Lucky - An Alpha Six prequel by Osprey

Rainham, outskirts of London... Night

Patricia was sleeping in her tent, it wasn't exactly a warm night in the middle of November. Her internet reception was not the greatest, and her account was running low. That and she was down to the last 50 pounds on the debit card she had charged up. With the jobs she would normally be on dried up, that and people willing to hire a un-certified hacker girl of 18 years of age for network security was a pipe-dream.

She laid back, thinking of her next plan as she popped around less than savory websites with more proxies than the most paranoid of conspiracy theorists. And one of those sites popped something of interest in her mind.

>>Lobo
So, I heard there was some odd crew of PMCs operating in Europe.
Seems they're a division of some larger private security force.

>>Axl
Oh? And who are these guys?

>>Lobo
They call themselves Alpha 6.
But get this, they're more like vigilantes for hire or something.
Some descendants of a group called ‘The A Team’.

This caught Patricia's attention. She started looking into things on her end while monitoring the underground forum thread. All she found was a black page with some sort of prompt and some cryptic references to ‘The A Team’ in older news stories. She decided to keep her knowledge of the ‘black page’ a secret.

>>DominaTempus
So, who exactly do they look for in employees?

>>Lobo
Domina Tempus... that's a name I've not seen in... forever.
As for your question...
I honestly don't think they got a help wanted sign.

Patricia started packing her belongings. She started to think she might have to look for yet another dumb criminal who has poor protection of his criminal bank.

She kept monitoring over her smart-phone while walking along a road. She had gotten permission the night before (with a generous amount of money) to stay on the property of a farm owner for a few days, in exchange for helping watch the farm for any other less desirable wanderers. So far, it had been quiet.

Patricia pulled up the yellow collar of her rain suit. A cold November drizzle was in the air as she continued on into the small town a mile from where she has been bedding down. As she did so she noticed something odd from the corner of her eye. A older woman with shorter dark hair being dragged into a delivery van, she looked unconscious as the van loaded her up and then the people doing the dragging sped off. What was being said though caught her attention from behind a dumpster.

“So... this woman is with those A6 prats?”

“Yeah, I think so. Seems she's not their best.”

Patricia's mind raced for a moment. Then... she went back to that page.

A6> _

The prompt blinked for a moment, but then Patricia went to work.

A6> contact distress

There was a pause for a moment...

>>We're all in distress, particularly our clients.
What makes your situation different?

>>It's simple, one of your team just got caught.
I saw her being dragged off.

Patricia saw a busted up bread stick on the ground.

>>seems she has a penchant for breadsticks.

>>Oh boy.

Patricia knew the road the kidnappers were taking. She went into action. First running into a used bike store. There was a used bike sitting on the floor, seemed well used and up for sale for 40 pounds, with tax and a couple new tire inner tubes she grabbed just in case, she was flat broke. As soon as she got the bike out, she put her legs to work, hoping she could catch up. Luckily they gave her a complimentary bike helmet.

She checked back on that page occasionally, seems whoever was on the other end knew who she was when she would return and the page now would open a private chat window.

>>1
Alright, you said Monty was taken by some kidnappers, right?

>>DominaTempus
Indeed. I'm chasing them down now.
Seems they're heading for the Thames.
I've been biking for a good bit here.

>>1
Where exactly are you?

Patricia cut and pasted a Google Maps location.

>>1
Okay good... don't pursue further.

The connection was cut.

Patricia sighed as she decided it was better for her to continue pursuit. It eventually led to an old warehouse and a dock, the lights of the Dartford bridge in the distance. She sneaked about, seeing that they were loading the woman up on a Zodiac style rubber boat. They placed her in a metal cabinet, and locked it shut with a padlock.

Once they took the tied up woman on board, they began to cast off. There was a second, similar boat nearby and Patricia took it, although she lost a little time fishing from her bag a airliner-style life jacket she had gotten from Ebay over the summer. She'd been looking for a proper and portable flotation device, and the jacket seemed a good choice.

She eventually embarked from the dock and followed, feeling self-conscious as yellow on yellow wasn't exactly stealthy. So she played it cool, like she was part of the boat traffic heading out to the North Sea.

-Wait... the North Sea?- Patricia thought. She knew while she was sitting on enough fuel to head out, heading back might not be possible. But to her, someone had to do something. Luckily they weren't going into the North Sea, just Canvey Island. Patricia parked behind some rocks, and she peeked through a gap to see the captors and the woman Presumably named “Monty” being loaded on to a yacht.

Patricia gripped the handle, and decided she was boned but...

She grabbed a flare gun and floored the boat. Closing the distance as fast as she could. There was a spot at the stern where someone could pull up. And that was where Patricia aimed the boat! She ripped out the fuel line, squirting petrol everywhere and Patricia herself bailed out, not before firing a flare into said boat. It was engulfed by the time it hit the back.

Patricia spat out the cold water... her suit wasn't exactly a survival suit, she wouldn't have long, life vest or not hypothermia was a thing. Not bothering with her lanyards she relied on her swimming ability and went to the side. Luckily there was a nearby ladder and everyone was distracted by the sudden crash.

The yacht itself was one deck with a flying bridge above and one deck below the waterline. The heat from the fire was quite noticeable, as well as a couple M4 carbines. She grabbed one and hid behind a crate. She saw on the bed Monty was still tied and looked quite beaten up. Then...

“Hey, you!”

Patricia jumped pulling the trigger with a click... then another.

“Idiot you have the safety on!” The crewman on the boat shouted and tried to slam the butt of his AR-15 into Patricia's face, but she managed to step aside and cold-cocked him instead with her rifle. He was out cold, but now everyone turned towards her, leaving one of the other crewman on the boat to put out the fire. The three captors moved up then leveled their rifles on her.

This time Patricia remembered the safety as she ducked behind another crate, but then a “OW!” was heard next to her. She was stepping on Monty's toe. Monty had already grabbed the dropped AR-15 and instinctively got into a defensive position.

“The boys sent you, Glasses?”

Patricia blinked. “No I...”

“Who you with, MI6 then? CIA? Interpol? Nah, by the look of you, I’d say RNLI…”

Patricia shook her head and gunfire rang out, starting to shred the counter in front of them, the steel crate was starting to dent up bad.

Patricia heard a lull and jumped to the other side, then unloaded with her M4. Her captors took defensive positions, but the difference between an untrained gunner and a trained one would be apparent shortly. Monty in three controlled bursts took down her Captors. Patricia had managed to kill the poor crewman of the yacht sending him over the side. Of course Patricia's was blindfire, Monty's was of a trained professional. Her captors were writhing, holding a leg or crumpled in pain.

Patricia could only stand for a moment after setting the M4 she had down. She killed someone, and he wasn't even shooting!

Or so she thought… a few seconds later, his head bobbed out of the water and he was not impressed...

“Name's Monty. I would assume you have a mobile on you?”

“Uh..." The question snapped her out of her ruminations on the fragility of life. "...actually your friends know about your situation.” Patricia said, somewhat confused.

“How did you get into contact?”

“I... sorta... umm...” Patricia started wringing her hands. “I hacked to get to your site a little...”

Monty grinned, rummaging through a box or two. “We're gonna have to get off, this was my yacht and... they just activated C4 packs they placed under the water line. Bloody prats. I was gonna take a vacation with this. They were gonna kill me by making it look like some sort of accident. You... complicated matters.”

“Umm... we can stop it, right?”

“Nope!” Monty said tossing a pistol to Patricia, and a survival suit. “You know how to use one of these things?”

“The pistol?”

“No, the suit!”

“Oh, right!” Patricia said, quickly working on putting it on. In about 45 seconds the suit was on and she had replaced her life jacket.

“Okay we got 30 seconds left... better get swimming!”

Patricia nodded, and it was a break-neck scurry off the boat before a series of explosions rocked the yacht.

“Son of a...” Monty said as Patricia could only look in amazement. "...and I just got a new paint job on her."

"Hey... at least you escaped, right?"

"Well... you did sort of help with a distraction."

It was a few minutes before A6 sent a helicopter in to pick the two up. On the way back Monty looked Patricia over.

“What am I going to do with you... you didn't exactly hurt my plan. Heck, you were one hell of a Plan B. But, you do know a few things...”

Patricia looked down at the floor of the Eurocopter that was modded to have a deployable arm with a hoist on it. Starting to think she might get tossed overboard with a nice clean trepanning between the eyes.

“What's your name, even, Glasses?”

Patricia sighed. She felt she was dead if she did, dead if she didn't. “I'm...”

She looked around before slumping back into her seat with a sarcastic grin. “I could be MI6... Might know James Bond personally... I could be a Time Lady of Gallifrey, or perhaps, just perhaps a member of U.N.I.T... Who knows. Perhaps I'm friends with Nick Fury.” Sass to the last, she thought. If she was gonna go out, might as well go out shining.

Monty grinned, loving the attitude, then cracked up. “Ah... you're the girl I've been watching. Glasses seems better for you. Am I right, kid? Unflappable even in the worst of circumstances.”

Patricia blinked.

“I was going to send you an invitation to join our team, but you're a hard girl to find. You come well recommended. Helping the Met as a young teenager... bringing down a drug cartel all on your lonesome... You have the Ethical and Moral compass we like.”

“How much did you know about that?”

“Enough to know you are on the run from the last time you helped The Old Bill. On the run - Triad family based in London wants you dead for bringing their operation down and causing other crime syndicates to make a move against them. You've caused quite a bit of chaos.”

“Then... you realize who I hang around with are marked as much as I am.”

Monty laughed. “Don't you know who the heck we are? You hacked us, remember!”

Patricia peered over to where the pilot was. “Actually... I like this Helicopter... smart choice if you want to go unnoticed as a civilian helicopter. Clever work with the hoist here.” She said, patting the hoist arm. Deflecting the conversation.

“Yeah... the last guy that did the mechanical-type work ended up... well...” Monty trailed off looking at the water below.

“Well... seems you need someone who knows the digital dark arts and is comfortable around machines.” Patricia said, pulling back the cowl of the suit she was made to put on. Quirking an eyebrow she adjusted her glasses once she put them back on. “I think the first order of business would be to improve how people can get to your page while keeping clandestine, not to mention better firewalls and other security functions to keep prying eyes out. After all, if I can get in it... you need a upgrade.”

Monty reached over into a pouch next to her seat and pulled a breadstick out. She put it in her mouth and then started to well… hold it like it was a cigar. “Well this couldn't have gone any better then.”

Patricia smiled, looking into her wet backpack, although it was waterproof, and nothing inside was drenched at all. She pulled out a foil wrapped package. “Well... if you'll have me.” She pulls out a cracker-like biscuit stick coated with chocolate. “Then I'm sold. I'm sure this won't be the first rescue.” Patricia said, pointing her stick at Monty before putting the chocolate end of the stick in her mouth. Like the young girl was lecturing Monty.

Monty laughed. “Cushty!! See... maybe I should have picked that instead of these darn bread sticks. Fewer calories though, I wager.”

Patricia shook her head with an embarrassed grin. “So... do you... have a place I can crash?”

"One rule, don't say crash while we're flying..."

Patricia grinned. "Alright, we got a place where I can land? That and I could use a change of clothes. I don't look good in orange."

"Or yellow." Monty said with a smirk.

"Hey, mum gave me that rainsuit! Could be worse. Could be red. I hate red. Particularly what's in me. Or someone else..." Patricia said, trailing off thinking about the probably innocent man she shot to death.

Monty cracked up laughing. "You're alright, Glasses."

Patricia couldn't help but look over the pilot's shoulders by now. She knew how to fly the heli, but didn't let on. "I suppose that is my callsign? I've been thinking I should use another name online... I am Domina Tempus no more. Sort of happens when you're a white hat gone legit."

"Well, the team picks their callsign."

Patricia adjusts her glasses taking her seat again. "Glasses works. So... When do we start?"

"Soon, I wager. Sort of got to get you up to speed on tactics and what not. I wager within a year you should be ready for field work."

Patricia nodded, looking at the pistol she was handed.

"Shoot, I gave you my least favorite pistol." Monty said, sort of glad Patricia might get a unwanted thing out of her collection. "Don't worry about it, it still works. You can keep it." Monty said reassuringly.

"I like quality over anything else... M1911 Longslide, setup for target shooting, am I right?" Patricia said, looking it over...

"Yeah... how did you know?"

"Internet, you pick up on random facts. You know a gunsmith?"

"I know a couple off-hand, why?"

"If I'm gonna work for you I need a proper sidearm. This one might do some damage with a slightly larger calibre. .454 Casull rounds I think is about as large as I dare. Up there with the Raging Bull and a Desert Eagle."

"Oh... now you're making demands."

"Hey... at least I'm not demanding to get paid up front here. I'd be happy to have three meals a day and a comfortable, dry bed, and not be in gaol to get them."

Monty nodded. "Well that does modify the total division of pay for each contract..." She said with a innocent look on her face.

"Hey... doesn't mean I don't want paying work."

"We'll work out something." Monty said extending her hand. "Welcome to Alpha 6. Name's Victoria Shaw. Street name is ‘Monty’".

Patricia smiled. "Charmed." She said, taking Monty's offered hand. "Patricia... Patricia Kent."

"Well Miss Kent... things are about to get very interesting."

Roll Credits

Thanks to Silent Hunter for polishing this up and getting it properly British.

The letter - a story by Mischa Brendel

The letter

Lieutenant Beauregard,

You are hereby ordered to report at Headquarters tomorrow morning, 10.00 hours to colonel Gale in her office.

Signed,

Major Brestle. 42^nd Infantry.

The message was suspicious to say the least. First of all, he never received his orders from anyone but major Barrack. Secondly, he was always addressed by his codename: Chameleon. Apparently, the chameleon had been an animal on Earth-that-was. The creature had been able to blend into its environment perfectly, striking out at prey in an instant.
Eugène Beauregard had even been let into the Operative programme, but had been thrown out of that same programme within three months. He was very good at following orders, as long as they were orders he liked. Since it was demanded of Operatives that they’d follow orders without question, Beauregard’s attitude wasn’t appreciated. Nevertheless, he’d learnt many things in those three months, sword-fighting among them.
He looked at the letter again, like he had done again and again the night before, when he’d received it. A naïve person would have thought that he would be decorated for his efforts (if killing people could be called such) in the War, now that the Alliance had won. But he knew better. Then why had he come? Simply because he was curious. He wanted to see the face of the person who wanted him out of the way.

Finally the time had reached ten o’ clock. The higher the rank, the more lazy the officer, it seemed. A sergeant would have called someone at six. Maybe seven, at the latest. But ten o’clock or no, nobody seemed to show up.
At ten o’ five, Beauregard heard the sound of boots coming down the corridor. Four boots: two persons. One a slender fellow, the other a woman, a bit overweight. No doubt the latter would be the colonel.
As he knew they would, both officers walked right past him, never noticing him. One of them, the colonel – who looked exactly like Beauregard had thought (immensely incapable of doing her job) – pulled a key out of her pocket and opened the door to the office.Beauregard recognized the other officer, the major. Although he’d seen him six times before, he’d never spoken to the man but he knew that this had to be Brestle.
“Where is your man?” said an agitated colonel, “I thought he was never late.”Before Brestle could answer, Beauregard stepped out of the shadows. “That is true colonel, I never am.” Beauregard purposefully didn’t salute his superior officers. The two noticed and seemed annoyed by it, but neither of them said anything about it. Although he held the rank of lieutenant, Beauregard’s job in the war had been ‘special’ and he’d never had to work under officers other than major Barrack, who would give him his orders which he’d carry out.
Beauregard’s job in the war had been simple: find the target and eliminate it. Ruthless? Many would think so, but to Beauregard it simply was survival of the fittest. And the Alliance clearly had been the fittest. Although Beauregard had to admit that the Independents had held up surprisingly well. But in the end the inevitable had happened: the Independents had surrendered.

Still taken with the lack of proper respect from the Lieutenant, colonel Gale walked into the office, quickly followed by major Brestle. Beauregard stepped in after them, more slowly than the other two had entered. He didn’t wait for one of the two officers to tell him to close the door behind him. The door shut with a soft ‘click’, a sound that told Beauregard that the room was sound proof. Not a single word or scream would escape the room once the door was closed.
Beauregard walked over to the bust of general Chan, standing in the centre of the room, appearing to admire it.
“Lieutenant Beauregard”, the colonel began. Beauregard looked her straight in the eyes. For a moment the colonel didn’t say a word, intimidated by Beauregard’s stare. Fear because she’s hiding something. The colonel’s eyes strayed to the middle window of the room ever so briefly before she regained her composure and continued. Danger. “I want to express my gratitude to you for your fine works in the War. Your commanding officer major Barrack has informed me of your difficult duties and how you have always executed them with perfection.” Barrack is dead. “He speaks very highly of you, Beauregard.”
“Lies”, Beauregard answered.
The colonel looked confused and unsure at first, but it quickly turned into faked anger. “Lies? You dare accuse me, your superior officer of lying?!” Gale’s face turned red, but Beauregard knew that it wasn’t from anger so much as embarrassment of being caught.
“Yes, I do” he answered. “Because you are lying. Barack would never brag about me. He hated what I did and he hated me because I did it. Even though he gave me the orders, for which he hated himself. He respected me, but he would never brag about me.” Beauregard saw the terrified look in both the colonel’s and the major’s face. The major slowly backed towards Gale’s desk. The colonel however, suddenly seemed to realize that she was in fact still the superior officer and that Beauregard was nothing more than a simple lieutenant. But Beauregard knew that this too, was only a charade played by the colonel. And she was a bad performer. Nevertheless, the colonel continued.
“Outrageous!” Gale shouted. “Lieutenant, you are…”
“THEREFORE”, Beauregard interrupted, “you have lured me here for a different reason than to thank me. Since the war is over and peace has been negotiated, I am a liability for the Alliance. I know too much about your dirty little secrets and I must be eliminated.” Silence fell. Had he been almost certain before, he was entirely certain now that he was right.

Suddenly, the major, who’d been slowly moving backwards, nearer to the desk the whole time, turned around and started to sprint the last few feet towards the massive wooden construction. He never got there: Beauregard grabbed the bust of the general with his right hand and threw it with all his strength towards Brestle. On impact, a loud cracking sound could be heard and the lifeless body of the major dropped a few feet in front of the desk. A red smear decorated both the colonel’s desk and the wall behind it.
But even before the major’s body had made it to the ground, Beauregard had flung the knife from his left hand towards the middle window of the room. The knife, which was of a special ceramic material, not noticeable on standard scanners, was something that Beauregard always hid in a special pocket in his left sleeve. The knife flew in the direction of the colonel, missing her left side by a few inch. It hit its target perfectly as it sliced the curtain next to the middle window of the room. As the knife went through the curtain’s fabric, it impacted on something. Or rather, someone. The soldier who had been planted there with a gun to kill Beauregard, dropped to the floor with the knife between her eyes, taking down the curtain with her. Gale stared at her body in sheer terror. She didn’t even have the time to notice that Beauregard had walked up to her. The lieutenant struck the colonel with a short but powerful thrust on her throat. “Consider that my resignation, colonel.” Gale fell to the ground, making gurgling sounds while grabbing her throat; she was struggling for air. “Spare your efforts, colonel”, Beauregard said, leaning over the suffocating woman. “There is nothing you can do to stop yourself from drowning in your own blood.” The colonel’s eyes grew wide. Beauregard wasn’t sure whether it was because of the terror of realizing that she would be dead within moments, or because of the lack of oxygen. Probably because of both, the former lieutenant decided.
Then, anger appeared on Beauregard’s face. A rare thing, since Beauregard hardly ever showed a sincere emotion at all. He leaned even further towards the colonel. “You should have just left me alone. I would have gone my own way and you would never have seen or heard from me again. I would have…” Suddenly, Gale’s eyes twisted upwards and then all tension left the woman’s body. Beauregard growled. He felt the urge to kick the colonel’s body, but quickly recomposed himself. Then these strong emotions faded away from the surface, back into the deep black waters of his mind. He quickly searched and stripped all three bodies of any valuables and after that, searched through the colonel’s desk drawers, which he managed to open within an instant. He took everything even the slightest bit incriminating for the Alliance. Together with what he already knew, this would be enough to ensure the Alliance wouldn’t come after him. If they had any brains.
Many people in Beauregard’s place would have either fled the scene in a panic, or tried to wipe out any evidence that would place them on the crime scene. Beauregard did neither. Although he worked fast and found the papers that interested him within minutes, he remained calm and made no effort to hide any evidence. He wanted to make sure that the Alliance knew who’d done this.
When he had all the papers and valuables he wanted, he got out pen and paper from the colonel’s desk. Many officers liked to act all fancy and use old-fashioned pen and paper and Gale had been no exception. Beauregard wrote down a warning:

You’ve tried to kill me and you’ve failed. But I will not hold this against you. However, I know enough of your dirty little secrets to be a danger to you. Try to take me out again and those secrets will find their way to the masses. Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you. Maybe we can even do business again sometime in the future.

Signed,

Former lieutenant Beauregard, Special Operations

Although he found it a bit dramatic, Beauregard placed the letter on Gale’s body. He then walked over to the soldier and leaned over her. Without any expression of regret or remorse, he pulled his knife out of her head and wiped it clean on her uniform before hiding it back in his left sleeve. He glanced back one last time and then silently left the room to exit the building unseen. He would have to change his name again, of course.Solitaire. Now that sounded like a nice name.

Nadia: a story by Mischa Brendel

Nadia

This story was originally written as a flash-back from Ryan Bow. It tells the story of how the young engineer met the girl he instantly fell in love with and who would later break his heart. It is also the story that gave birth to Brint Dao-Tsun, another character that I now play.

 “So Ryan, what do you think about the new mechanic?” Brint asked Ryan, interrupting the work on the mule again.
“What’s there to think about? We haven’t met him yet. All we know is that the captain hired another mechanic who’ll check in on board this morning.” Ryan had had this conversation about five times now with Brint and he already knew where it would lead again.
“Him or her.” Brint replied, not letting Ryan down. “It could very well be a woman.”
“Yes, it could be,” Ryan confirmed. “It would be a nice addition, especially for Cynthia, since she’s the only woman on the ship at the moment.”
“Not to mention,” Brint said, “that she’s far too old for me.” Brint would never change. He was always very confident about himself, especially when it came to the ladies.
“Now you’re just being mean to Cynthia,” Ryan said. “Besides, she’s a better mechanic than you’ll ever be. Hand me the autowrench, will you?” Ryan wanted to finish the work on the mule before the morning was over. The cargo bay of the ‘Shining Glory’ still housed about nine other vehicles that needed attention today, and there were only five mechanics to do it. Well, six in a little while.
“I hope she’s hot.” Brint continued the conversation, “So I can work my irresistible charms on her.”
Ryan was starting to get annoyed. Not only because Brint was stalling work again, but also because his bragging about how easily he could charm the ladies wasn’t entirely made up. Ryan on the other hand, never was that good with women. He was easily intimidated and far too uncertain of himself. Especially when Brint was around. “Will you just shut up and help me finish the mule?!”
Brint looked at Ryan with a smirk on his face. “Sheesh, take it easy, grandpa!”
Ryan wasn’t in the mood to argue with Brint. “Just shut up and give me a hand, will you?” The two best friends continued working on the mule as the morning went on.

As the work on the mule was nearing its end, the voice of captain Dong Fue sounded through the cargo bay: “May I have everybody’s attention please? I would like you to meet our latest addition to the crew: Nadia Forlay. Her previous job was working on industrial vehicles, so there’s not much new that she needs to learn. Basic stuff is the same, only a bit smaller, as she herself so adequately put it.”
Ryan heard Brint, who’d immediately crawled out from under the mule, comment on the new mechanic: “Oh yeah! Things are going to get a lot more interesting on this ship!”
Ryan got up from under the mule as well. He was about to start another discussion with Brint as he saw the new mechanic standing next to the captain. The young woman was absolutely gorgeous. She had long, wavy blond hair with a golden glow emanating from it. And she wore a smile that made Ryan lose the feeling in his legs.
“Nice, ey?” Brint said as he gave Ryan a nudge in the side. But Ryan was stupefied by Nadia. All he could do was stare.
“I’m gonna need one of you to show her the whats and wheres of this place.” Dong Fue said. “Who’ll –“
“ME!!!” Brint shouted eagerly, raising his hand. “I’ll show her everything she needs to see.”
“And that’s exactly why you can put your hand down again, Brint.” Dong Fue said. “I can’t have you harassing the rest of the crew.” Ryan could feel the fire in his chest blaze with the smile Nadia produced by the comment.
“Ta Ma Duh!” said a clearly upset Brint.
“What was that, Mr. Dao-Tsun?” The comment might not have been meant for the captain’s ears, but it had reached them.
“Nothing captain!” Brint always had been sort of a rebel, but he knew when to back off.
“Good. I want you to start working on that hover truck in the back. Bow can finish the mule on his own.” The captain clearly did not want Brint anywhere near Nadia for the time being.
“Yes captain,” Brint said reluctantly as he made his way over to the back of the cargo bay. But not before looking back and giving Nadia a wink.
This was Ryan’s chance. All he had to do was to say that he’d gladly take the job, but he was afraid that he might sound too eager, and give Nadia the impression that he was just like Brint. Maybe Cynthia was more suited to show her the ropes. Or maybe even Dwight or Pjotr, although those two certainly wouldn’t like to. Dwight and Pjotr hated everybody new. Or anybody old for that matter. In fact, the two didn’t seem to like anybody, not even each other.
So, Cynthia was probably the best- “Bow,” Dong Fue said, interrupting Ryan’s thoughts. “Care to come back to us from wherever you were just now and show Nadia how we work here?”
“S- Sure, captain! H- Happy to!”
“Okay then, that’s settled. I’ll show you your quarters later on; right now I need you to work on the vehicles with the rest, cause we still have a lot of work to finish before the day ends. Do you have any questions right now, Nadia?”
“Just one captain: where do I leave my bag?” Nadia pointed to the large bag at her feet.
“I’ll take it up with me and put it in your quarters.” Dong Fue grabbed the bag and tried to lift it; the bag lifted a couple of inches before it fell on the floor again. The captain’s face reddened and he quickly heaved the bag with a lot more force. This time he managed to keep it from the ground, but it was obvious it took him some effort. As quick as his heavy cargo would let him, he made his way out of the cargo bay. Nadia smiled at the situation, then turned towards Ryan’s direction and walked over to him.
“Mr. Bow?” Nadia extended her hand.
Still not entirely sure what’d happened, Ryan answered. “Y- Yes, but please call me Ryan.” Ryan pulled a cloth from his back pocket and wiped his sweaty palm before shaking Nadia’s hand. “Grease,” he lied.
“Nadia Forlay. So, what’s wrong with this mule?” Nadia turned her attention to the vehicle in front of them.
“It’s uhm.. It’s.. It’s not working,” Ryan blurted out. He couldn’t stop staring at Nadia. At her perfect hair, her well-shaped figure, her breath taking eyes…
Nadia started laughing. “I kind of figured that out for myself, Ryan.” Ryan felt his face turning red.
“Ooh, he blushes.” Nadia teased him. This didn’t exactly help the situation and Ryan was pretty sure that his face instantly went from red to a deep purple.
“Oh come on, Ryan. I’m just teasing you.”
Brint was right about one thing. Things aboard the ‘Glory’ were going to get a lot more interesting!

The wreckage: A story by Mischa Brendel

Mischa Brendel has been writing short stories providing further background for some of his characters. This is the first one and his second will follow in a few days. Further stories are planned and other players, including Silent Hunter, plan to get involved.

This story is about Ryan Bow, from Atlantis.

The wreckage

Ryan ran across the field, rich with 3^rd gen. wheat.

“Ryan! Come here! Mama said that dinner is ready. You know how she hates it to be kept waitin’.” Ryan pretended not to hear. He wasn’t hungry and he knew that Kim would follow him anyway.

“Ryan! If you don’t come back now, I’m telling dad!” But still Ryan kept on going. He wanted to go to the wreck he’d found earlier that day. It was just a little bit further and then down the hill. He and Derek had found it together that afternoon and although they had sworn not to tell anybody, Ryan could show it to his big sister; she wouldn’t tell.

“Ryan! Come on, I’m not kidding!” Ryan looked back, smiling. Kim was closing in. If she caught him before he got to the wreck, everything would be ruined. So he ran even faster. Just a little further… Ryan was now laughing out loud. He ran and ran, but then his foot got caught behind something and he lost his balance just as he reached the edge of the hill. The ground beneath his feet disappeared and for a moment he felt like he was flying. Then the ground came at him. Ryan put up his arms to protect himself, and screamed in fear. A sudden thud sounded as he hit the ground. An enormous sting shot up Ryan’s right arm, but he didn’t even have time to cry in pain, since his momentum threw him even further down the hill.

As Ryan rolled down, he thought he heard Kimberly’s voice, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. All Ryan could do was wait until he’d stop rolling. Just as he thought that there would be no end to his tumble, Ryan hit something hard, landing on his hurt arm. He screamed out in pain, letting his tears run freely. He clutched his hurt arm with his other one, writhing in pain. He rolled on his side, crawling into a ball. He was now crying so loudly that he was gasping for air.

“Ryan! Ryan, are you alright?!” Kimberly came running down the hill and kneeled down next to him, worry clear in both face and voice. All Ryan could do was clutch his arm and cry in pain. “I’ll go… I’ll go and get dad” Kimberly mumbled, seeing that something was wrong with Ryan’s arm. “No!” Ryan sobbed. “Don’t leave me!”

For a short moment silence fell. Clearly, Kimberly was unsure as how to act. Then suddenly Ryan felt that he was being lifted from the ground. “Owowow! You’re hurting my arm!” Ryan screamed to his sister, who had picked him up. “Be quiet. Do you want me to get you home or not?” Kimberly sounded more sure of herself than she looked, as she tried to balance the weight of her little brother in her arms. Ryan looked her in the eyes and bit his lip. He didn’t say another word about the pain in his arm as Kimberly struggled to carry him up the hill and walked him to their parent’s house. “Kimberly? You’re not going to tell mom and dad about what happened, are you?”