Colonist Diaries for Chapter:
2. Escape.

The Escape

Posted in 2. Escape by The Historian

All of us seemed to come through unscathed by the brief battle with the UNWG forces.

The various colonists had broken into different groups. Some of them were gathered in the lounge, animatedly discussing the fight with UNWG forces they’d just been through. They were also sipping on drinks a little stronger than champagne. It was basically “serve yourself” since Glenda and Steven were otherwise occupied and the Lancer didn’t have a full crew on board. One colonist who introduced himself as Tim Watson was acting as bartender and turned to the elderly gentleman with scraggly hair, saying, “So, Pops, what’s your name? Care for another martini?”Smiling, the old man said, “Well now, my, er, real name is Brice and I was a professor of history in a small mid-western college. I’m retired now of course. And yes, I think another martini would put me in the mood, as it were.”

Another of the crowd around the bar, a young man with piercing eyes, content to sip on club soda said, “A history teacher. You’re kind of old. What can you bring to the table where we’re going?”

A couple who had identified themselves as Mariana and Andrew Stuart both chuckled and she said, “Now Jack, be nice. There’s a place for everyone–”

“Actually,” the older man said, “I know a lot of things about a lot of things but besides, someone has to chronicle what we’re doing. Our children’s children’s children will want to know what brought us to the new planet, how we formed a government, what led up to their present situation. I rather fancy being the historian for the group. Besides, I was sick of gardening.”

“Well then,” the young man Jack said, “I dub thee ‘The Historian’.”

A middle-aged fellow, Dave, turned to Tim Watson and said, “Another beer, my good man.”

There were several others there and they soon began introducing themselves to each other and discussing everything under the Sun, or rather, the stars. Unobtrusively, the one dubbed The Historian decided this would be a good time to turn on his wrist-pad microphone and perhaps record for time immemorial the early comments of some of the colonists.

The last good fight for a good long time.

Posted in 2. Escape by Jack the Blade

Given how poor the security was around this little project, it was inevitible that some halfwit would catch wind of it and make some foolish charge. I was just surprised that it was the communication frigate Negation. As we were about to launch, the Negation launched a few boarding craft and moved to block our escape. I remote-piloted my shuttle into the hull of the frigate and detonated the C-12. I had counted on someone making a feint here, with at least a frontline warship, but the C-12 destroyed Negation.

I was fairly amazed at how competent my companions here are with firearms, it’s odd to see marksmen not in High Guard uniforms…

Of the 5 boarding craft from the Negation, only 3 survived the blast. I split my crew between two of the ships, I doubted they would have any difficulty dispatching armed Ops personel. I myself went to aid my companions, but it turned out that was unnecessary. After the boarders were killed, we put the bodies back in the boarding craft after stripping the shuttles of anything of value, patched the 1 hole made by the shuttle that cut through the hull rather than docking at an airlock, and jettisoned the bodies. The skill of my companions will require some changes to my planning, however. It’s fortunate I found out about it now…

Turns out my shuttle’s transceiver missed a second, smaller but better armed, warship. To my shock, our cruiser has 100mm naval guns. Seems the security for the important details was better than Intelligence realized… Suffice to say, the guns made short work of the smaller frigate. I’ve always wondered why they relied on energy sheilding exclusively for their defense, especailly with modern explosives.

Given how far off the Negation was, I don’t think anyone even noticed it before I destroyed it.

It’s also a relief that the information I had on the energy sheilding was accurate. If I had any doubts about it before, they’ve been relieved.

Nevertheless, I must get a look at those guns, and the ammo stores… 

The beacon continues apace, and will be in position around our landfall.

Why will they not just Let Us Go!!! Part 1

Posted in 2. Escape by Andrew Stuart

Moving away from the StelCo security type, we retrieved our rucks and cases and followed the signs for the Lancer ramp.  Arriving we noticed two obvious security types who appeared to be about ten years younger than us.  I muttered sotto voice “Fresh meat spotter”.  I got a like reply of “gear up shooter”.

We moved to one side, sat down the rucks and proceeded to open them.  Removing the useful but, decoy electronics, we removed our old service field jackets and put them on.  We had just replaced the gear and strapped up the flaps when the UNWG flunky faced off with the blonde male StelCo type.  When the flunky turned and ran off we reacted as one.

Each of us grabbed the latch on either side of case one.  Flipping open the case we started grabbing.  First the AMT’s into the sleeve holsters; mine on the right, Marianas on the left and extra mags for all in the ready pouches.  Then my Colts in the Cross draw and Shoulder rigs, Mariana likewise with her Randall’s.  Grabbing the rucks and cases, the long one awkward as usual; I busted across the line and we placed them on either side of the hatch.

Mariana faced the female StelCo type and said “Mariana Stuart, get these people on board and give us 15 seconds notice before you close the hatch”.

As I stood and turned two UNWG goons approach the ramp as if to block the hatch.  I stood and flipped my hand in the peculiar motion that put the AMT in my hand and gave him 185 grains right between the eyes.  From the other side of the line I heard the rolling boom of a hammer and turned to see the other goon flying back missing most of his chest.  I said “wasting ammo spotter”.  The reply was as expected “Bite me shooter”.

Pulling the L20 fusion cord from the side pouch of the field jacket I striped both nearer entry doors.  Thumbing out the det switch, I popped position one and two fusing the doors shut.  Marina and I then reshucked the AMT’s and pulled the cross draw .45s.  We then concentrated on the remaining two doors where the last of the colonists had just entered.

As the last of the good guys were starting up the ramp, two goons entered each of the doors.  I quickly slapped the two at the left door with two fast head shots.  From the other side of the corridor I heard the rolling boom of two hammers.  Grinning I said “wasting ammo spotter”.  The reply “guesses why I am the spotter, shooter. And by the way, bite me”

The next thing we heard was “15 seconds”.  Holstering on the run, we grabbed the rucks and cases as we dived through the hatch, passing a guy closing down a tele-operator rig.  I bumped him on the way back and said “Andy Stuart, sorry about that”.  He just grinned and said “Jack, nice to see a couple of pros” Turning to Mariana I said “find the bar”.  She grinned and said “Foot rail, right”?  “You named that tune in one note”

We turned towards the corridor and the other individual headed towards the boat bays.  Following the signs we found the bar and “glory be” there was an old fashioned foot rail.  Heading for the corner support we quickly dropped the rucks and wrapped the built in inertial reels to the upright.  Jerking out the cargo straps, we were just finishing securing the cases when the Pilot made a nice little speech which ended with an attitude I liked.

I moved past an old guy who really looked out of place and found a spot were a ships support beam was exposed.  Pulling the inertial reel hook from the Field Jacket I strapped to it then, turned and sat with my back against the beam so I could feel the vibrations.

Looking at the guy beside of me “Andy Stuart, wild ride so far huh”?  “Tim and adventure don’t seem so cool anymore.”

Just then I felt the deep rolling vibration in the frame and looked at Mariana strapped the end of the bar rail.

“Sweetheart the pilot is kicking this thing in the rear end.  It feels more like a pursuit cruiser than a cruise ship.”

The old Guy asked “you seem familiar with combat ships”.

“I know it just from riding on them, never operated one.”

“Who gets to ride on a High Guard ship that is not High Guard?”

“People who need a ride” I replied.

“Just riding along?”

“Something like that.”

The Pilots warning interrupted us at that awkward moment; I looked at Mariana and said “toss me the spare harness.”  She reached back to her ruck and pulled the spare body harness out of the side pocket and tossed it to me.

Looking at the old man, “let’s get you in to this in case it gets rough”.  As I was strapping in the Old Man, I looked at Tim and said “Sorry, We only have the one spare.  We sort of left in a hurry”.

I had barely finished strapping in the old man when the first shock hit. “What was that?” a female voice asked.

“Energy hit” Mariana replied.  “This thing is fast but, at this low a delta vee we will be in range for a while.”

Me ‘It’s got to have shields or that hit would have broken something”

Tim asked “How do you people know this much”?

Mariana replied “We read a lot”.

We rocked to the recoil of double hit and from Mariana “we can’t take many more of those even with shields”.

Suddenly I felt the vibrations of something all too familiar from long ago “Damn that was a KE spread from us.  Six rounds in two separate groups.  Where the Hades did Hamilton get 100 MM’s from”

Mariana replied “from the same rabbit hole He pulled the rest of this miracle”.

The ship settled down and the gravity rotation began to pick up.  The female StelCo agent stuck her head in and said “Bars open but, its sorta grab your own”.

Tim stood up and said “well I can play bartender.  What will you have old man.”

“Gin and Tonic I do believe and young man do you think you could get this wonderful contraption off of me.”

“No problem the name is Andy Stuart and the Blonde at the end of the bar is Mariana.  Tim if your are going to pour, could we get two triple JD’s on the rocks”

“Yeah, no sweat.”

We stowed all the harness gear and moved to the bar.  As the Old Man was getting his second Gin and Tonic a hard eyed young man who looked like the guy from the hatchway but, I could not be sure interrupted the conversation.

“A history teacher, you’re kind of old.  What can you bring to the table where we’re going?”

Mariana and I glanced at each other and she replied with her spotter face on.  “Now Jack, be nice.  There’s a place for everyone-.“

She did not really end the sentence as much as just stare.  Jack just lifted his glass and grinned.

We turned to our drinks and tried to wind down as we waited for the questions that were sure to follow.

After years of hiding from the sheep, we were surrounded by sheepdogs.  Could we admit that we were wolves with a conscience?

(To Be Continued)

Welcome aboard

Posted in 2. Escape by Jack Seaworth


I had just finished securing my personal carrier in the aft cargo bay when the shooting started. The small arms fire coming from the port docking point resonated thru the hull and announced to the world that any chance of a quiet departure was now gone.
I had no weapons on me. I had counted on been able to manufacture them on the ship’s 3 axis replicator and did not want to give anyone a reason to stop me en route here. The 3 axis replicator, at one time a toy exclusive to research labs and prototyping facilities, takes a digital 3d map, and using a laser, burns the parts from a thermal reactive plastic bath. If you have the exact specs of a product or part, you can have the replicator burn it for you in seconds. The replicator was standard equipment in all long range ships to reproduce replacement parts on the way. I had brought with me the digital specs of most small arms and known weapons in the planet.

No time to look for the maintenance deck, I had to improvise. As I turned the corner, I saw a local security squad on the other side of the airlock. Who trained these clowns? Shore uniforms and LTL side arms in a raiding party? The standard should be EVO suits. Morons. I hit the airlock close button and that got their attention.

“Freeze, high guard security” announced the pretty boy in charge of this gaggle.

Of course, he was on the other side of an airlock. And had no KE/AP weapons. Like I said, morons.

A simple twist of the evac valve separated the umbilical gateway and vented the air in the other side of the lock out to space. When the greenhorn realized what I was doing he tried to rush his people back in to gate. Too late. If he would have just ignored the sudden blood rush to his brain, the lack of air in his lungs and the joint pain from explosive decompression, maybe he could have pushed his men back to the station. As it was, panic set in, and before he could warn his people, the white of his eyes turned dark red and the content of his stomach sprayed all over the walls. I gave it about sixty seconds while I listened for further action. I could hear the rumbling of the sublight impulse engines announcing that we were on the way. I could hear no small arms fire or any other indication of additional boarding parties. I had no way to know what was going on in the rest of the ship, and needed information fast.
I hit the comms panel and identified myself to the pilot.

“Mr. Seaworth, nice to hear from you, any issues in your area?”

“Just a gaggle of goons that are no longer of any importance”

“Yeah, local security, no longer an issue, We still have a local ship giving chase, but we should loose them in a few”

The impact of the energy blasters on the shield rocked the hull.

“Persistent bastards aren’t they?” quipped the pilot over the comms.

“Can I be of any assistance?”

“Well now that you offer, there is a 100mm battery one deck above you, aft, if you wouldn’t mind operating that until we can get some distance from that tub”

How in the hell did this guy know I can operate one of those? I suspect that the invite to this shindig came after some background checking.

I ran the one level up and opened the drop hatch into a weapons con room. The on board systems looked to be an upgraded version of the old ship to ship short range KE system. Sitting behind the controls the system came to life automatically and the pilots face illuminated the forward comm screen.

“Mr. Seaworth, I see you are at the guns, you have full control, try to get that idiot to back off while I get some distance between us.”

“You don’t mind a little illegal destruction of UNWG property, do you?”

The pilot started laughing at my half joking statement. “Mr. Seaworht, we are already criminals. If the bastard wont back off, make him”. A man after my own heart.

The twin 100s came to life in complete silence. The 12 round volley caught the chase ship completely of guard. I could see direct hits in the command deck and the fore holding areas. Bastards were not expecting anyone to still have KE weapons. Their shields were only designed for energy blasts. After a few seconds it was obvious that they had completely lost any desire to continue the chase. Good news, they knew that we could bite back. Bad news, they would get in the wireless and tell everyone else. No way to slip quietly now.

The pilot came back to the screen.

“I see that he changed his mind”

“Yep, a little behavioral modification lesson goes a long way”

“If you wouldn’t mind joining the rest of the passengers in the fore lounge, I think we can take it from here, Mr. Seaworth”

“Son, the name is Jack”

“Well Jack, welcome aboard”

We’re Off!

Posted in 2. Escape by Tim Watson

Well, we got away, by the skin of our teeth it seems.

I was sitting in a seat up by the lounge and noticing that it was getting crowded. There seemed to be more people than the ship was built for. Turns out there were.

There was some commotion then, I could not see what was up, but I found out later it was some yahoo that decided to shoot some antique gun off rather than try to be subtle. Not the best choice I think, but what is done is done.

The seats and aisles were filling up fast. I shouted out that we should give the seats to any kids or those that really needed them, the rest of us could make do with the floor, walls or wherever we ended up. Most folks seemed to agree so we got those that needed to be belted in squared away. Last thing we need is kids bouncing around in a stressful situation.

The release from the dock was more sudden and quicker than I was expecting, though under the circumstances I am not sure what I was expecting. There was more noise and excitement back towards the entry, but I was not able to see what was going on. It seems there were some determined attempts to stop us from leaving.

Then about half an hour later there were some shots that hit us, but they stopped. I felt some vibrations I did not recognize, so maybe we are armed, I have not heard anything about that yet.

The stewards passed out some wine or champagne or something, but after a while I hit the bar and kind of got semi-dragooned into bar tending. About all I know is “anything with tonic”, or opening a cork, but no one seemed to mind. Plus old RJH had good taste in beer. Lots of Belgian Ale and various bock-beers. I can not imagine where he got them, but I sure am not complaining.

Met a few of the colonists, a real old guy who seems like a nice old fellow, a you guy who seems a bit cocky, but we’ll see, a couple and a few others that bellied up. It is a diverse bunch to say the least. Some with skills we obviously need, others , like me, not so obvious.

Whatever happens, it has to be better than what we left though.

Why will they not just Let Us Go? Part 2

Posted in 2. Escape by Andrew Stuart

Mariana and I were elbow slumped on the bar, combat adrenaline draining by the moment. Mariana reached over the bar and grabbed a spoon then carefully removed all but one piece of ice from her glass. Locking her gaze straight into my eyes, she handed me the spoon. I did likewise with the ice and waited a moment.

She raised the glass “To Honored Foes”

My response “May they find an open seat at Fiddlers Green”

“And a cold Beer close to hand”

We then tipped the drinks, carefully drained them and spun the glasses upside down on the bar.

A voice behind us said “That looked a bit like a ritual”

I answered with a long winded reply.

“It is my friend. It comes from the work of an old military philosopher named Grossman. He said Human society could be divided into three types; Sheep, Sheepdogs and Wolves. My Grandpa changed that a little. He said the world is divided into the Garden, the Wall and the Jungle. There are people best suited to live in each; those are the sheep in the garden, the sheepdogs on the wall, and the wolves in the jungle. Naturally being by nature fairly close the wolves and the sheepdogs eventually interbreed. Some of these events produce sheepdogs, some wolves and some a new breed. Those are the wolves with a conscience. This new breed could basically exist anywhere but they came up with a new concept. Do not stand on the wall, get out in the jungle and stop the threat. Surprisingly they developed a thing called a Code of Honor. You do not attack until the wolf is a legitimate threat then; you kill without mercy or undue torture.

When those first two goons approached the ramp, one was carrying a force beam projector. If he had clamped to the visible inside corridor wall and the HOR; we would either still be there or learning to breathe vacuum. He had to be stopped NOW! After that the gloves were off.

But the Code of Honor requires one other thing. Honor the dead, no matter which side they were on. For if you do not-“

And Mariana finished it “You become them”.

“If it ever gets too easy or you do not feel like crap; you no longer have a place in the garden”

“Yooh Tim, can we get another round??

(To Be Continued)

The next step

Posted in 2. Escape by Marty

I was stowing my stuff (what little there is of it), as ordered by the guards, when the news came on that Hamilton had been killed. The next thing I knew we were ordered to secure ourselves, which for me meant sitting on the floor at then end of a row of seats, bracing myself against the wall, while the ship rocked and jolted with the zaps from attacking UNWG ships. Then two bangs from our ship and it was over.

Just like that.
In a few minutes I was standing at the edge of the crowded lounge sipping a beer with a group of complete strangers. I mean, beer, imagine! I haven’t had beer in years. Good beer too. I loved the sharp bite and tang of it. The last time I had a beer was at a dog trial in what used to be Scotland. Don McNeely brewed it himself and it tasted like it. The man should stick to training dogs, I’ll tell you. This was the real thing here though, even if it was in a plastic mug.
While I listened a fellow at the bar expounded on a little ritual he and his wife/partner, I guess, did with their drink glasses. It was sure attention getting. He explained it went along with a bit of philosophy about people being divided into three types including sheep, sheepdogs and wolves.

Now that made sense to me. I tend to think of most everything in terms of animals and plants.
I had been wondering what I was doing on a trip like this, agrarian, low-tech, ordinary me, but the sheepdog analogy suddenly made so much clear. A sheepdog trotting beside me, keeping order, making sense of things, keeping our creatures safe from danger, (although perhaps not in the form of actual wolves) has been a constant in my world. It made me feel better about leaving behind my real sheepdog and my family. Or maybe it was the beer.
I found myself wondering what awaits us on this new planet, Alchibah. We’re looking to build a new government that can withstand the corruption and power hunger that has destroyed Earth. Can we do it? What will we find in the way of terrain and plant life? There are so many people here; I am wondering if Hamilton was able to supply for such a group. I am glad I have seeds and germplasm from so many food plants in my duffel.
I wonder too what will happen now that Hamilton is gone. The people that I have seen in action seem to be a competent, capable lot and the pilots and guards seem well trained in surviving in space. However, they sure are an independent bunch. Can they cooperate without a leader? Or is there a strong leader among us? I guess we will find out.
Oh, and just by the by, I made it a point to catch a glimpse of the co-pilot after someone mentioned that he was a farm boy. Hmmm, I always heard that they grew good stuff in Nebraska. Sounds right to me.

First Impressions

Posted in 2. Escape by William Bartlett

    I must have entered the Lancer between screening releases from the private docking area. Except for the tall black woman wearing a Glenda name tag who had just checked me in I was the only person in the boarding area.

    “Stand right there,” she said, and went to retrieve a small box from a wall compartment. Opening it she asked “Is this Yours?”

    It was the Glock I’d mailed from Greenbay. What else could I say but “Yes.” I expected a hassle but instead she just asked.

    “Know how to use it?”

    I nodded my head twice, she handed it to me and said, “Follow me on the double. No questions till later.”

    She turned and headed towards a small hatch at the side of the boarding area not the larger one at the rear. I was hard pressed to keep up without breaking into a run. We continued down a corridor for about 50 yards. Then she stopped and did something at a small panel which caused a section of the corridor wall to slide open.

    “Bartlett”, she said, steping into the opening and pushing a button causing a second, much thicker, section of what was the outer lock door to slide open. “This is the crew access lock. You stand here with your finger on the close button and listen to the intercom. If anyone, and I mean anyone!… comes down this boarding tube you will shoot. The Lancer will be leaving in”, she hit the display panel again and a countdown readout appeared, “8 Minutes and 27 seconds. Station security is going to try to stop our departure. None must board this ship. When You hear the captain say to secure the hatches, or when this count down timer reaches 25 seconds, take your finger off the button and the hatch will finish closing. Understand?”

    I said “Yes Ma’am.” She took off back down the corridor and I looked down the boarding tube. It was an articulated semi cylinder suitable for many different ship types. With the Lancer joined to the station at the larger boarding and cargo hatch this was a second and much smaller passage mostly for ship personnel. In order to match the spacing between the two ports it made several bends between the station and the ship. I could see about 15 yards down the tube to the last turn before the airlock.

    I wondered, “Why not just keep the outer door closed and detach the boarding tube?” Then I realized station security could reattach and maybe blow or cut into the lock with no pre warning. I also had the somewhat unpleasant thought that if they did come down the passage, and take me out, my finger leaving the close button as I fell would cause the lock door to seal and might delay their entry just long enough.

    Those next eight minutes seemed to last forever. I heard nothing but some muffled shipboard talk and very faint noises coming down the tube. My arm and hand pressing on the button seemed to be made of lead, no not lead; heavier than that, depleted uranium.

    With the display showing 45 seconds to go I heard what could have been the clink of metal on metal, and then at the bottom of the tube’s corner a small appendage slowly poked out. Probably a viewing device. As it drew back the timer hit 25 and I took my finger off the lock control and stepped back. Almost at the same instance a voice from the intercom said, “Seal all hatches. Now!“ Just before the door shut, I saw 2 men burst around the corner and rush towards me. Too little too late.

    I could feel a change in ship motion as I stepped out of the lock and closed the inner door. I headed back down the passage towards the boarding room thinking “Yep now I get it,” the meaning of the old phrase “They also serve who stand and wait.”

Where’s Karyn

Posted in 2. Escape by Hanna Parker

     We were in line to board the Lancer when the sirens went off.  Me and Jules, with  Junior and Linda and their girls. About 20 people were ahead of us, with more than double that behind. Suddenly the StelCo agents yelled, “Everyone board now!”
     Emily and Liza realized immediately that this was not the family outing they’d expected. Glimmers of panic and teenage rebellion quickly flashed across their faces. Jules and JJ each grabbed one of their hands, and a moment later they were safely swallowed up through the entry.  Linda and I got separated. A tall burly guy with a rucksack had barged between us. The weight of his pack knocked me off balance, and little Karyn eluded my frantic grasp. I knew the surge into the ship would propel her forward, so I shouted, “Karyn, hide.”
      I was lifted by someone’s strong arms, and carried with the momentum of the crowd flooding into the ship. I heard the ruckus outside, yelling and gunfire, and prayed for our safe departure. Then the hatch closed. We all breathed a deep sigh of relief. I tried to orient myself, searching for a familiar face.

      I was nearly certain that my family had made it inside, but now to find them, especially Karyn. My right ankle was throbbing. I must have twisted it quite badly. Again, the same arms steadied me as I limped forward. I turned to my rescuer, “Thanks, my name’s Hanna. I sure appreciate your help.”  “No problem, lady” he said as he quickly moved on. I wished that I’d caught his name.
      Then from the wall-vid, came the news about R.J. Hamilton’s death. I couldn’t believe it! I was in shock. It must be a ruse; surely RJ used it as a decoy for an earlier exit. He just has to be alive!
      Suddenly the first jolt hit. I had to find my family — right now.  One of the men saw my increasing anxiety and pain etched on my face, and yelled, “Medic.” Sure enough, word spread, and that’s all it took to find my daughter-in-law Linda. She ran towards me with her first aid supplies; close on her heels was JJ. While she deftly examined my ankle, I asked about the others, and told her I’d instructed Karyn to hide. She assured me that Jules, Emily, and Liza were safe. 
      Junior organized a search with a few of the other colonists to look for Karyn. Being only three years old, it was entirely possible that she had nestled into some corner, got comfy, and nodded off to sleep.  Even the jolts wouldn’t be too alarming to her, as she’d ridden out a couple earthquakes.
      Everyone was helpful. The colonists got to know our family, even though their faces were a blur to us. Finally, from one of the berths came a tiny plaintive cry “Momma?” The search was over. Safely behind a stack of towels and pillows was our Karyn. 
      …..and then my dear Jules brought a glass of velvety red wine to me. Salute! We’re off…


Posted in 2. Escape by Kristopher

Well … here it comes.

I found a hidden corner near a service tube entrance, and settled down to wait for the expected rush of government goons.

And then eight 20-something men double-timed into Docking Bay One, and silently took up covered positions facing the bay door in an arc, with one older person directing them with hand signals. All way too organized for even militia types. One even set a claymore on a magnetic clamp right next to the center of the bay door.

I just sneaked further back into the shadows … I wasn’t even sure these folks were on our side. I just plugged my ears.

I wasn’t much of a fight, apparently the JBTs were expecting sheep-like civilians or some gang-bangers holding their weapons sideways. Things looked like they were going downhill for the Feds after the claymore went off, so I snuck into the service tube, and headed for the next Docking bay over, number Five. I cracked open the service hatch, and saw another small group of operators in civilian drag, with somewhat grown out 0-0.5 Navy Reg haircuts, mopping up blue-helmeted thugs.

Who invited the SEALs?

The next hatch revealed a somewhat shaken non-military person next to a thrown emergency docking release … heh. No shuttle to salvage, but the JBTs aren’t walking home. I shut the hatch on Bay Four and moved on.

Bay Three, the big one, was a shooting gallery. A very large group of colonists, men, women, and even some children, were potting JBTs. A bunch of dead goons were scattered about in front of the Bay Doors. Most of them looked like they were drilled between the eyes … heh. The rest were trying really hard to use their own dead as cover … and it wasn’t working very well. No gang-banger idiots or surrendering civilians here … nope, just not a situation that was covered in the JBT training manual.

I smiled, closed the hatch, and moved on to Docking Bay Two and the cargo area. One unarmed colonist was letting the air out of the cargo lock … the JBTs inside were somewhat angry about it … they hadn’t bothered with vacc-suits. Oh well.

I continued my circuit back to Bay One, cracked the door, and watch the small group of operators mop up, and stack salvaged JBT weapons into a luggage pod. I noted the number on the pod, and closed the door.

Just who the hell are these guys?

I closed the hatch, and went back to join the Bay Three turkey shoot, which was still thumping away and in progress … I wanted to bag at least one JBT myself before the fun and games ended.

Things Change Quickly

Posted in 2. Escape by Dave

As I boarded the ship things were exactly what you would expect to see for a nice quiet trip around the solar system. And then a moment later, things changed completely. It became obvious that the UN World Government was going to stop us. Actually, it became obvious to everyone but my new friends.

I don’t yet know who they are, but it seems most of my companions are ex-military types. Actually, For all I know they may not be ex-military, but they all know how to handle themselves which things get sticky. Being a civilian and something of a bookworm, I had the good sense to stay out of their way.

I don’t quite know what to make of my new friends. I do know that I now live in interesting times. I don’t yet know whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. I guess it’s time to have a beer and think about that question for a little while. I wonder what things I forgot to bring. If we didn’t bring it, we’ll either have to make it or do without.

Colony: Alchibah is a science fiction blog novel.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Probably.

All Contents (written or photo/artwork) not attributed to other sources is
Copyright (C) 2006 - 2011 by Jeff Soyer. All rights reserved.