, long nose until they touched his eyebrows. His skin was un-tanned. He didn’t get a lot of sun as a station-hopping tech.

He had gone by a variety of names since he had escaped the Doom Bringers four years ago. The most frequent, and the one he used now as a mater of fact, being Lawrence Lenits. It had a symmetry he rather enjoyed so he used it more often than not.

That was the name he wrote in the roster as he arrived at the head of the line and presented his credentials. Forged, naturally. The problem with arriving in the world the way he did was that he arrived without any suitable records of himself. He was a ghost as near as the police or government was concerned. That made it difficult to travel or obtain steady work so he had been forced to hang his shingle as a hired hack. He’d broken into computer systems and hacked into more building security systems than he cared to recount. Rhydin didn’t offer much in the way of that sort of work though. There were a few good jobs now and then around Star’s End but that other one and those that knew him were there too often for his taste. He could never be sure who might collar him there. That’s how he had gotten started with this.

He had a clear goal but he kept it hidden away in the back of his mind, never sharing it with anyone he met. He had designs on how to accomplish that goal but those too were nowhere near the surface. For now he was hopping from system to system, serving as a tech on the various star cruisers that happened to be headed his way. Never as anyone important. Never as someone who counted. Never showing his true skill. Not a chance. To reveal the tiniest morsel of knowledge about himself to those around him was to risk exposure. And that was something he could not afford.

So he simpered and wasted his time on these half-assed cargo operations doing odd tech jobs that were so far beneath him he was becoming physically ill at having to do them.

His name signed to the paper he seated himself next to the other candidates for the four jobs that had opened on the cruiser docked outside the airlock. Seven men including himself and three of the jobs were grunt work. He stole a glance around at the competition. Grunt, grunt, grunt, thug, skilled journeyman, grunt. He’d seen the same types on all of the ships he’d worked aboard. Cargo handlers, mechanics, hired guns. These were his peers. They tended to be greasy and muscle-bound non-thinkers. Wisely, he decided not to try and make conversation.

“Mister Le’Nits?” a voice called.

He stood up and walked over to the caller, not bothering to correct the mispronunciation of his name. Why bother? It was only an alias anyway. Next job he took he might be calling himself Benjamin Franklin Pierce for all he knew so it wasn’t as if it mattered.

The caller was a fat balding man with oiled hair and a styled mustache. He didn’t work for the ship but rather for the port authority so Lawrence had to be careful. The fat man led him away from the others and into a small office next to the airlock egress. “Sit down, Mister Le’Nits.”

He followed the fat man’s instructions and sat in the hard plastic chair across from the noticeably cushioned chair the fat man sat down on. It was the same old shit. Lawrence was used to it.

“Well lets see, shall we?” the fat man intoned. “Everything seems to be in order. Papers issued by the Mytherian Port Authority. We had no way of checking up on these of course…”

It was a hook. Lawrence didn’t take it. He knew perfectly well they couldn’t check up on the papers. There was a cold war of sorts going on between the Mytherian Alliance and the Falsatians. His documents appeared perfectly legitimate on the surface but the Falsatians had no way to verify their authenticity. He was a good hacker and it was well within his abilities to have placed false records for them to find if need be but the fewer records of himself he left behind the better. And, like any smart system breaker, Lawrence knew the best way to avoid detection was not to give the detective the opportunity.

After a moment the fat man continued. “Your resume has already been reviewed by Captain Quenton and your request for transport has been approved on a working basis. You’ll receive a token salary of twenty farthars a week along with room and board and transportation free of charge to the Rellan system where you will disembark and your employment with this vessel will terminate. The ship is departing in forty minutes so you have twenty to get your things together and be aboard. Once aboard you will be assigned quarters and receive a mission briefing. Do you accept this offer of employment?”

Lawrence winced when he heard the salary but he had accepted less before. He nodded mutely and was shown the door.

His belongings were in a duffel bag in a locker not far from the airlock so he didn’t waste any time in retrieving them and making his way back there. When he returned he was surprised to find only one of the grunts was left. The two besides the grunt that appeared to have made the cut were the skilled journeyman and the thug who was leaning against the entry and picking his teeth with a folded piece of paper. A fourth man in a uniform bearing a patch like the logo on the ship outside the window stood in front of the airlock holding a clipboard. The other three men had apparently come to the interview with their belongings ready to go.

“Good, you’re here,” said clipboard man cheerfully. “Come with me, gentlemen.”

The thug grinned as he dropped his paper toothpick on the floor outside the airlock for the janitor druids to take care of and was first in line. Next was the grunt, followed by Lawrence, and the journeyman last. They followed clipboard man single file through the open airlock and Lawrence glanced back as the heavy doors closed behind them, sealing them inside. Clipboard man didn’t even seem to notice and they followed him down the hall.

One by one, starting with the grunt, then the journeyman, the thug and finally Lawrence, they were all shown to quarters. They were deposited there with the notice that it was ten pm ship’s time and told their individual department heads would collect them in the morning. Lawrence glanced around the sparse quarters and set his duffle on the floor. He raised his eyebrows and nodded to himself. He didn’t have it to himself but it was only a double so he was better off than the last ship he had hopped. His roommate apparently wasn’t in so he took the un-slept in upper bunk and drifted immediately off to sleep.

[This message has been edited by Lenits (edited August 29, 2000).]

Katrylle Morgahn posted April 08, 2000 12:01 PM

The tortured screams of electric guitars could be heard coming through the seals of the canopy of the Night Hawk. Even muffled as they were, the sounds still caused the closest of the bay crew to cringe in pain. Some of them actually took a moment to marvel at the lack of reaction from Kat who had been strapped inside the fighter for the past 5 minutes. The noise level *had* to be 98% worse yet it seemed as though she didn't even hear it. Two more minutes until departure. The deck crew collectively sighed in relief.

Kat glanced around the bay through the canopy. Maggie was to her right flipping switches in the cockpit of her one person Terrier class fighter, the Under Dog. Kat chuckled again at the name. Like the canine, the little ship was fast and tenacious and, with Maggie at the controls, deadly as all hell.

Kiera's fighter was in front and to the right of the Under Dog and Kat could barely see the woman inside going through her own preflight preps. Kiera was the newest to the group, but on first meeting the feisty woman, Kat had instinctively liked her.

Kat couldn't see the Batu fighter parked behind the Night Hawk, but she knew that Slayne was currently going through the same motions in the Dragon's Claw as the others to prepare for the upcoming flight.

It was a good crew. They had flown together on several small raids with nearly a 100% success rate. It had been almost as if they could read each other's minds while in battle. Kat smiled softly. Yes, a good crew.

Today's target was the freighter Pandora's Shame. Decent name for a ship about to lose its precious cargo. The grimy little informant had been pretty accurate in his information. The Krita's long range scanners had picked up the freighter over an hour ago and had tracked it to just outside the sparse asteroid field. The bait had been set the moment Pandora's Shame had blipped on the monitor.

The plan was simple. Misdirection. Kat had set her own beat up freighter out in the middle of the field and left a looped emergency signal echoing through the vastness of space. Although the hulk was in prime condition internally, the body had long ago been scarred and scored with blaster marks and meteorite dents. It *looked* in need of extreme help.

She didn't worry about the freighter picking up either the Krita or the fighters on her scanners. Long time connections in the form of a very old friend named Melicore insured that Pandora's Shame would see nothing but the freighter. Smuggler, pirate and inventor, Melicore had been sending continuous shipments of one of his better inventions; a holographic paint that would allow any and all covered in it to pass through all sensors undetected. Course, the downside was, with all the space debris and weapons fire, the paint chipped frequently and had to be reapplied almost on a daily basis. Still...all in all...it was a decent advantage.

Kat drew her thoughts back to the mission at hand. It was time. She didn't need to say anything to the others yet, one by one, the ships lifted off the pad and moved to the depths of space. A small, evil smirk crossed Kat's lips as she thought of the reaction the impostor would have once she discovered she had been outwitted.

MaggieLFox posted April 09, 2000 11:00 AM

Maggie almost yipped with glee. At last some action after all the talk. Still wearing that silly grin she flipped switches and kept one eye on the read out's.

the Underdog didnt look like much but she was fast and deadly. She kept good care of her most prized possesion. Since it had saved her life many a time. She snugged down the helment and chuckled as she smoothed the feather down.

Maybe she'd been born too soon. A priate at heart she was.

She gave a yell as she pushed the stick forward. Swooping out of the bay and dropping the ship into a little loop de loop.

She dropped into postion behind and to the right of Kat's ship. Ready to kick butt and take names.

"Les be doin dis boss lady. I be hongry fer some kick arse!"

A grin over at Kira in her ship and a little wave.

Then a serious expression as she got ready to get down to it. A yank on the strap's to tighten them. Another glance over the weapon's systems and a nod.

She'd tweaked the laser just last night and she was eager to see what it could do.

She really hoped the other ship would put up a good fight.

Lenits posted April 12, 2000 12:45 AM

Lawrence had woken up around five am ships time to find the lower bunk was occupied. He had eased himself down and into the sonic shower quietly to avoid waking the other gentleman. He showered clothed. There wasn’t much point in getting undressed. The shower cleaned him and his clothing just the same. He emerged just in time to see the backside of a lithe blond who was pulling trousers up over a very skinny pair of panties. For that mater the shirt she was wearing covered but it also clung and didn’t disguise much. The uniform top was the next on, however. She turned and smiled at him a little guiltily.

“The shower woke me,” she confessed.

She was in the bunk, Lawrence realized, and for a moment he was having fantasies about co-ed living in the dorms aboard the freighter but alas it was not to be.

“It always does,” she continued. “Tell John I’ll see him tonight?” With that she blew a kiss to the sleeping form that was still in the lower bunk and slipped out the door.

Lawrence managed to stammer out “O-okay…” but the door had already slid shut behind her. He dropped into the chair in front of the small computer workstation and blinked. Then he turned and cast a glare at the still sleeping form of his roommate. So that explained why that dream he’d had last night had been punctuated by all that erotic moaning.

With the testosterone catalyst gone he turned and looked at the view screen. He had been issued an id pass card the night before and he placed it on the identity-pad next to the screen to activate the machine. He’d busted through more complicated security schemes before but in this case he wasn’t really interested in getting information other than what they had provided him with. His shift wasn’t due to start for another two hours according to the machine so he shut it off and left the tiny space of the dorm room. Using directions he had obtained from the database he followed the hall down to the cafeteria. The freighter had a crew of about thirty so he didn’t have long to walk and it wasn’t exactly a large cafeteria.

He got himself a tray and a bowl of frosted flakes before sitting down in a corner, naturally, so he could see the whole room. Like any paranoid personality he didn’t like having an open space to his back. There were about three people there that early, including him. It was still technically part of the ship’s night cycle but every ship had its early risers. A fourth person walked through the door and Lawrence was forced to pause his spoon halfway to his mouth, milk dripping back into the bowl. The newcomer was the girl from his cabin that morning. She had apparently gone back to her quarters and changed into a fresh uniform before coming to the cafeteria, which was why Lawrence had gotten there first. He remembered himself and resumed the course of his spoon to his mouth as he watched her go to the counter. The uniforms aboard the ship weren’t the utilitarian one piece jumpsuit variety but more along the lines of boots, pants, t-shirt, jacket variety. Blondie wore it well. The cut on the female variety was slightly different than the male version Lawrence had been issued the night before. His jacket fell just below the waistline where her jacket was cut just above it, showing the black of the shirt underneath. The pants and jacket were both blue and the only adornment was a patch on the shoulder and a nametag sewn above the left breast pocket. Pockets abounded on both the jacket and pants. Then she turned around and caught him watching her. He looked away instantly, trying to make it seem he’d only just glanced up. Too late, here she comes!

He’d be the first one to tell you, Lawrence Lenits is a bit out of his element with women. His only real speaking terms relationship with one had been the Sally Payne from his own universe. And she was a bit of a sadistic bitch. He had been more relieved than anything else at the news of her death. That said, he looked up with trepidation when Blondie… er… Megan by her nametag… cleared her throat across the table from him. She wore the same smile from his cabin that morning.

“Mind if I sit down?” she asked.

His mind reeling and his mouth full of frosted flakes he gestured to the chair across the table from him. To his continued and aggravated trepidation she sat down in the chair next to him on the square table instead.

“Thanks,” she said. “I never liked eating alone. You came aboard last night at that Falsatian station, right?”

With some effort he managed to clear the sudden block from his throat and swallowed his mouthful of cereal. Even so he just nodded and gave a muted “Mmhhhmm.”

“You aboard as a permanent staffer or are you a station hopper?” she prodded.

“The latter,” he squeaked. Just writing this is becoming embarrassing now so let me insert this calming thought into poor Lawrence’s mind. She’s sleeping with your roommate, buddy. She’d never be interested in a station hopping techie like yourself so let’s slow that heart rate down a bit, shall we? “The latter,” he repeated in a somewhat deeper voice.

Unfortunately he’d already betrayed himself with the squeak. Megan’s smile broadened a bit as she realized Lawrence was shy. She moved in for the kill. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about this morning,” she told him. “If you want I’ll take you around the ship after my shift? Give you the grand tour?”

Lawrence was on new ground. He had the vague impression that he was being asked out on a date. His normally rational and scheming mind was at a loss. The testosterone took over. “Okay.”

“Great! Then I’ll stop by your cabin around fifteen hundred? John won’t be there since he works the evening shift. Well, I’ll see you then!” And with that she stood up and walked off. Lawrence looked down and realized that his frosted flakes were now soggy and she had finished her breakfast in the space of their conversation. With her gone his mind began to clear he looked at the clock and realized someone would be coming to his quarters in a few minutes to fetch him for his orientation. Just then the deck shook and the alert klaxon sounded.

[This message has been edited by Lenits (edited April 12, 2000).]

Kiera LaTeia posted April 12, 2000 04:32 PM

Anxious to kick some tail as well, Kiera steped from inside the ship and moved from the stern of her ship to the bow, and readied it for a good fight. With weapons secure she brought Unexpected Fire in line to the front and to the right of the UnderDog, then tossed a wave to Kat and Maggie. "Hey ladies! Les' be creatin' some terror!" It had been some time since Kiera had been at the helm of her baby, and instantly she knew it she was where she belonged. "I be all ready and waitin' for the word go!" Having given a hard pull to the main rope, the sail rippled then snapped into position.

She had instantly liked both Kat and Maggie, both had the same fire she did.. and that would prove for some interesting raids. Ready to take Pandoras Shame she moved to the helm and waited..

Katrylle Morgahn posted June 29, 2000 03:57 PM

As the lights of the Krita's docking bay faded from the inside of the Nighthawk's cabin, she fought the urge to white-knuckle the stick in her hands. God she hated space flight. She didn't notice it so much on a large ship like the Vextis or the Krita, but in the Nighthawk, she felt as though the vast blackness of space was closing over her, smothering her like the lid to a coffin. The feelings were bordering on the phobic.


 * No one* knew of this, however. Most figured her love of loud music was the only reason for the near shattering sounds inside the cockpit. Ry, as usual, just thought she was crazy. A soft smile crossed her lips as she thought of him, then faded as she continued her self-analysis. Perhaps he was more right than he realized. There had never been a definite reason for her fear of space. She had never had a childhood mishap involving the darkness. Stars for her were just small flickers of light in the night sky. She actually enjoyed night walks when she was planet-side. Actually being *in* the blackness, however, nearly paralyzed her.

The music helped a little. Her obsession with no one knowing her weaknesses helped more. She was able to function well enough to continue the missions that were so very infrequent. Her preferences were planet side raids, but, as in this case, you had to go where the treasure could be had.

She sighed heavily and banked the Nighthawk with a feather touch. Pandora's Shame was in visual range and she let loose with the first burst of laser fire across the freighter's bow. Settling her mind on the work at hand...and the short burst of violence calmed her just a smidge further.

[This message has been edited by Katrylle Morgahn (edited June 29, 2000).]

Katrylle Morgahn posted August 22, 2000 02:33 PM

Boarding Pandora's Shame had been easy. Not a damn thing to it, in fact. The freighter was weaponless and the captain, aparently tuned into the fact that any *attempt* at running was completely worthless. Smart cookie, that one.

The NightHawk had been fitted with a special airlock for just such an occasion. Inside, Kat discovered a happy little bonus in the form of a none to happy little freighter pilot; a certain Captain Quenton.

"YOU! What are you doing aboard my ship? I could have you arrested for this!"

Kat laughed pleasantly. "Captain Quenton. Tis a pleasure t'see y'agin as well, m'ol' friend. Lose anna good card games lately?"

The man before her turn the most intense shade of scarlet. Before he could answer, however, Kat chuckled again.

"As fer bein' on yer ship... well, t'an intelligent person, th'answer would b'obvious. As y've already proven yer nae intelligent, I suppose I will have t'explain it t'ye. Th'opals, Quenton. Where are they?"

Her preditory nature kicked in, her senses taking in everything about him, including the very faint wince at the mention of opals.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Search the ship! You won't find any opals here."

A slow, one sided smile formed on Kat's lips and, in a move she rarely, if ever, exicuted, she picked the information straight from the man's brain. She wasn't in the mood to look. She knew the others would be ansy if she didn't come out soon enough.

Grabbing the man by the arm, blaster jammed cruely into his side, she shoved him ahead of her, striding through the freighter to a small footlocker aparently used by one of the crew. With little care and great speed, she trained the blaster on the lock, shot and returned the barrel to the big man's ribs, adding yet another perfectly circular bruise to his skin there.

"Git 'em Quenton. Git 'em er I swear t'th'gods Adam ain't gonna b'th' only one missin a rib er two."

He got her drift. She let him go long enough to let him bend over the footlocker, open it and retrieve the small carved wooden box. Standing, he attempted to hand it to her.

"Open it, Quenton. NOW!"

Again, the man proved to be smarter than he looked. Immediately, the lid was lifted and, glittering within its velvet depths were the various sized prizes she sought.

"Close it." The action was immediately exicuted even as Kat moved behind the man once again. Grabbing an arm, she again twisted it behind his back and shoved him forwards, demanding with actions rather than words that he lead her back to the airlock.

During the entire 5 minute trip, not a single crew member assaulted them. She could tell they had no love for the captain and she was exceptionally thankful for it.

At the airlock, Kat released the arm she had been holding and spun the man, using her free hand to relieve him of the box even while the blaster remained in *very* close contact with him.

"I'll take tha' from ye, Quention. Ta."

Taking great care to keep her attention focused on the captain, she climbed the ladder that led to the NightHawk. Before climbing through the hatch, however, she paused to provide him with a bit of information.

"Y'may b'interested t'know....this hunk'o'junk is gonna b'space dust in aboot 5 minutes. Ya see..while we were attendin' ol' 'ome week, m'ship hae moved inta firin range. Y'll see it on yer scanners should y'be interested in checkin. Big bastard. Able t'take this rust bucket down fairly quickly. I'd evacuate ifin I was ye. Might wanna tell yer crew tha' as well." The bit had actually been directed towards the other man in the room. By sheer positioning...and the fact that he came out of the cockpit with Quention, Kat guessed he was the co-pilot or navigator. He looked worried, yet he nodded, getting her point.

Without another word, Kat slipped through the hatch, closed it tightly and lifted off, box secured tightly in the little compartment under her seat.

Lenits posted August 31, 2000 01:23 AM

The red alert klaxon was sounding when he left the cafeteria and looked around, planning his next step. People rushed past him in both directions, heading for their duty posts, some of them still pulling on shirts or jackets or in one fellow’s case, boots. Red alert was not a time to be caught asleep but this time of morning most people had been.

“What’s going on?” he yelled over the noise at a passerby whose arm he’d managed to snag.

The man looked blankly at him for a moment and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Pirates!” he eventually yelled back and then disappeared into the flow of people.

“Pirates” was not the answer he had been expecting. Meteorite collision was much more likely. Engine failure was certainly possible. But pirates? The ship’s cargo was listed as rubber sheets! Who would want to steal that?

Lawrence was a computer man at heart. He programmed ‘em, he used ‘em, he broke into ‘em, even occasionally had stolen ‘em. All that experience had taught him a certain logical pattern of thought. Sort of an “If… Then…” subroutine if you will. If… pirates were attacking the ship Then… there must be something aboard that was worth stealing. If… the cargo was listed as rubber sheets Then… the stuff the pirates were after must not be on the cargo manifest. If it’s not on the cargo manifest then it’s probably contraband.

He quickly stepped into the flow of people and let it sweep him along. Before too long he was back at his quarters and he quietly opened the door and slipped in. His roommate had long since vanished without a trace and the room was empty, leaving him free to do his work. His duffle was where he had left it, on his bunk, undisturbed. He opened the top flap and reached inside for his portable and his toolbox. Another weapons blast rocked the ship right as he opened the toolbox and scattered the contents across the desk. He scowled and grabbed his screwdriver from the collection of chips and computer parts, taking a moment to program the tip of the tool to a tri point. Before long he had the panel off the back of the desk and was connecting a cable from a port inside to his portable. Once he switched the machine on it started cataloguing every resource available to it, bypassing any lockouts and trying the most common passwords on encrypted resources. While he cruised around the system the machine silently implanted a virus into the system that’s job was to find any and all files that might be useful and copy them to Lenit’s own database. By the time he found the information he needed the computer had already downloaded the personal financial files for more than half the crew not to mention thousands of other files of undetermined usefulness. He’d have to sort through it all later though.

He yanked the cable and scooped the mess on the desk back into his toolbox. The computer and toolbox were put back into his bag and a small armband was removed. He slipped it over his hand and shoved it up under his sleeve before turning it on. He was planning on being sneaky and it was always useful when being sneaky not to go giving off pesky life signs that others could use to track you down.

His bag slung over his shoulder he left the room. Suddenly now the halls were empty. The red alert siren had wound down and only the flashing red alert lights were flashing up and down the passageway and no one was in sight. Lenits started down the hallway to the left, following a map he had just committed to memory. Unfortunately the computer had just repeated the same story about rubber sheets when he had run his search. That left the captain’s private files as the logical next step. However, those files were in an isolated section of the bridge’s sub processors. Theoretically that would prevent data loss in the event of a computer failure or virus and it also meant those files were only accessible from the bridge or from engineering. Theoretically.

Lenits bypassed the lift to the bridge and climbed into a Jeffries Tube instead. His destination was three decks up and he was not the most athletic of individuals so he was puffing by the time he hauled his heavy duffle out of the shaft. There was a computer junction located just behind the main bridge and not far from the dorsal airlock that could be used to tap into those difficult sub processors.

He found the junction in a niche in the wall and dropped his bag inside, just out of view. His portable emerged and was quickly hooked up. There was no terminal here so his machine was it as far as access was concerned. It didn’t take long to break past the security and while the machine did it’s cataloguing trick Lenits quickly perused the captain’s files. The answer turned out to be located in the man’s correspondence. He didn’t bother viewing the video but there were computer encoded text transcripts that he speed-read through faster than the tapes would have played. A message to someone named Joslyn ZyThyrn contained a message advising that “…the opals have been obtained and are stored safely in the footlocker in…” and letting her know that “…will be ready to deliver them to you on our arrival in…” and etc.

A sound from down the hall made him turn his head. Some men were clustering around the airlock and from what he could see it was equalizing pressure so someone could board. He didn’t waste any time unhooking his computer but left it where it was to finish copying any files he had missed in his first sweep and instead took his lock picks from his bag.

He ran down the hall away from the airlock, lock picks in hand, and stopped at the cabin specified in the encrypted message. He quickly had the door open and slipped into the cabin, turning on the lights as he entered. He glanced around, looking for the footlocker and was quickly on his knees, working on the lock. It didn’t take much to open it and find the opals. He paused for barely a moment once he had the box open to admire the loot but there was barely a moment to spare so he grabbed a small handful in one gloved fist and dropped them into the little pouch with his lock picks before smoothing over the rest to hide his thievery. The box was quickly replaced and the footlocker was closed.

He turned off the lights and peaked out the doorway to see the captain being marched down the hall by a long haired woman with a blaster digging into his ribs. No time to panic. Hide! The door slid shut and he looked around the room for someplace to conceal himself. No time to escape into the crawlspace and get it shut behind him again he ducked into the john. There was no door so he stepped into the shower, trusting the lack of light to keep him concealed. It wasn’t much protection. He could see right into the other room and had clear view of the footlocker.

Damn! He’d left the lights on! There were voices outside the cabin now. “Lights!” he whispered frantically. The lights turned on in the bathroom instead of turning off in the sleeping area. “No, the other ones! Computer, turn off all lights in this cabin!”

They shut off just as the door opened. He couldn’t see the door but the lights from the hall silhouetted two shapes against the far wall and he could see the shadows of the captain and his assailant. They stepped inside and when they came into view they fortunately had their backs to the bathroom. The woman shot the lock off of the locker and then shoved her blaster back into the captain’s side, commanding him to retrieve the booty from the chest. Quenton knelt in front of the footlocker for a moment before standing up and opening the case for his captor. The contents seemed to meet her approval.

“Close it,” she commanded. Her voice was familiar and it was nagging at Lenits’ memory but he still hadn’t got a good look at her face and he couldn’t place her. Right after Quenton closed the box though she circled around him to prod him towards the open door. The light caught her face and he saw her for the first time…

…not the first time. His heart leapt into his throat and he tried to squeeze himself further into the shadows.

Katrylle Morgahn. Every fact he knew about the woman sped through his mind in the space of time it took for her and Quenton to leave the room. Most of it consisted of files stolen from the Doom Bringers’ computer during his dramatic escape from custody but even if she hadn’t met him personally or bothered to check up on DB history when she joined the mercenary unit she would recognize him. His face, even hidden behind his glasses and long stringy hair and even mounted on his skinny frame, was a dead perfect match for one Benjamin Stinel.

He emerged from the shower once the door had closed and the room was once again shrouded in darkness. Poking his head outside again confirmed the hall was clear so he took a moment to double check that his prize was safe. Nine opals in all were nestled cozily in his lock pick kit.

An alert sounded through the empty hall and he looked up, despite the fact there was nothing to see. ##All hands abandon ship. This is the first officer. All hands abandon ship. This is not a drill.## Lenits wasn’t surprised. From what he had read about her Katrylle was just the sort of vindictive bitch who would destroy a ship just for the hell of it after she had taken what she wanted and call herself noble because she gave the crew a few minutes to get to the escape pods first.

He left the safety of the doorway and hurried down the hall, glancing occasionally over his shoulder. He stopped in the niche to pick up his bag and portable and made sure everything was safely stashed inside. He slung the bag over his shoulder again and ran back the way he had come. The nearest escape pods were four decks down. He was out of breath by the time he reached the lift. He hit the call button and waited for the door to open, taking a moment to wipe sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. The lift arrived and he climbed aboard, leaning against the rear wall. The next message that played across the speakers in the lift was an automated one with all the emotional content the computer was capable of but it turned the sweat dripping down his back cold.

“All life pods away. Internal sensors confirm abandon ship complete. No life signs aboard.”

He clutched at the band around his arm under his sleeve and cursed his own stupidity. He hadn’t turned the damn thing off and now he was trapped! He couldn't turn it off now. The only people who might be looking were out to steal the opals he had just stolen. He thought frantically and realized he still had one chance but it was a long shot. “Bridge!” he barked at the computer and the lift obediently reversed direction. The doors opened on the bridge and Lawrence stepped off just as the deck shook, throwing him against the wall. The pirates were firing at the ship again. This time they wouldn’t stop with a few warning blasts. They were out to see a big explosion.

He didn’t bother with the captain’s chair, nothing but a big ornament anyhow, but found one of the aft stations that hadn’t been shut down in the rush to get off the ship. A few well-chosen commands showed him a tactical display. Four fighters were closing on the freighter. The one in the lead was charging weapons and targeting the hull near the bridge. He saw an opening. If he pulled this off he might just get through this alive. Let’s just hope they didn’t think it was important…

“Computer. Close emergency bulkheads around the bridge and disengage bridge module on my mark,” he ordered, entering several keyboard commands simultaneously.

"Warning. Closing emergency bulkheads will sever bridge access—"

“Mark!” he shouted, cutting off the warning.

The emergency bulkheads slammed shut over all three entrances to the bridge, sealing him inside. The viewer shut off but he had issued his command just as the lead fighter had fired. In what he hoped was a convincing display the explosive bolts fired just as the weapons found their mark and the bridge module was propelled away from the ship at moderate speed, spinning slowly end over end. When he was thrown from his chair and his head hit the floor he realized that he had made a slight mistake. The bridge module wasn’t designed to act as a life pod and although it had a dedicated life-support system it relied on the freighters own inertial dampers. And something in space that was spinning… tended to keep spinning. He lost consciousness wedged between the captain’s chair and the floor and his last thought was that he hoped like hell someone found him before he woke up…

[This message has been edited by Lenits (edited August 31, 2000).]

Lenits posted November 20, 2000 09:44 PM

No one found him before he woke up.

The bridge module was still spinning but the kink in his back told him he had been thrown to the end where the centrifugal force was the highest and it almost felt like gravity. Almost. He was sprawled against the main view screen and when he looked down he saw the surface had cracks spider webbing across it. He rubbed his head where a bump was forming and wished the same on his alter ego as a mater of habit.

He pushed himself up and crawled off the cracked view screen. No sense in risking electrocution after surviving this long. “Computer,” he croaked.

The computer chirped but that was probably all he would get out of it.

“Emergency power.” Chirp. “Broadcast rescue beacon. Emergency channels.” Chirp.

He leaned back against the bulkhead and looked up at the back of the bridge. He remembered blacking out somewhere up by the captain’s chair but only the ache in his back and head served to tell the story of how he’d gotten down here. His duffle was hooked around one of the arms of the chair at tactical and was hanging at an odd angle. He frowned at it until he realized that on that end of the bridge the bucket of water effect was pulling it the other way. From his bag’s point of view he was clinging to the ceiling.

He reached up under his sleeve and pulled off the life sign dampener. The power light dimmed as it was separated from its power source. That is to say, him. He looked up again and after a moment’s thought tossed the armband up into the air. Once it was free of the bulkhead’s influence it followed a pretty straight arc away in the direction Lenits had launched it, independent of the spinning of the bridge. It didn’t look straight to Lenits of course. The air was spinning with the bridge and that had a small effect on it but not a big one. It gave him a pretty good idea of which direction he was spinning in though and armed with that information he started climbing up the starboard wall of the room.

Everything would be much easier, he thought to himself, if this thing was spinning like a Frisbee instead of like a flipped coin. He wasn’t that lucky. The gravity was heaviest at the front and back ends of the bridge and about halfway up the wall he had to turn himself so he could climb down the other half. In his mind he had to give a mental kudos to the bridge designer for all the handholds that had been left in despite the fact it was supposed to be a gravity environment. At the same time he wished Ben Stinel ten hours blindfolded and locked in a centrifuge.

Once he reached the other side of the bridge he crawled across the back wall until he was under his duffle. Now came the difficult part. He had to stand up. As long as he clung to the bulkhead he had a reasonable degree of certainty that one direction was up and the other was down. Trying to stand up while this thing was going end over end was going to through his sense of orientation all off. There was nothing else for it. Using the consoles as a handhold he hauled himself up. As he’d expected once his head was three feet from the wall his notion of down changed. Down was suddenly drifting towards the ceiling even though his feet were firmly planted on the wall. He understood the physics of it but it was damn disconcerting for someone who hadn’t been trained for it. He was a hacker, not an astronaut! He hated having to screw with this variable gravity shit.

He persevered though. Before long he had managed to lean himself against the ceiling and was inching his way upwards. His bag was hanging slightly at an angle towards the edge where the ceiling met the rear wall of the bridge. Lawrence was starting to feel queasy again. As he inched further and further away from the back wall his head was moving into a lower gravity area. He had the disturbing sensation that he was dangling over a steep drop to the front wall above/below him and someone was hanging onto his feet.

He reached out and snagged a dangling strap from his bag and gave it an experimental tug. To his surprise it dropped off the chair arm and pulled him three feet off to his right.

That was when the tractor beam locked onto the bridge module. This would have been fine except that when the beam grabbed hold the bridge stopped spinning and Lawrence was thrown from the ceiling to the floor. Once he hit the floor there was no more centrifugal motion to hold him in place. He floated, weightless. This being yet another dizzying event heaped on the almost acrobatic constitution he’d shown so far, he threw up.

Katrylle Morgahn posted July 17, 2001 02:31 AM

“YOU BITCH! LOOK….” Those were the only words to make it past the freight captain’s lips. The blur moving towards him did not register until it was too late. Claws too big to be mere nails punctured the skin at his throat and a deep, animalistic growling warned him that to step closer would be his death. The face that blocked his view of the woman he sought to confront would only cause him endless nights of nightmares should he lived long enough to ever sleep again. Cat-like eyes bore into his soul even as the feline claws pressed closer to his jugular. The wild mane of dark amber hair was almost a sinister contrast to the jet-black fur of her body. Yet, despite his impending death, he could not help but appreciate the body before him as definitely female.

“Captain Quenton. Where are my opals?” The captain of Pandora’s Shame heard the smooth voice, guessed it’s origins, but with the feline snarling mere inches from him, he could not see its source. He tried to reply but as breathing itself was a chore, only succeeded in a half croaking half squeaking noise. The roaring in his ears grew louder as oxygen was slowly cut off from his brain, preventing him from hearing the small snapping noise that was his salvation. Suddenly, the claws withdrew, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“I will ask you again, Captain Quenton. Where are my opals?”

Earlier that day all of the escape pods and the miraculously unharmed bridge module of Quenton's ship had been towed aboard Jos' Midnight Angel in hopes of learning from the castaway crew just why they had missed their rendezvous. More important to Joslynne, however, was the missing cargo. Currently all members of the Shame were present and accounted for and had a full visual of the attack on their captain. No man was brave enough to step forward. Yet, there was one of great interest to Joslynne, one further to the back than any of the others. It had been brought to her attention while all eyes were glued to the confrontation between Quenton and Caedwynne that one of the bags confiscated from the crew of the Shame contained a few of the opals that were to be delivered. The owner of the bag had been quickly identified but not yet confronted.

Another snap of Joslynne’s fingers sent the crew members of the ill-fated freighter scattering as the she-cat sprung into action once again. Her target this time was tall, just over six feet, but he stood with a carefully practiced stoop that made him seem closer to five ten or five eight. He wore glasses, which was an oddity for spacers, round lenses in thin wire frames. His hair was untended and hung in his eyes, over his ears, and down his neck over his shirt collar. She had never seen him before but something about him seemed annoyingly familiar. From behind the huge black desk, Joslynne watched passively as her pet once again wrapped her claws around human flesh, this time dragging the man forward as she punctured his skin. Instinctively, the man gripped Caedwynne’s wrist more for support than an attempt to pull away, but seemed interestingly unpanicked. It was almost as if the man accepted the fate chosen for him.

Silently, one eyebrow rising in interest, Joslynne watched as the man was pulled forward, stumbling as he tried to keep his feet. Caedwynne soon had him sprawled across the wide ebony expanse of Joslynne’s desk. It hadn’t missed Joslynne’s notice that, apart from the initial panic Caedwynne’s movement made on the other crewmembers of the Shame, there were no reactions from them to indicate caring in any shape or form. Relief that the man strewn over the desk was someone other than themselves, yes, but not caring.

“Lawrence. We’ve been a naughty little boy, haven’t we?” The black leather chair squealed as if in the throws of torture as she shifted forward. A long, darkly painted nail lightly tickled under Lenits’ chin as if coo’ing a baby. Still the man made no protest.

“It would seem that somehow, a little mouse found its way clear to fill your bag with my property. My pet here loves playing with little mice. But no. I think that perhaps, and I could be wrong, but perhaps you sensed the dangers to my babies and simply set about saving them from harm, keeping them safe until they could return to their mommy, no?”

“You thief!” From the depths of his bowls, Quenton somehow found the balls to speak. His timing was unfortunate. Joslynne’s eyes never left Lawrence’s. Caedwynne never released the man’s neck pressed into the desk. None of the crew of the Pandora’s Shame ever saw it coming. Suddenly, as if the wick of a candle had been snuffed out, a large, smoking hole appeared in Quenton’s right thigh, close to his groin. Too shocked at first, the captain could only stare in disbelief, his gaze flicking between his leg and the blaster in Joslynne’s hand. Then came the scream. Everyone in the room knew it was coming. It wasn’t difficult to figure out simply by the enormous whoosh of air the freighter captain pulled into his lungs. Joslynne waited patiently for the man to deplete whatever oxygen he held in his body, a wait that seemed to take forever as Quenton was a rather large man. As a semblance of silence overcame the office once again, and before he could take another breath to match the first, Joslynne finally shifted her gaze to the hapless captain.

“Scream again and I’ll shoot your dick off.” The statement was made matter-of-factly. She took no satisfaction in the collective cringe from the men of the freighter crew. She had seen it too many times before. Smirking slightly, she watched Quenton’s face as he tried to clear his head long enough to decide if his manhood was worth another self-satisfying scream. Joslynne nearly laughed as he came to the conclusion that the sacrifice would be too great.

Turning her gaze back to the man pressed into her desk, she continued as if uninterrupted. “Now, once again, tell me of the mice, little boy.”

He tried. Really he did. She could see him strain with the effort of complying with her wishes, though it was obvious that there was still no sign of fear in the man. Unfortunately, Caedwynne was good at what she does and Lawrence could only croak out a weak “Can’t…….speak.”

Another snap of her fingers and the she-cat released the man, but not completely. Making sure that the man still felt the talons in his neck, Caedwynne lifted him enough to allow him not only to comply with the woman he faced, but to breathe as well. As his captain had done, the man took in large amounts of air. Unlike his captain, he began his tale quietly and precisely.

Lenits posted July 21, 2001 01:05 AM

Lenits ignored the trickle of blood that began to slide down his neck around the feline woman’s fingers. At least it was just a trickle. After all, he had an idea that if he didn’t impress with his tale he wouldn’t have much use for the shirt that was getting stained by the blood. Dead men don’t technically need clothing.

He started with the attack by the pirates and touched on his computer infiltration only lightly. The woman had obviously already searched his bags and found his computer equipment. The how and why of his breaking and entering wouldn’t be important to her at this point but one key point would be. “I figured they weren’t after the rubber sheets.”

His captor nodded once, a single eyebrow arched. “Go on.”

So he told about his trip to the bridge to break into Quenton’s private files. The details weren’t really important here either so he just told her what he had found there and how it had led him to the small unoccupied crew cabin and a certain footlocker. He noticed at this point that her men had begun clearing the crewmembers of the Pandora’s Shame out of the room. He was painfully aware that this had become a private interview.

After the former crew of Quenton’s now defunct freighter had been filed out of the room the cat woman was ordered off and he had an opportunity to massage his neck and wipe away some of the blood. He took the moment to glance around and see who was still there. Aside from the cat woman and his captor herself there was one other. An officer type who had been standing behind the desk when the feline woman snagged him by the neck was now handing his captain a drink and bending close to her ear to whisper something while looking at her computer screen. She glanced once at the screen herself and then waived him away, directing her gaze at Lenits. The cat woman had stretched herself out on the opposite end of the desktop and was also looking at him. Other than her fur and some… interestingly placed adornments she was unclothed. His captor idly began to stroke her as if she was a pet and the feline began to purr.

These two didn’t occupy his attention though as much as his captor herself. It was Katrylle Morgahn. This was his first chance to get a good look at her. Earlier he had been trying to stay out of sight behind his fellow captives and when the feline had snagged him she’d kept him pinned in such a way that he couldn’t see her except through the corner of his eye. After taking his first look, however, he took a second and realized not everything added up. There was no accent, which was why he hadn’t recognized her voice. Katrylle had a heavy cockney slur to her voice but this woman spoke in crisp tones. Her style of dress was different as well. She still wore leather but instead of the flash female Han Solo look there was a decidedly business-class cut to the patterns. Like black leather Armani.

Almost everything else was the same; same face, same hair. She wore almost the same silver studded leather eye patch but it was on the wrong eye. The uncovered right eye was focused on him now, green with gold flecks. And now she spoke.

“You are very modest, Mister… Lenits?” He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of the way she said that. “Most thieves I know are braggarts.” She paused and looked at the computer screen again. When she looked away he turned his head away and realized he had been for a moment like a deer in the headlights. What his eyes found instead wasn’t much better. There was a severed hand grasping a knife and two eyeballs encased in clear plastic on the desk. He inched away from it as much as he could without falling off.

“Lenits… I’ve never heard a name like it before. Is it a family name?”

“In a manner of speaking…”

“Stinel backwards, isn’t it? And Lawrence. Your middle name? Benjamin Lawrence Stinel.”

He grunted in surprise. He hadn’t tried very hard to conceal the fact, it was true, but so far no one had caught on. On the other hand…

“And should I call you Katrylle Morgahn?” He wasn’t one for conversational wit and he had a feeling he was pushing the boundaries of the captor/captive relationship that had been established thus far. Maybe it was the growl from the cat woman. Regardless, he pushed on like a fool. “I have a feeling it’s about the same difference.”

The feeling changed to a certainty of his mistake the next moment. Her single eye narrowed in irritation and her mouth tightened. “Don’t mistake me for a fool, Mister Stinel. I don’t have a problem killing you just for the stolen opals in your bag.”

It was more a reminder than a threat. She was interested in him and that was about the only chance he had. She already thought he was lying so he told her the whole story. If he was right about her it wouldn’t sound so farfetched. His Doom Bringers had managed to destroy their own universe in a misguided attempt to change their history for the better. The resulting temporal wave had thrown them into this one. Supposedly this was the closest match to what their universe would have been if things had happened naturally the way they had tried to make them. All of his compatriots were dead however. He was the last survivor unless maybe Brian Dakar was still floating around somewhere in Crystalmyr. Eli O’Donovan and Francine Du’Marquis had betrayed him and left him to rot in a cell in the Doomlands so wherever they were he wished them a considerable amount of pain. He wound his story down and waited for her reaction. Either she believed him or she didn’t. As long as she stayed interested.

Joslynne ZyThyrn posted July 30, 2001 05:48 PM

She didn’t know if she believed his story. Oh, it wasn’t that she didn’t believe that the alternate universe theory wasn’t possible. She was living proof it was. She just wasn’t sure he was telling the truth about who he really was. Jos didn’t put it past Kat or any of her crew to place a plant on her ship. She would do the same, if given the chance.

“Perhaps I should just make this simple, Mister Stinel…..or whatever your name is. The work and manpower involved would be too extensive to research your story. Killing you would simply eliminate the need for such. After all, you did steal from me, no?”

The man at her shoulder quickly leaned forward and whispered in her ear. As she listened, a slow smile spread across her face.

“It would appear you have a reprieve, Lawrence…. for the moment at least. I will call you Lawrence to keep the confusion between you and my friend here to a minimum.” Absently, her hand lifted to the man’s uniform, a light caress from her fingertips gently brushing against the fabric at his stomach. At her touch, the one known as Lantis glared down at her and took a step backwards as if to avoid her touch. This action seemed to have no effect on the woman, however. Her single eyed gaze remained on the prey before her.

The tone in her voice made it absolutely clear to Lawrence that he had no choice in what he was to be called. If she had decided to refer to him as mud, he would be mud plain and simple.

“Lantis here seems to believe your story in its entirety. It’s a good thing you were found on the bridge of Pandora’s Shame and not in a life pod. Lantis is certain that Katrylle would never put her brother in the danger you were obviously in. Perhaps you are who you say you are……perhaps. In any case, you are to remain on this ship …. as my ….. ’guest’.” There were no illusions that, in being her “guest”, Lawrence would not be vacationing at Little Rio Spa and Resort. Perhaps death would be a more acceptable choice… Perhaps.

Lenits posted July 31, 2001 02:33 PM

Lawrence’s computer equipment wasn’t returned to him. He was escorted from his meeting with Joslynne to a small crew quarters in one of the decks below. It wasn’t a big room and there was no computer terminal. Apparently he had impressed her with his hacking abilities. She wasn’t taking any chances. He wasn’t particularly worried about that. Sooner or later he’d find a way to make himself useful. That was his only chance really. Her last comment had made it clear that she wasn’t particularly interested in keeping him alive and he doubted he was going to escape.

“If I find out you’ve lied to me or you have stolen from me again, Lawrence, I’ll add your tongue and hands to my little display here.”

He hadn’t lied. But that wasn’t really the point. She might decide he had. As for not stealing, that was easy enough. There wouldn’t really be any benefit to him, and there was one obvious detriment. He needed his hands to type.

Lantis was the one who escorted him away from his new mistress. The man seemed out of place. Lawrence couldn’t say just how exactly but the way he held himself seemed different than most of Jos’s crew. He was stiff. Jos’s crew was loose. Which wasn’t to say they were unorganized. Compared to Katrylle’s group of misfits they were the very models of efficiency. Lantis showed him the room, which basically consisted of pointing out the food replicator and the bathroom. Once those perfunctory tasks were complete the other man exited, leaving Lawrence alone.

The room was closet sized. There was a cot-sized bed with a footlocker shoved underneath it. The bathroom was tiny. There was a toilet and a shower that was about two feet square. The sink was under the food replicator. No storage had been provided. A quick check revealed that he had been locked in. He wasn’t especially worried about that though. He could leave the room if he wanted to. It wasn’t exactly a brig.

Just to double-check his options as far as tools he went to the food replicator and ordered a chicken sandwich with everything on it. As he expected when the sandwich was delivered it was held together with a pair of toothpicks to keep it from falling apart. He ate half of it and pocketed the toothpicks.

The door was a standard sliding door typical of most space ships. Heavier construction than most he’d seen though. Airtight. Jos apparently wasn’t going to rely on force fields if the hull was breached. Using one of the toothpicks he prodded at the tiny screws holding the door control panel in place and loosened them to the point he could unscrew them with his fingers. Once he had the panel off he used the other toothpick’s point to manipulate the switches inside until he could safely rewire the controls without shocking himself. Once he was done he replaced the control panel, the lock and the alarms bypassed. It snapped in place so he left the screws on floor by the door. They might be useful later but he didn’t want Jos to say he had stolen them. He pushed a button on the panel and the door slid open. He poked his head outside to take a look and then pulled back into the room. The door stayed open. He wasn’t trying to escape, merely make a point. He sat down on the narrow bed and finished the rest of his sandwich while he waited for what was going to happen next.

Joslynne ZyThyrn posted July 31, 2001 08:49 PM

The she-cat purred on Jos' desk as her ears were absently scratched. Joslynne was distracted by the view on the desktop monitor, her hand automatically seeking out her pet's warmth to mollify the creature's desires.

A soft chuckle filter through the room, barely heard over the cat-woman's grumbling purr, as the man on the monitor used a toothpick to jimmy the door open. "He's inventive, to be sure." She frowned at his next action, however, her head tilted in such a way as to question what she was seeing. Instead of fleeing as she fully expected him to do, the man simply returned to his bunk and finished his sandwich. Still, she expected him to make a run for it, but once again this man would go against all she knew of human nature.

For an hour, she silently watched the curious man order more food, items that would require a fork and a knife. But all of his attempts resulted in the food without the utensils. He seemed about to give up when he decided to try a different tactic. Using the toothpicks again he opened the service panel on the replicator and started poking around inside. Jos leaned forward, interested in what he was doing but unable to see clearly because the camera angle wasn't right. She had to be content with this view, however since the only other camera angle for this room was directed into the bathroom. After a short period of time Lawrence finished what he was doing in the replicator and looked up at the screen. A grin cracked his face for a moment and he started manipulating the limited controls on the replicator's display.

At least she had some recourse here. She opened a smaller window on her monitor that let her see what his display was showing. Jos was surprised to see he was searching through the computer core. He wasn't doing anything malicious, just looking, but she again found herself surprised at his inventiveness. As the smaller window flashed his search patterns, she realized he was looking through security files. She smiled slowly as she realized he was now behaving more along the lines she expected him too. No doubt he was trying to find the best way to escape without being detected. Let him search, she thought to herself. There wasn't much chance that anything he found would get him past her Security officers.

He kept browsing for several minutes, but instead of accessing force field protocols and security guard rotations, she realized he was still simply browsing. Nothing he accessed seemed to be remotely useful in a jailbreak. Suddenly, she flopped back in her chair, surprised at what he had actually accomplished. The smaller window on her screen, the one that gave her a view of his hacking, was an exact duplicate of the camera image. Her gaze shifted to the larger image and she watched Lawrence pause for a moment. Looking at the image on the replicator display for a long moment, Lawrence then turned around as if searching for the camera. It was well hidden, imitating one of the many holes that made up the ceiling tiles. That didn't mean it was hard for him to find. Jos knew that, with the video feed he had accessed, any kindergarten idiot could locate the pinhead camera. Using the image on his terminal as a guide, she watched as he stood on the bed and moved his hand along the ceiling until it blocked the camera. Once the correct tile had been found, Lawrence pushed up on that section until it lifted out of its slot.

She didn’t wait for him to yank the feed. With the push of a button, she was suddenly outside his opened door. The transport was silent, giving him no indication she was there it was one of the various little safety features she had built into the ship for herself.

Leaning against the doorjamb, she folded her arms and crossed her ankles to continue silently watching him. Again, she found herself surprised by the man. Instead of completely yanking the feed, he simply repositioned it for a better view of his activities. Head tilted in question, she found herself searching for the illusion…the trick this man was playing that would result in something bad blowing up in her face. She could not find it. This was one she would definitely have to keep very close.

Ceiling tile replaced, he stepped down, turned and stopped suddenly upon discovering her presence. A slight smile on her face, she nodded towards the replicator. “Will that thing still function as it should?”

Ben Stinel posted August 07, 2001 10:57 PM

“Will that thing still function as it should?”

Lenits turned around, surprised. He knew he was being watched and he figured someone would be coming by to see what he was up to but it was still a shock to be snuck up on like that.

“Uhmm, yes. It’s fine. I only rewired the control display.”

She smiled at him. It wasn’t comforting. “Glad to hear it. You’re good.” She paused and looked at the door controls. “Maybe too good,” she said as she fingered the panel.

“I can help you,” he blurted out and then almost tripped over his own tongue when she looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “I mean… I can…”

“Help me?” She laughed. “What help could you provide me? Is that what this little show was for?” She walked slowly towards him and reached up to trace a fingernail along his jaw then down his neck. “You want me to see how useful you are?” Her expression darkened as she grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him forward roughly. “But who’s going to help you?”

Lawrence swallowed nervously and didn’t make any aggressive movements. He had always nurtured a slight stoop to make himself seem shorter than he really was but he was a foot taller than she was and the stoop still left a good eight inches height advantage. The way she had pulled him forward made him feel as though he was looming over her. She didn’t seem to notice or she didn’t care. She was the aggressor and if anyone was at a disadvantage it was he.

“You want to find Katrylle,” he said. Her grip on his shirt tightened, telling him he had struck a nerve, and she pulled him down. He didn’t fight her; he just went as she pulled, dropping down to his knees. The angles seemed better now at least.

“What makes you think you know what I want?” she growled at him.

“Just a hunch. If you want to find Katrylle you should start by finding Stinel. I can help you there.” He laughed nervously and reached up to tap his head. “I’ve got an inside angle you might say.”

Her expression changed as a smile crept across her mouth and her glare smoothed itself out. “So… What’s in it for you, Lawrence?”

“Well,” he swallowed. Time to risk it all. “I wouldn’t mind living for a while longer to start with. But what I really want is a chance to make his life a short… and painful one. And I’d like your help with that…”

Joslynne ZyThyrn posted September 11, 2004 11:19 PM

The hem of her short, tight skirt slid provocatively up her leg as she sat, the pinstripe silk making barely a whisper against bare skin even as she crossed her legs. The dangling crimson clad foot bounced quietly as she contemplated the creature before her.

He once had been a man. One of the most powerful she had known, in fact. Now he was merely a shell…. She had seen to it years ago when she had not only stripped him of his wealth and power, but of his eyes, tongue and manhood. Perhaps the cruelest of all she had done to the man was to let him live.

As she watched him rock before her, mumblings made unintelligible by the lack of a tongue slipping quietly about the room, she let the memories filter though her mind.

@#@#@#@#@#@

Another Time, Another Reality:

Joslynne ZyThyrn, like her alternate reality "clone" Katrylle Morgahn, had been the only daughter of eight children born to Roraeyx and Daestyr ZyThyrn. Unlike Kat, however, a disgruntled nanny employed by the ZyThyrns had sold Jos to Burthlyn Posterian. As the nanny had gone out of her way to prove that the child had been killed, the profiteering Posterians had never changed Jos’ name. They had been secure in the knowledge that no one would search for a dead child.

Jos had grown up much as Kat had; living on the streets, stealing to provide Burthlyn with the comforts the woman had grown accustomed to. Life carried on much as it had in Kat's reality; Burthlyn's operation being raided by the cops, the child living on the streets a few more years by herself, etc. One major difference occurred on the day that Jos was caught with her hand in someone's pocket. Unlike Kat, Jos had chosen a rather well to do and infamous mob-like boss by the name of Pyster Darrak. Although he was angered by the thought of someone stealing from him, he was also intrigued at the girl's guts. As punishment for stealing, the girl, now 10 years old, was to receive 5 lashes from Darrak's belt then, because he liked her moxy, she would become part of his organization.

Jos handled the whipping well. It had not been the first time it had happened. She also excelled in the teachings Darrak's people provided.... too much in fact. By the age of 23, she was the best pilot, pirate and "cleaner" Darrak had. She had also decided to run her own operation outside of Darrak's. Unfortunately for her, Darrak found out that she had been "technically" stealing from him once again. Her operations often chinzed Darrak from goods and money he thought were rightfully his. In retribution, and to go with the old adage "an eye for an eye", he had done just that.

She had been called before him that fateful day. She had no idea what was to happen. She didn't even know he had caught on to her "extracurricular activities". As she entered his office, however, it became suddenly very clear that she was in for a world of hurt. Two huge men were waiting behind the door and, as she moved further into the office, the men grabbed Jos from behind. Two more took hold of her kicking legs and, combined, the four men held her to the plastic covered carpet. Feeling and hearing the plastic beneath her caused her to double her efforts of escape. Not only had she seen the plastic used on many separate assassinations preformed by Darrak, she too had used the tactic on many of her own. Unless she could get free, she was fairly certain she would die this day.

Jos was to be proven wrong, however. It would be a mistake that Darrak would suffer for many years to come. Keeping in mind that Jos *was* the best he had ever had, in many more ways than just business, he had decided to teach her a lesson rather than kill her.

As his men held her struggling form on the floor Darrak slowly approached. Catching the glint from the finely crafted silver dagger in his hand, Jos went completely still. Relieved of the extraordinary effort it took for the men to hold such a small woman down, they relaxed their hold slightly. Sensing this, Jos renewed her efforts at escape. She managed to incapacitate one of the men with a well-placed foot but he was replaced with Darrak’s enormous weight on her chest before she had a chance to use the brief freedom to her advantage.

“You got greedy Joslynne. No one steals from me, no matter how small. But I like you, girl. I’ll let you live. But you’ll live with a reminder that no one crosses me.” Slowly the glint became brighter as he brought the dagger closer to her face. As the tip of the dagger stopped millimeters from her eye, it became apparent what Darrak intended. Jos began to scream as she had never screamed before. The scream of terror was soon replaced with a scream of absolute agony as her left eye was cut from its socket. Then all became blackness.

Days later Jos awoke in Darrak’s personal med bay eyelid sewn shut and bandaged. She was honestly amazed she was alive and, as she lay there considering her options, she realized one important thing. Darrak would pay and pay for a very long time.

It took her 2 more years to accomplish her revenge. By then, she was back in Darrak’s good graces, though neither of them were allowed to forget their past conflict. She was once again sharing Darrak’s bed and her status as number two was re-established. Confident in the lesson he had given her, Darrak never realized the extensive planning going on right under his nose.

After a particularly amorous evening in bed, Jos decided her time had come. In the morning, she left his bed early and made breakfast for him. As it was cooking, she contacted Daltan, Darrak’s administrator, and told him that Darrak was not to be disturbed until the following day. This would give her at least 24 hours to make Darrak’s life a living terror.

For breakfast, she presented Darrak with eggs, toast, pancakes, Altarian oranges, coffee and juice freshly squeezed from the oranges. Each item had been liberally coated with RDD, a neurological drug that, while incapacitating the body, left the mind fully functional. At first, being Darrak, he was naturally suspicious of her motives. It took an excessive amount of cooing and coddling, then finally the threat of taking the breakfast away to get him to eat. Within moments after the last crumb had found its way into his enormous stomach, the man-mountain began to show signs of the drug’s effect.

For the next 26 hours, Joslynne took great pleasure in torturing the man both physically and psychologically. As he lay there helpless in his bed, she took turns using his own silver dagger to slice pieces from his flesh then using his own computer to ensure his wealth and vast holdings would become hers. Her greatest pleasure, and his greatest pain, came in the early pre-dawn hours.

Darrak’s rooms had been soundproofed, but it didn’t really matter. The RDD she had continuously administered to him throughout the night ensured absolute silence. Within an hour of the pre-arranged time her transport was to pick her up, the majority of Darrak’s torture had been completed. Everything that Darrak had owned was now in her name. His body was battered and bleeding in the safety of his own rooms. It was now time for her final revenge.

She could see him watching her as she approached the bed. The fear in his eyes screamed for the voice that could not. His eyes followed her, a sign that the drug was wearing off. Slowly, she smiled.

“Well Darrak. We have come full circle now. Again I have stolen from you as I will now. You thought to own me, but it is you who is now owned. Let’s see, how did you put it?” She sat on the bed next to him, tapping her chin as if trying to remember something they both knew she would never forget.

“Oh yes. I’ll let you live, Darrak. But you’ll live with a reminder that no one crosses me.” His eyes widened as the dagger in her hand began to move to his face. Within an instant, however, the path had changed, a clean slice taking away his manhood. As she knew he would, the man passed out. Chuckling softly, she reached for the syringe she had left on the nightstand beside the bed. The clear liquid inside would not counter the RDD. It was a simple agent created by the military to keep prisoners of war conscious during their “interrogation”. She had connections. She had the agent. Swiftly, she plunged the needle into Darrak’s arm and depressed the plunger. It only took seconds for the liquid to respond. It only took seconds for her to once again see the fear in his eyes. It took less time to add his balls to her collection.

Her next addition would be his hand. Only one…. The one he used to remove her eye. This took a little longer than his dick and balls. To ensure that the man would not bleed to death before she was done, she took the time to heat the silver to white-hot, a precaution that would cauterize his flesh even as she severed it.

She said nothing as she worked. She simply smiled down at him as if a friend presenting him with flowers. With the dagger still hot, she preceded to first his left eye, then his right. Her treasures gathered into an ornate wooden box, she leaned over and whispered almost lovingly into the now beaten man’s ear.

“You’ll live Darrak. I promised you that. What I didn’t tell you, however, is you’ll be living as my play toy now. There is a doctor on the shuttle to make sure you don’t die on the way to your new home. When you get there, I swear you will wish you had died.” She sat up as her comm. beeped, signaling the arrival of the transport. She left him as he was, unclothed and bleeding as she made her final preparations for departure. He would remain in this condition for the rest of his natural life…. and beyond.

@#@#@#@#@#@#@#

She kept her word. Live he did, though it could be debated if what he was doing was really living. His mind had snapped almost immediately once she had truly started with him. It had actually been a disappointment to her. She had had such wonderfully twisted plans for him. She discovered quite early that those plans would have very little effect on Darrak, however. Instead, she had to content herself with merely tormenting him physically.

His scarred and partially dismembered body constantly shook these days. She wasn’t concerned he would die anytime soon. The doctors who saw to him knew that option was completely unacceptable and would cost them their own lives.

Still…. she had grown bored. Upon occasion, she would find herself considering ending this wretched creature’s life herself… not from pity, but simply from sheer boredom. His pathetic mewling constantly grated on her nerves and she was finding it more and more difficult to find pleasure in his torture.

Sighing heavily, she stood suddenly and grabbed the matching suit coat, slinging it over her shoulder as she made her way to the door. For a brief moment, she found solace in the enjoyment of his cowering at the abruptness of her movement. Lost in his insanity, he hadn’t even realized she was in the room. But, as before, the mewling began and, spinning on stiletto heels, she stormed from the room in search of more pleasurable company. 