Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
1. Everything Changes
4. Sleepers, Awake!
5. Toshiko & Tommy
6. Into the Hub
8. Gray's Theme
9. Jack's Love Theme
10. Another Day, Another Death
11. Look Right Then Leave
12. Welcome to Planet Earth
14. Out of Time
15. Death of Dr. Owen Harper
16. King of the Weevils
17. Owen Fights Death
18. Woman on the Roof
19. Owen's Theme
20. Pearl & the Ghostmaker
21. Flat Holm Island
22. Boy Called Jonah
23. Toshiko Sato -- Betrayal & Redemption
24. Gwen & Rhys
25. Jack Joins Torchwood
26. Captain Jack's Theme
27. I Believe in Him
28. Memories of Gray
30. Death of Toshiko
31. End Is Where We Start From
32. Torchwood Theme
Friday, February 26, 2010
So for our back-up characters in the Call of Cthulhu one-shot several months ago, we decided to create versions of Castle and Beckett. Here's my character, Nathan Castle, True Crime Writer:
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Space is cold and silent. Even aboard ship, with the steady hum of the engines, there was precious little sound, especially in the dead of night. Reflecting on the quiet, Stefan Cassadine considered the incongruity of that statement. In his line of work, he’d often found the middle of the night to be quite a lively time….but not now.
Sipping the expensive synthale that the Corsair Jocasta had provided, he grimaced slightly at the bitter after-taste. Or, perhaps, the bitterness came from something else. Seated in a comfortable armchair, with a book on his lap, he glanced over at the cabin’s other occupant, his wife, Arresta, fast asleep, her blonde hair spread out across the pillow. She murmured something in her sleep and turned to her side, seeking a more comfortable position, all without waking.
He was profoundly grateful to have his wife back – and to find that precious little time had passed for her. Only his relief that she was safe and that the child was well tempered his carefully controlled rage. She was so beautiful…and still so foolishly stubborn. In other circumstances, he could admire her determination – it was one of the many qualities that had attracted him to her in the first place.
Following their departure from Endregaad, they had argued for hours. Or, rather, he had raged at her and she had listened. He had run so long on the tide of his anger, that it had taken quite some time for him to realize that the conversation was suspiciously one-sided. Normally, Arresta had too much spirit to let him get away with this, no matter that she was to blame – but this time, she had sat, quietly contrite in the face of his tirade.
He’d finally turned to face her, another blistering phrase rolling off of his tongue, when he’d noticed the tears trailing down her cheeks. It had startled him into silence. She wasn’t given to crying. Biting back the things he had been about to say, he’d instead retrieved a handkerchief and sat down beside her. She accepted it gratefully and dabbed her cheeks.
Surprisingly, she’d leaned her head against his shoulder. Instinctively, he’d put his arm around her and she’d whispered quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then, shoulders shaking, she’d completely broken down, sobbing into his chest. The storm of her weeping had taken time to subside and when it finally did, he’d guided her to bed and let her fall fitfully asleep, holding his hand.
There was no denying it. His wife was an emotional wreck – fragile, devastated….far from the confident creature that had absconded from the Jedi temple, leading her compatriots on a merry chase into what was undeniably a perilous and nearly deadly underground temple. He could only find one reason for that.
Leaving the cabin quietly, so as not to wake Arresta, Stefan slipped outside, placing a finger to his lips to signal Xam to keep silent. Leaving the Aqualish to guard the door, he’d stealthily made his way aft, to where the remaining “passengers” were being housed for this journey.
Approaching the room assigned to the strange furry creature and the two Jedi, he paused, still out of sight. Easing a small devise out of his pocket he flicked it open, revealing an angled mirror which allowed him to glance around corners. A simple, inexpensive tool, it was singularly useful. Now, it showed him that the Knight, Atel, was asleep on a top bunk, but the other fellow, Doxen was seated, partially out of sight and fully awake, rifle resting on his knees. Clever, that fellow.
The reason for that caution was resting, silent and unmoving. The Jedi Padawan Tarn Tamarand, apparently still in his Force trance, unresponsive and unaware of the world around him. By all accounts, this was the state that they’d found him in and nothing any of them could do had succeeded in bringing Tamarand to consciousness. In fact, if Arresta and the others were to be believed, he had never even known that they had come after him. In this instance, Stefan’s instincts said that his wife’s story was truthful.
Now, the impetuous young fool who had cost them all so much, lay like a lump of clay on his bunk, equally unaware of surroundings, allies or foes. Not far away from the Padawan was an air vent that no doubt connected to an adjoining room.
No one in Stefan Cassadine’s line of work went through life without making enemies and he certainly had his fair share. Still, there were few in the galaxy for whom he bore true malice. Stefan had always preferred to operate in the shadows, seeking elegant solutions to his problems, unless an abstract lesson was called for. He had often, when speaking with his colleagues and debating various methods for resolving difficulties, championed the well-planned poisoning or the carefully plotted sniper shot. For Tamarand he would make an exception.
This young Jedi…this boy…had done more damaged to Stefan’s carefully crafted plans by accident than most men could do purposefully. What made it worse, it was increasingly clear that he, Stefan, had woefully underestimated the hold that Tarn had over Arresta. He had presumed her affair with the Jedi to have been a momentary indiscretion, brought about by her loneliness and his own absence. It appeared it may have gone deeper than that…
He had a momentary fantasy of releasing something through that vent, of incapacitating Doxen and Atel and of slipping inside, wrapping his hands around Tamarand’s throat and squeezing…His fingers tightened involuntarily at the thought.
Two things stopped him and sent his silent footsteps back in the direction of his own cabin and his slumbering wife. Slipping into bed beside her, he pulled her to him, possessively. In her sleep, she didn’t protest and he enjoyed the long absent feel of her warm body next to his, of the pleasant, flowery scent of her hair.
Yes, there were reasons to leave Tamarand alive, at least for now. The first was the vision that Arresta claimed to have had while in the temple. Based on what he’d been able to pick up from Arresta herself and from Jocasta, such things were definitely possible and he would risk no hurt to the child. Still, despite the sincerity that shone out of her eyes, he suspected that his wife was lying with every word that tumbled from her pretty mouth….
And that was the second reason that the Padawan would continue to live. He had taken something that didn’t belong to him and a quick death was insufficient punishment for that. Others, simple bounty hunters plying their trade, had died suffering for daring to threaten what belonged to him. What then was due to the man who had done so much more than merely threaten, but had taken what he had no right to touch?
He knew that Arresta feared he would have Tarn killed. She needn’t have worried. He intended to see that Tamarand had the best possible care and if a way could be found to rouse him from his current state, that was all the better.
Arresta murmured again in her sleep and Stefan rocked her gently, soothing her until she drifted off again. Yes, it would be better for everyone if young Tarn woke up. Only then could Stefan look in his eyes and watch for the penitence that was his due. And, in the mean time, he could have the pleasure of devising infinitely enjoyable ways of bringing that penitence about….and with it, his total victory over such an unworthy adversary.
Slowly, Stefan Cassadine joined his wife in slumber and his unconscious mind bore fruit, plans full of torture, destruction and pain. They were plesasant dreams.
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SISTER MARY KATHERINE
Background: An army brat who moved around frequently with her family, she always had trouble fitting in. Part of the reason was that they never settled anywhere for long and part of the reason was that she would occasionally know or see things that she shouldn't. She had difficulty making friends and may have headed down a "troubled" path, but her destiny changed course the day she started a new school--where a kindly nun was her seventh grade teacher. Sister Francine became a mentor to the young girl and convinced her that her "strangeness" was really the voice of God speaking to her and calling her to his service. When she graduated high school she immediately joined the convent and has devoted herself to meditation and study ever since. Her particular passion has always been the long ago histories and records of the early church, documenting the events of the past. It thrills her to occasionally encounter stories of those like herself who were "touched" by something strange. To that end, she occasionally journeys to various parishes throughout North America to study their records and add them to her research.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
PURITY AND DANGER
Had she arrived on time, she would be dead. But Lady Corinne D'avilos, Regent of the city-state of Mongui, fussed over her manicure and was still in the corridor when the massive explosion rocked the massage parlor she had had built in a sublevel of the palace. Flame and debris spiralled outward, knocking her to the floor and singeing her elegant dressing gown. The ringing in her ears from the explosion soon gave way to the ringing of alarm klaxons. In seconds, her personal guard was at her side.
"Lady D'avilos, are you alright?" shouted her most loyal aide, Lieutenant Jaarza, as he rushed to her side. He checked her over for obvious wounds, and, seeing none, cradled her in his arms and rushed her up the stairs. "My Lady, Purity First has betrayed us! Word just came over the com--they've seized the spaceport and are moving infantry toward the palace!"
Corinne could hardly believe her terrible luck. She was the rightful heir to the Regency of Mongui until her father divested her of her legacy just because she fell in love with Miklos, a commoner. Still, she was content to spend her days with her beloved, helping him operate a small scavenger yard on the outskirts of the city until Miklos was suddenly taken away one day and never returned. Not long after, the Separatists began a siege of the city and the Republic sent Clones to defend it. Some sort of coup led by her jealous sister Arresta was turned away by Father, but Arresta and her co-plotters managed to escape. After the Clones destroyed the spaceport in their evacuation, the Separatists found the city to have no strategic value and withdrew also. Father then ruled a city that was a mere shadow of Mongui's former glory--entire blocks were destroyed, there was little in the way of imports, and the wealthy minor nobles had mostly decided to vacation elsewhere until order could be restored.
It was then that Corinne decided to strike. It wasn't hard to assemble a sizable rebel army, given the general discontent among the populace. She even had someone on the inside: Father's Captain of the Guard, Jaarza. When Father's forces were almost defeated and he sent a desperate plea to Arresta for aide, Jaarza managed to be so heavy-handed delivering the message that the cry for help was refused.
Father's execution was regrettable, but necessary.
Bringing in Purity First was also a necessity. At first, the paramilitary organization was a boon to Mongui--their patrols reduced crime, their ships brought food and clothing, their money and engineering expertise rebuilt the spaceport, and more. Former émigrés returned in droves and Corinne was the most popular Regent the city-state had had in decades.
But then things began to unravel. Hurtful gossip spread like wildfire through the citizenry, accusing Corinne of all sorts of untruths. Some citizens began a movement calling for Arresta to be placed on the throne, while others thought House D’avilos should lose the Regency altogether. And then Corinne realized, almost too late, how Purity First had managed to slowly insinuate itself into the ruling apparatus--the Civil Watch began wearing Purity First armbands, the few non-humans in her administration fled or disappeared and were replaced by Purity First members, the major holo-casters were secretly bought and operated by Purity First shell corporations. Corinne had finally been forced to break with Purity and drive them out of the Palace. This assassination attempt was obviously their response.
“Can the Palace Guard hold the line?” she asked, as Jaarza set her down in the small war room.
“My Lady . . .” was all he could utter. She saw in his eyes that the situation was hopeless. Purity First boasted brigades of highly-trained, highly-motivated fanatics wearing strange, blaster-proof armor. The Palace Guard had been decimated by civil war and was armed with second-hand weaponry; and a fair proportion were likely to be sympathetic to Purity First.
“Have my private shuttle prepped for immediate departure and then take twenty of your best men through the escape tunnels.”
“My Lady, you don’t want me to go with you?”
“No, Lieutenant. You’re going to keep the resistance alive until I return.”
Corinne had had her chance to rule Mongui, and she had blown it. But sometimes in life there are second chances, and she intended to have hers.
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Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
* A feature on the making of the first Torchwood radio play, Lost Souls. Between this and last week's episode of Big Bang Theory, I really want to visit CERN.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
I honestly can't remember any of their adventures--from their character sheets, it looks like they were part of a mercenary group called the Band of the Red Hand, and (ironically) Stantusta must have had a hand cut off in battle according to an inscription in the "Wounds Suffered" box.
Neutral Good, Human, Level 3 Ranger
Hit Points: 30
Longsword (3/2), +1 att, d. 1d8+3
Shortsword (3/2), +1 att, d. 1d6+3
Experience Points: 7223
Armor Class: 5 (Studded Leather)
Saves: PPD 13, RSW 15, PP 14, BW 16, Sp 16
Weapon Proficiencies: Longsword, Shortsword, Weapon Expertise (longsword), Weapon expertise (short sword)
Nonweapon Proficiencies: Tracking, Bowyer/Fletcher, Running, Endurance, Enamor
Move Silently: 27%
Hide in Shadows: 20%
Wealth: 950 gp
Equipment: long sword, short sword, studded leather armor, longbow, 50 sheaf arrows, rations, 2 extra healing potions, red-raven band, antidote potion, 2 potions of diminution, robe of blending, potion of healing, potion of elasticity, potion of invisibility, potion of water breathing
Lawful Neutral, Lizardman, Cleric Level 4 (worships Semunanya)
Hit Points: 35
Experience Points: 6029
Armor Class: 4 (2 w/ shield)
Saves: PPD 9, RSW 13, PP 12, BW 15, Sp 14
Spells: Cure Light Wounds (x4), Charm Person (x2), Hold Person, Silence 15'
Turn Undead (Level 4)
Weapon Proficiences: Spetum, Mace, Shield, Flail
Nonweapon Proficiencies: Religion, Leatherworking, Fishing, Fire-building, Swimming
Wealth: 735 gp
Equipment: Spetum, Shield, Waterskins, 2 extra-healing potions, red raven, 3 potions of healing, sweet water potion, potion of human control, Kurg's Mace +1, potion of water-breathing
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
* Fischer's phone notes, which include references to a type of triple-helix alien DNA, a website (www.newedenbiotech.co.uk), and the cryptic line "FeS2 is password, common name and no spaces."
* A report from the UK Inspectorate of Bio-Technologies, stating that New Eden is working on stem cell research but that it is compliant with all relevant regulations.
* A Cardiff Examiner newspaper clipping headlined "Time Running Out for Man", which is basically an interview with New Eden's John Winters about how, in the future, human evolution will be directed instead of random.
* Fischer's Who's Who bio.
There's also reminders from Ianto and Tosh to check out the website above and listen to this week's Dark Talk (which doesn't contain much of interest--references to seeing faeries and a video about alien DNA supposedly leaked to YouTube).
The New Eden website requires a password to access restricted information. The "FeS2" clue took me the longest time to solve, mostly because I thought the "2" was a lower case "z" (hey, it's Fischer's bad handwriting, not mine!). Once I realized it was FeS2, I was able to learn through the power of Google that FeS(subscript 2) is the chemical formula for pyrite, a.k.a. Fool's Gold. Once you enter "foolsgold" as the password, you gain access to a short video about this new alien DNA and get the reference number which allows you to move on to the next mission: 45638DNA.
The Torchwood online game is pretty fun so far, even if a bit harder than I expected.
Monday, February 8, 2010
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Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The main impetus for the story is that the Oracle had shown Marpa/Daal images of himself piloting the Sun Runner as it fled the destruction of Duros and I needed to resolve that plot point (the bloody Separatist invasion of Duros was a canonical Clone Wars event from the EU and as soon as I knew there was a Duro in the party, I wanted to tie it in). As Marpa/Daal had quite conclusively rejected that destiny, this story shows the consequences and helps explain just why Jocasta takes such a dislike toward him (his constantly squirming out of deals was probably the other part!).
I only realized it just now after re-reading this story, but I see a lot of influence from Firefly in how I imagine the Sun Runners.
LAST VOYAGE OF THE SUN RUNNER
The Sun Runner was at peace. Its burnished gold and brown hull gleamed under the reflected light of Bburru Station, the largest of Duro’s twenty orbital space cities. Through the thick transparisteel roof of the spaceport that housed the oddly-curved ship, bustling traders and down-on-their-luck spacers could sometimes see the burnt orange of Duro’s heavily polluted and uninhabitable atmosphere.
Inside the ship’s lounge, the crew were in high spirits, drinking and laughing with the mix of relaxation and anticipation that came from the end of a week’s shore leave. In a few hours, they’d be off again amongst the stars, led by a woman others despised but that they respected and trusted with their lives. Instead of joining in, however, one member of the crew sat stiffly at the conference table with a recording rod and datapad arranged neatly in front of her.
“Jocasta, my research on the economic feasibility of piracy, smuggling, and small-freighter hauling indicates our current cargo is unlikely to pay for itself; indeed, we’ll be lucky to break even.” The Cerean Kylo-Vas spoke with the confidence that came from complete certainty, even though she’d seen enough to know that Jocasta was rarely wrong.
“You don’t think the art’s valuable?” The pirate, freebooter, and sometime slaver sat on the counter next to the caf-heater, drinking a bottle of synthale.
“In twenty to forty years, perhaps, after the artists have passed from this life and their work acquires the lustre of rarity. But for now, they represent illiquid assets in a profession where liquidity is key.”
The Gamorrean Korkoth grunted and slammed his empty bottle on the table. “Those paintins ain’t liquid,” he grunted, in thickly accented Huttese, the only language the others could understand him in. “They’re solid-like—I loaded ‘em myself.”
Greesh Leedo chortled as he slowly unscrewed his leg, a small vial of oil in his other hand. “You’re a dumb lummox, Korkoth. That’s not what they’re talking about.” Greesh hadn’t been on the ship as long as the Gamorrean had, but the cyber-enhanced Rodian wasn’t the shy type. After all, Jocasta had told him he had a destiny when she busted him out of that Republic detention facility. Anyone else had said something like that, and he woulda shanked ‘em in the eye for being a prat—but when Jocasta said it . . . you believed it.
The intercom beeped and then a man’s voice filled the room. “He’s here, Captain.”
Jocasta tapped the com. “Thanks, Rycar. I’ll meet him in my quarters.” She looked around the lounge. “The rest of you lot . . . you know who we’re dealing with. Come in shooting if you don’t hear from me in ten.” For a second she considered changing the meeting to the cargo bay—having a tank droid like Korg standing behind her would intimidate anyone—but she didn’t like appearing weak in her own ship. Still, she strapped on her gun belt and injected herself with a wide-spectrum anti-toxin. Having pride didn’t mean being stupid.
A few minutes later, she was standing in front of her own quarters. A light tap on the frame slid the doors open to reveal Stefan Cassadine, looking as smartly dressed as ever in a bespoke business suit. But she could tell from his eyes that he was holding back something. He flashed a fake smile.
“Jocasta, it’s been a while.”
“So it has.” She entered the room and sat down across from him. “I’ve got a departure clearance window coming up soon, so I hope you don’t mind if we skip the pleasantries. You’ve been on my trail for months now, and you’ve finally caught up to me, so what do you want?”
“My wife. She’s gone missing, in search of that Jedi boy you’ve been obsessed with. I’m betting that if you know where he is, she’ll be there too.”
Jocasta started to smirk and then thought better of it—Stefan wasn’t someone to trifle with. “It’s true, I try to keep an eye on Tamarand from time to time. Not so much now that I’ve become involved in more . . . meaningful pursuits. Unfortunately, I lost track of him months ago.”
Stefan clutched his head in frustration. He had spent months and half his fortune hiring scouts to scour the galaxy for any trace of Arresta, and his best lead had just vanished. He stood up to leave.
“However,” Jocasta whispered.
Stefan turned around, trying not to appear too desperate. He still had his pride too.
Jocasta continued. “If Arresta is with her Duro friend—Daal, Marpa, Balan, whatever he calls himself these days—I don’t know where she is, but I know where she’ll be.” She explained a little about Kronos—not enough to reveal her crew’s best weapon, but enough to make Stefan believe her. “For the right encouragement, I’ll let you know when and where.”
“What did you have in mind?” Stefan said. Jocasta had him over a barrel, and they both knew it.
“First, I’m a full partner in Cassadine Enterprises. I have connections you lack in the Corporate Sector, the Republic military, and Nal Hutta. I’ll bring in enough to make it worth both our time.”
Suddenly the ship rocked, knocking them both to the ground. Jocasta ran every possibility through her mind. Cassadine? No, he wouldn’t choose such a blunt approach. And it didn’t sound like a direct hit, more of a near miss. It could be . . . but that wasn’t supposed to happen yet! She leapt to her feet and punched the intercom. “Rycar, get us fired up—I want us in the air in three minutes.” She rushed for the door but Stefan grabbed her by the arm and slammed her against the wall.
“What about my wife?” he shouted, as alarm klaxons began to wail.
“There’s one more thing I want,” Jocasta yelled back.
And frantic seconds later, the deal was reached. Stefan ran towards the landing ramp and managed to dive through inches before it closed. As he ran through the spaceport towards the Knife’s Edge, he could see a swarm of Separatist fighter-bombers streak overhead. The invasion of Duro had begun.
Jocasta made her way along the corridor, twice nearly being knocked off her feet by ground tremors. They’re not planning to invade, she thought. They’re planning to destroy. She almost collided with Kronos at a junction. Smoke and sparks filled the corridor, but she grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up. “You said we had a week!”
Kronos removed his spectacles—an affectation, but one he took pride in. “No, mistress. I said there was a 93.5% chance we’d have a week. Apparently the fates have chosen to be unkind this afternoon.”
Jocasta dropped him as another explosion rocked the ship—this time the strafing run had struck home and Jocasta could feel the air pressure change: the transparisteel hanger had been breached, and the vacuum of space was yearning to be let in. With a last stumble, she made it into the cockpit. Rycar was there, his red cloak flopped over the back of his chair. “Seal us up and pressurize,” she shouted.
He nodded and then finished punching in the final ignition cycle. Jocasta strapped herself in tight to the co-pilot’s seat and then keyed the com to order battle stations. She started to sweat, something that hadn’t happened in a long, long time. She knew Rycar was a decent pilot, but he lacked Twitch’s battle experience and Marpa’s sheer talent. His loyalty after being nearly disembowelled going after the droid’s head had earned him a place on the crew, even if he, like Daal, hadn’t succeeded in getting it back.
The Sun Runner lurched into the air as a nearby shuttle slammed into a fuel tank during the mad rush to escape through the hanger’s exit. “Take us straight up—shields double-front!” she shouted.
“But the dome’ll tear us to pieces!” Rycar shouted back, obeying nonetheless.
“Not if Greesh & Korkoth can shoot straight! ” Jocasta said, and then activated the com to the gunner bays.
The Sun Runner ascended quickly, leaving chaos in its wake. The ship’s blaster cannons came to life and rotated straight-up, pouring a stream of liquid fire into the dome. The transparisteel sheets began to glow and melted an instant before the ship smashed through and into open space. Open, if you didn’t count the main CIS battle fleet—hundreds of capital ships and their pickets, along with thousands and thousands of droid fighters. They seemed to outnumber the stars in the sky, and they had no intention of letting anything escape. A fighter group destroyed a passenger liner and then swerved to intercept the Sun Runner.
“Re-balance shields,” Jocasta said, surveying the field. There were too many variables, too many dangers with no time to think. The Oracle showed the Sun Runner escaping . . . this has to work, she thought. “Orient .37, full thrusters—I’ll key in the nav-comp for hyper-jump.” The Sun Runner shot towards the right flank of the invasion fleet, peppered by shots from the pursuing fighters and the occasional stray bolt from point-defence batteries on the picket ships.
“Shields at 37%” Rycar said. He was afraid of dying, but more afraid of disappointing Jocasta and the rest of the crew.
“There!” Jocasta pointed towards two Techno-Union frigates that had moved to engage a late-arriving Republic Cruiser. “If you can squeeze past them, we’ll be out of Duro’s gravity shadow and can make the jump.”
Korkoth’s grunting filled the com as he celebrated destroying a pursuing Tri-fighter. The chase continued, and in seconds Rycar announced “Shields to 13%” The Separatist frigates loomed closer as Jocasta redirected power, even draining the emergency life-support batteries.
“Here we go,” she said softly as Rycar poured on the speed and angled directly for the slim gap between the frigates. It has to work. It’s destiny. But without Marpa? The frigates continued focusing their heavy turbolasers on the Republic Cruiser, but their automated point-defense batteries opened up as the Sun Runner skimmed just meters over their surface. Rycar made the ship bob and weave but blaster bolts filled the sky like raindrops. Suddenly the ship lurched and then started to spin on its axis, faster and faster as the inertial dampeners strained and then blew.
Jocasta was pushed back against the seat from the incredible G forces, but she saw the emergency override and with a desperate surge of strength managed to reach an arm up to tap it. The pressure lessened and the spinning slowed. No shields, no sublight drive. The Sun Runner was dead in space, but if she could just get enough power for the jump to hyperspace . . .
And then she saw it, heading straight towards the cockpit like an arrow—a heavily damage droid starfighter, following its last resort mission protocol: to turn itself into a weapon by smashing into any non-aligned vessel. “Korkoth, Greesh! Take it out—.59!” she shouted. Blaster fire poured from the Sun Runner’s turrets, but it was too late.
There was darkness, and silence, and then Jocasta realized she was on her back, still strapped to her flight chair which had torn free from its housing. Only seconds had passed, and Rycar was trying to get her safety harness released. “Get them . . . to the pods,” she sputtered, blood filling her throat. She heard it then, the wrenching and groaning of the Sun Runner’s damage-control systems trying to heal a wound that was fatal.
Rycar gave the evac order over the com and then the two of them stumbled out into the corridor. Kylo-Vas was there on the floor, a jagged piece of shrapnel protruding from her chest. Her unmoving eyes were open and she still clutched the recording rod in her hand. Jocasta kneeled down.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered before making her way to the escape pod.
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Monday, February 1, 2010
This past week I watched The Dalek Invasion of Earth, in which the Tardis lands on Earth circa 2164 during a time in which the Daleks have completely enslaved humanity. The Doctor and Company hook up with a human resistance cell, and learn that the Daleks plan to destroy the Earth's magnetic core so the planet can be dragged to a new position in space (exactly where they want to move it, and why, I haven't figured out yet). A post-apocalyptic Earth overrun by Daleks is a good concept, but six parts stretched this thing too far, with some of the middle parts coming out rather boring. This serial is notable for the last appearance of Susan, who decides to stay behind on Earth with her (completely non-)hunky new boyfriend.