SeDSilva
Merch Capital Investments inc
Alliance not Found
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Posted - 2012.12.04 18:48:00 -
[1] - Quote
Designation: Outpost 9.
The Commanding officer felt his grip tighten around the metal rail, the cold steel sapping the warmth from his hands, but still they were sweating. His knuckles turning white, his eyes dilating with a quiver as they grew wider. His breath fell shallow, and his mouth parting ever wider as his jaw lowered, trembling.
The bridge had plunged into deep crimson light, accompanied with the wailing sound of panicked alarms that shrieked across all decks of the ship. A cold shiver of pure fear slithered up his spine, as another raspy gasp of air escaped quietly from between his lips, drawing a faint cloud. Environmental control had just failed, and the ships shields would soon follow. Engines cut out one by one, and the reactor core was starting to flicker out like candle flame in the wind.
He knew his ship well enough to feel what was going on, even before the bridge staff voiced out alerts and developments; it had been his home for 40 years.
He knew every noise, every little creak and groan and sense of vertigo caused when the ship started to accelerate. As he gazed on in horror he felt that she too was dying. She was drowning in energy waves blasting against her hull violently, readings that were off the charts, immeasurable.
A standard deep space survey mission had just become an event that would forever hold significance in the history of EVE as it was known by the MILSTAR Corporation. Long into the future, even when interstellar travel was common place. The mapping of the EVE System was still a feat mankind had yet to accomplish collectively, and the Cartographer project was one of the many pioneering projects funded by multiple megacorperations to better understand the universe, as well as make good PR.
Sometimes the good Captain thought PR was more their goal then the actual fruit of the labor they were charged with.
GÇ£Just another Marketing stunt for Public RelationsGÇ¥ he thought, only a few hours earlier.
Unfortunately for the Captain and the crew of the Grey Vale, it would be the last survey mission they were to be engaged in.
Shields were stripped away in a matter of seconds, and soon it was ripping the hull apart. Alarms grew louder as if the ship were screaming in pain before failing themselves.
In his last moments of being alive, Captain Arbrook along with all 534 crew, were burnt up instantly, or sucked out into the hungry void of space, dying in the silent and cold lifeless vacuum. The last lights flickered away, and all that remained was a charred out hull, tumbling into the great abyss.
5 Hours Later - Milstar Corp - Head Office.
GÇ£Exploded?GÇ¥ the figure in the chair repeated knotting his hands together on the cold black marble table, learning forward with a muffled snarl of creaking leather from his high back chair. The lights were on dim, just the way he liked it. Some spot lights painted the walls, only illuminating some abstract works of art, some aggressive in form, others more subtle. The air conditioning droned like a distant roar in the background, but not loud enough to drown out the uncomfortable silence that followed, as the director of operations gulped, as if his collar was suddenly choking him.
GÇ£IGÇÖm afraid so sir.GÇ¥ the director croaked nervously, quickly ordering the documents on his data pad wishing he could retreat into the pad somehow and drift away with the information, or anything that didnGÇÖt involve him standing in that dark room.
GÇ£Please enlighten me, Mr. Peedly.GÇ¥ The executive leaned back in his chair again, keeping his hands melded together. He was already sounding annoyed, he had about another 20 meetings lined up and from the sounds of things the incident report that just burst into his office may have just ruined his schedule like a hammer crashing into a glass figure of order and precision.
Mr. Peedly, adjusted his collar again, and brushed his fingers over the display, they were already trembling slightly, and even though the executives face could not be seen, he felt the cold hard glare on him, and he knew that the executive was expecting a damn good explanation.
GÇ£She was tasked with surveying the uncharted wormholes, Sir. We lost contact with her about an hour after she jumped into the system.GÇ¥
GÇ£Do continue, Mr. Peedly.GÇ¥
GÇ£The search and rescue teams were able to recover the hulk of what was left of her Sir, but she was several million kilometers from her original entry point. They also reported heavy amounts of fresh debris in the area, mostly shell casings and the remains of the Grey Vale."
GÇ£So what are you saying... it was attacked by pirates?GÇ¥
GÇ£As an educated guess Sir, I suspect an attack. The spent shell casings would rule out system malfunction. For a ship to be wrecked as badly as she was, and end up millions of clicks out of her original insertion point, it would suggest something catastrophic must have occurred.GÇ¥
The executive leaned forward again, the leather creaking more slowly this time, and another brief silence filled the room.
GÇ£I donGÇÖt like guesses, Mr. Peedly, I like facts. Cold...hard...facts. I expect a full incident report within an hour on my desk. I want casualty lists, and a manifest of all the parts that made that ship tick. I also want all the families contacted and informed of the losses. Do I make myself clear?GÇ¥
Mr. Peedly nodded firmly, managing to squeeze out a feeble.
GÇ£Yes Sir.....perfectly, sorry to of disturbed you.GÇ¥
He tucked the data pad under his arm and did a clean half turn on his feet before marching hastily out the board room, feeling the glare stab into the back of his head until he turned the corner down a corridor, equally ornate in typical Caldari black and grey marble sculptures and other works of art, dimly lit in corporate gloom and decor, relieving himself with a small sigh of relief.
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