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Author Topic: Empty Intrigue  (Read 1929 times)

Grakelin

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Empty Intrigue
« on: September 05, 2010, 01:22:03 am »

Sort of a space opera type thing I want to build in my spare time. Spacepeople fly around in a spaceship and partake in space adventure. I'm planning on giving NaNoWriMo a go, and will feature these characters and the setting, so I'm planning to write several short stories about their adventures and then my 50,000 word novel will be an epic climax or at least a large event.This one features two of the characters, before they meet any of the other space adventurers.

***



"They're welding the door, Doctor," Michael called, pulling the pistol from his desk drawer. "Through the circulation vents. We'll slip right by them."

   Dr. Aboyeji swept his notes off of the stainless steel laboratory tables and into his already-stuffed briefcase. The metal doorway leading into the room would burst at any moment, the thick, flaming line having completed its arc around the top of the flame and making its way back to the ground.

"The samples," the Doctor yelled. "Grab a couple of them. We need to preserve as much as we can."

"No time, Doctor," Michael replied. "We'll have to make do with what we've got. Now move, you won't do anybody a lick of good if you get gunned down."

   Michael propped open the grate guarding the circulation vent and helped the Doctor up into the tunnel. The door crashed open behind them.

   Five Imperial Colony Marines burst in, their bayoneted rifles held before them, their violet combat suits pristine and polished. They were attracted immediately to the clattering of the grate as it closed behind the Doctor. One of the Marines crawled in after him. Their squad leader went to inspect the Doctor's desk, lifting his visor to get a closer look at the test samples flowing in their vials.

   Michael jumped from behind the desk and drove a scalpel into the side of the Marine's jaw. The Marine stumbled to his knees, leaning against the desk, and Michael continued his ascent up and over the metal surface, scattering the samples across the floor as he rolled over the Marine and shot another in the thigh with his pistol. In one swift move, Michael was behind this second Marine, pressing the soldier against him with his left hand while holding his pistol out at the remaining Marines in the room with the other.

"Let me back out of here in one piece, and nobody gets hurt."

   The gunshot echoed through the ventilation tunnel. The young, athletic Marine was rapidly catching up to the older Doctor, who was slowed down by the overflowing briefcase in his hand.

"Don't worry about it, Doc," the Marine said. He was right behind Aboyeji. His hand was reaching for his pistol. "I don't need to take you in alive. Your boy wasn't gonna make it anyway."

"I'm sorry about this," Aboyeji replied, rolling onto his back and planting a solid kick at a panel on the side of the tunnel's wall. Instantly, the circulation vent's contaminant control fan kicked in, slicing off the Marine's pistol arm neatly over the wrist. The air flow pushed the Doctor the rest of the way down the tunnel.

   The Marine's scream of pain echoed in the radio headsets of his comrades. They flinched at the sudden noise, and Michael took his opportunity to push his hostage towards them and run out the door. Reinforcements were waiting down the hall, so he cut a left to get around them, weaving through the tables in the old research centre's cafeteria. The sunlight glared brightly through the picturesque window which took up the far wall, overlooking the botanical garden outside. The Marines ruined the serenity of the place by filling the room with rifle fire.

   Michael slid behind the service counter, the glass wall before him shattering under the impact of dozens of assault rounds. Pots and pans clattered to the tile floor all around him. He grabbed a carving knife from the counter and sailed it across the cafeteria, where it embedded itself in a Marine's shoulder. In the same second, he jumped from the window and into a bed of yellow flowers.

   Aboyeji was waiting at the far end of the garden. He had already gotten out the side of the building and found the car. Thank God for small miracles. Michael crawled to his feet and broke into a sprint across the gardens. The Marines got to the window just as he was jumping over a fountain in the garden's centre. Their rifles tore the angels perched atop of it to shreds. Michael could feel the rounds breeze past his face, kicking up dirt and stone tile all around him. Aboyeji opened the passenger door for him.

   Just as Michael reached the car, a round pierced his back and tore through his gut. His blood splattered across the upholstery and the Doctor's lap. The Doctor grabbed his collar with one hand, pulling him inside, and sped off.

"Stay with me, Michael," Aboyeji said. "As soon as we get out of here, I'll patch you up. All my tools are in the back seat. It's not that bad. You probably even have all your organs."

"We need to get off the planet," Michael moaned, pressing his hand against the wound in his stomach.

"I know," Aboyeji replied. "But thank you for saving me. Again. One day, this galaxy is going to owe you a great debt."

"I certainly hope so, Doctor. I certainly hope so."

***

Let me know if you want to see more (I'll post it even if you tell me you don't want me to, though, assuming I manage to write more), give me critique, etc.
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I am have extensive knowledge of philosophy and a strong morality
Okay, so, today this girl I know-Lauren, just took a sudden dis-interest in talking to me. Is she just on her period or something?

Fishbreath

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Re: Empty Intrigue
« Reply #1 on: September 05, 2010, 02:30:10 am »

Thus far I am intrigued. I have to say that I dislike the apparent incompetence of the soldiers or the improbable luck of the heroes, but without knowing more about Michael I can't say whether or not it's actually justified dislike. :P

I'd also say that you're over-describing a bit; a lot of your nouns have adjectives that aren't strictly necessary, and I try to subscribe (with limited success) to the school of thought that says a good editing job is one which leaves nothing else that can be taken out. For instance (bold for changes, italics for cuts):

Quote
… the young, athletic marine was rapidly catching up to the older doctor …
(or) … the young, athletic marine was rapidly catching up to the aging doctor …
… pots and pans clattered to the tile floor …
… into a bed of yellow flowers …

On the other hand, I like your action sequences—they're clean and to the point, without getting bogged down too much by details—and so far, your characters. I look forward to the next installment.

Do join us over in the Writers Guild sometime; personally I feel better about offering detailed critique there, because it doesn't clutter up the story thread that way.
« Last Edit: September 05, 2010, 04:00:37 am by Fishbreath »
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Supermikhail

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Re: Empty Intrigue
« Reply #2 on: September 05, 2010, 03:42:57 am »

Somewhere in there, characterization got lost. I realized only that the doctor was aging after the Fishbreath's comment. We've got absolutely no idea what kind of guys these Michael and the doctor are, that's kind of an alienating factor for me, although action is solid.

What have you done to that poor url, Fishbreath? :'(
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Fishbreath

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Re: Empty Intrigue
« Reply #3 on: September 05, 2010, 04:00:55 am »

Switched a ] for an [. Oops.

Grakelin

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Re: Empty Intrigue
« Reply #4 on: September 05, 2010, 02:19:04 pm »

Somewhere in there, characterization got lost. I realized only that the doctor was aging after the Fishbreath's comment. We've got absolutely no idea what kind of guys these Michael and the doctor are, that's kind of an alienating factor for me, although action is solid.

What have you done to that poor url, Fishbreath? :'(

Look at this segment less as a point for characterization and more as a short teaser to set the tone a bit.
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Okay, so, today this girl I know-Lauren, just took a sudden dis-interest in talking to me. Is she just on her period or something?

Grakelin

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Re: Empty Intrigue
« Reply #5 on: September 05, 2010, 05:57:04 pm »

Here we go with our second part.

***

"So, what did happen to your arm, Mister?"

   The man bristled at the question, his right hand tensing on his cards. He was an imposing fellow, with a rough, black beard and well defined muscles. His left arm was a thick tangle of metal and wire, all pistons and hydraulics right up to his shoulder. The hand was solid and rounded, perhaps the most natural looking part, if not for the red and yellow tubes and wires wrapped around the fingers. The man's face and right arm were scarred. A knife wound on his bicep, a bullet graze on one cheek. He was armed with two pistols, one in a shoulder holster, and the other at his hip. Both were emblazoned with an image of a ram on their grip. Both were worn with use.

"I'll check," he said, his voice rough, his accent recognizable as having come from one of the corporate owned ice mining worlds. The gentleman to his left, a local trader by the name of Peter Bryce, raised the pot to twenty.

"I'll call your twenty, and raise you fifteen," Thomas Newell, the man opposite the scarred man, said. He was in his mid-thirties, and bore a certain confidence about him.

"I'll call that," said the young man who had asked the question. He had a pistol of his own hanging loosely off a shoulder holster. "So, was it a war injury, then, Mister Mulberry?"

"Call," Mulberry replied, tossing his chips into the pile. Bryce called and Newell began dealing the flop. "And yeah. It was."

"I was in the last war myself," Newell said. "What division did you fight with?"

"I didn't fight with a division," Mulberry said, glancing at his cards. He had a two and a seven, off suit. The flop was composed of an ace of spades, a jack of diamonds, and a nine of hearts. "I was working with the Ramshead mercenary company, doing a ticket for the Imperial Colonies."

"Ah, I see," Newell replied. "I was a UEP Naval Officer, myself. No hard feelings against you, though, there were mercenaries on all sides."

"I'm not much for ideology."

"Just keep your hands above the table, Mulberry," Bryce said. "Both of them."

"You think I'm gonna cheat, Bryce?"

"Maybe we should order another round of drinks, gentlemen," the young man said, anxious to keep the discussion under control. "It'll be on me in a couple minutes here."

"Only if you hurry up and check, boy," Bryce snorted.

"Yeah, yeah, right. I check."

"I'll raise you twenty," said Mulberry.

"You sure about that? You're starting to run low there."

"Ha, let the man be, Newell," Bryce said. "I'll call."

"So, you lost it in a battle, huh?" the young man queried, his voice full of wonder. "What was that like, being out there on the front lines?"

"I never saw the front line," Mulberry said. Newell and the boy both called while he spoke, and Newell began dealing the turn. "I was on board a transport shuttle that arrived too late for the United Earth's blockade of one of the Imperial Colony worlds. Our commander, rather than trying to break through, sent the UEP Battleships a message letting them know we were turning around and leaving."

The turn was an eight of diamonds.

"I'm all-in," Mulberry said, continuing his story. "One of the UEP fighter pilots broke from formation and came straight for us while we were locking into our jump. I could see him coming through the port windows we had in there. I can still remember the insignia painted across his hull, just a few seconds before he opened fire and tore us to shreds with a strafing run. My best friends died beside me, and my arm came off so fast, I never even found out how I survived."

"He shot you while you were retreating?" Newell cried. "What a shit thing to do."

"It is a shit thing to do, isn't it? I found them in one of those periodicals your Navy had during the era, though. All of their pilots and their names in this photograph. I decided I should head out and question some of them, maybe find out which of them did this to me, and finally bring down some justice."

"Well, maybe I can help you out," said Newell,  preparing to deal out the river. "What was their Squadron number?"

"Like I said, I remember that insignia like it was yesterday. He was a part of 21st Squadron."

Newell dropped the river to the table and froze.

"I was in that Squadron."

"I know."

   Mulberry was up in a flash. The pistol at his hip flew into his right hand and drove a bullet into Newell's shoulder. The former pilot was thrown off his chair and onto the floor, his sidearm tumbling away across the room. A split second later, Mulberry drew the pistol from his shoulder holster with his left hand and planted a bullet in Bryce's head. The trader's energy pistol fell from his limp hand before it had even left his jacket. Lastly, Mulberry turned to the young man, who only now began fumbling for his weapon. He stared down the barrel of Mulberry's gun as he rose to his feet.

"Get out of here, kid," Mulberry told him. "This has nothing to do with you."

   The kid tightened his grip on his own weapon, and Mulberry shot him twice through the chest. Holstering the pistol in his right hand, the mercenary stepped around the table planted a foot on Newell's chest.

"You remember who it was who did it, Newell?"

"No, man, I swear to God," Newell pleaded. "I don't even remember it."

"Figures you bastards have killed so many people as they tried to run away, you wouldn't even be able to tell 'em apart."

"No, no, I never did anything like that. It wasn't me. What can I do to make you believe me?"

"It doesn't matter if I believe you or not. I'll just kill all the people  in the picture, and one of you bastards is bound to be the guy who blew me up."

   The final shot rang out across the room. Mulberry holstered his weapon and stepped back over to the table. The river card was a ten of spades.

"Look at that," he said. "I got a straight, Jack high. Guess that means I win."
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I am have extensive knowledge of philosophy and a strong morality
Okay, so, today this girl I know-Lauren, just took a sudden dis-interest in talking to me. Is she just on her period or something?

Huesoo

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Re: Empty Intrigue
« Reply #6 on: September 12, 2010, 11:05:25 am »

Well I guess you can say there was
 8)
empty interest in this story

YEEEAAHHH

Just kidding, continue this story intrigues me.
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Grakelin

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Re: Empty Intrigue
« Reply #7 on: September 12, 2010, 08:23:07 pm »

Maybe on the weekend, term is starting up tomorrow, haven't had much time to write anything out.
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I am have extensive knowledge of philosophy and a strong morality
Okay, so, today this girl I know-Lauren, just took a sudden dis-interest in talking to me. Is she just on her period or something?