Topic: Houston, we have a problem

Sully Marsh

Date: 2012-11-12 22:55 EST
"Orion, this is Skipper III. Under unknown enemy fire. Taken heavy damage. Need assistance, over."

The small scout ship lumbered out of the way of yet another barrage of some unidentified energy weaponry. Was this the new technology the Pylcyons had developed" Were they finally ready for their next assault' Skipper III was skimming around the edge of the galaxy having ranged far from her mothership the Orion's Spear when they were beset by a much larger ship.

Skipper should have been faster, but they were taken by surprise. The other ship had stealth technology they hadn't seen before either.

Sully bashed his fist down on the com switch again. "Repeat, Orion, Skipper III is under attack. Heavy damage. Do you read, over!" There was nothing but silence over the airwaves.

"Corporal," he barked at one of the two other marines manning the ship. "What is the status of our communications array?"

The younger man at the tech station was a seasoned solider, but he was sweating so much Sully could see the protective shield of his helmet fogging up. "Corporal!" He repeated stiffly.

"S-sir! The array is up an operational. Orion should be getting out messa-"

Corporal Barnett never finished his statement as another blast caught them in their evasive pattern. Sully and the pilot were rocked around in their jump chairs, but Barnett when tumbling to the opposite side of the other ship.

Emergency lights and sirens were going off everywhere, things were looking bleak. They weren't going to survive this unless help showed up. Or....

"Lieutenant," pilots were always officers. It didn't bother Sully. The scouting mission was his even though he was an NCO. Being half machine had it's perks in this. "Open a window to designation XC3-18. Prepare to jump." The scout ship had only a small hyperdrive. They could only make short jumps and jumping in such a state....

"But sir, we don't have enough ti—!"

"Just do it!" Sully roared as they took another indirect hit. One more and the hull was going to give way.

The pilot slammed against the controls and ahead of them in space a blue shimmer appeared and grew. The pilot was right, it would never grow large enough in time. But their jump would take them to the nearest moon, low enough in the atmosphere they might survive long enough to get to the pods and jump.

"On my mark." His armored hand hovered over the keys, his eyes locked on the growing portal. Just a second long. He could see another blast reflecting off a piece of debris, a shiny piece of the Skipper that'd broken free. They had no more seconds. "NOW!"

As one he and the pilot engaged the jump and they were hurdled through the portal. Panels around them exploded from the effort, more systems were blaring. Every light that could flash and klaxon that could sound were alerting them to their imminent danger.

"Reading atmosphere!" The pilot yelled and it was plain enough to see. They passed through a thick layer of clouds and there below them was the surface of a planet. But it was too close, they were going too fast. There was no time to hit the pods, though Barnett was trying.

There wasn't enough time to warn about the crash before it happened. The side of a mountain - on the wrong side of the starport - proved not to be a soft landing. Sully saw them crash through trees which slowed them down before they hit the bluff face of a cliff. The skidded down the side of mountain like some giant sled until they came to a dead stop. Or so he assumed - he'd passed out long before they'd come to a resting point.

It must have been hours later when he awoke. He couldn't remember if it'd been day when they hit, but it was night when his eyes opened. He knew better than to move right away, allowing his internal system to run it's scan. In front of his left eye he could see an inventory of his injuries which included broken ribs, lacerations and more bruises than he could count. That he was alive was saying a lot.

The interior of the cabin was dark except for the random flickering spark from on of the panels. The ship was a wreck, but a quick look around told him the hull had held up to a surprising degree. It might even be salvageable. His crew was another matter. He knew before he looked that he wouldn't find them alive. The pilot's head was a bloody mess against the control panel, his sightless eyes turned towards Sully. Barnett was....everywhere. He must have been bounced around so much during the crash. But he'd never been able to hook into his chair during the battle and he hadn't made it to a pod.

Sully sighed. Two good men. He'd store their remains in pods so they could be buried when he returned. But he was in no condition for even that.

He closed his eyes and let his internal system take over, putting him into a deep sleep until he'd healed.

Sully Marsh

Date: 2012-11-13 14:46 EST
It was, at the very least, several hours before Sully was roused again. His BIOS kicked him out of the restorative coma he'd put himself into.

Daylight streamed through the cracked glass that served as the scout ship's forward screen. Opaque from the outside and polarized to keep out unnecessary temperature change, he couldn't feel any warmth despite it's brightness. The first thing he noticed was the stench within the cabin: burning electronics and death. Both he was familiar with and after all the years he'd spent serving his galaxy it was the former that bothered him more.

He examined the display hovering over his left eye. To him he could see himself projected and spinning slowly with diagnostics pointing at various parts of his body. He wasn't 100% healed, but no soldier in his situation could afford to linger. He'd deal with whatever pain was coming to him without complaint.

Once he'd pulled himself free of the harness on his jump chair, he hit a few keys on the command console. When it flickered to life he let some tension bleed from his shoulders; if the computer was down there might not have been anything he could do to fix the ship. While he set the computer to run a diagnostic, he got up to do a physical assessment. In the meantime he cleaned up his two crew mate's bodies and stowed them in pods. There they wouldn't stink or rot, but they weren't pretty to look at.

The interior of the cabin looked a mess, but Sully knew it might not be as bad as it looked. Panels would have to be replaced, circuits and crystals, too. He kept a mental inventory of what needed to be done on the surface and he made his way out of the craft.

It took him shoving his shoulder into the hatch with all his weight to get it to open; that'd have to be fixed, too. Outside he walked slowly around the Skipper, taking in any exterior damage. One wing was badly damaged, nearly tore off the hull, but it was the back that had sustained the most damage. Blasts from the enemy fire had melted away layers of protective shielding once their energy shields had failed.

Sully frowned as he examined the damage. He'd never seen anything like it. Could that have really been the Pycylons? He shook his head and continued his assessment. No obvious breeches. What distressed him most about the crash was the location: the moon he'd directed them too shouldn't have this foliage, this landscape. It was mostly a desert. He concluded by the time he re-entered the craft that they'd been thrown off course.

The computer was blinking at him, indicating that the diagnostic was done. He winced as he scrolled through the damages. The wing was the worst of the external damage, but the plating on the back would have to be replaced if he expected to take it back into space. The hyperdrive was intact, but several systems would have to be restored before it could be brought back on-line. The communications were destroyed. He checked through the log of his last messages sent out and frowned.

Received. It didn't make sense. Why would Orion abandon them like that' Had they just not been fast enough' Sully couldn't believe that. The hyperdrive on the dreadnought was far superior to anything else in the fleet. They could have been there in a blink of an eye. There was another reason and it wasn't his place to speculate.

It was nearing midday as best as he could tell by the position of the sun when he'd completed his inventory. The damages, his supplies were known. Where he was and where he'd get the rest of the materials he needed....that was a mystery. The Skipper's scanners weren't completely operational, but he could tell there were settlements on either side of the mountain.

He removed his heavy armor and stowed it, not wishing to enter an unknown place and being perceived as a threat. His scale he retracted down to its smallest state and after washing most of the grit and grime from the crash from himself with a little of the ship's water, he clad himself in an off duty uniform - a fitted black tunic with a high collar, his rank in blue on the left side, black slacks with blue piping down the sides.

Sully needed to figure out where he was, find supplies and somehow contact the UGC. He booby trapped the ship before heading out.

Sully Marsh

Date: 2013-02-19 21:23 EST
Skipper III, ships log, star date, best guess 3015-2-19-2, Sgt Marsh

It has been approximately 109 days since we crash landed on this planet, designated as "Rhy'Din". My crew died on re-entry. Their bodies have been preserved for space burial upon reconciliation with the UGC.

Our ship was shot down by an unknown ship of unknown designation by unknown weapons. For some reason our hyperspace window was compromised when trying to flee, flinging us far from our intended destination—and well outside our known space.

During my time here I have managed to repair the Skipper to flyable state, though have yet to repair the hyperspace drive. Even so, I do not believe it would help as I have yet to determine where within space we are.

Strangely, it appears we may have breached the space-time continuum. In my exploration I have encountered several denizens who claim to be from "Earth" which is now a UGC prison planet, but was at one time the home to humans. They report the planet is thriving. If I recall my history lessons well, it will not for much longer.

As tempted as I have been to visit, I have resisted. I dare not subject them to knowledge of what is to come. The technology I possess alone is potentially damning to their growth. It will come, in time, as it must.

I have discovered no evidence of the UGC in this place or nearby. I have endeavored to befriend a few in the advanced section of this planet. It is an odd place, this Rhy'Din, like pieces of different histories and tales thrown together.

While I have low hopes this transmission will reach the UGC, I cannot help but try and hope.

1ST Sgt Sullivan Marsh, out.

Sully leaned back in the pilot's chair as he re-read his transmission; it had been transcribed into text as he dictated. Satisfied with the missive he set the communications array to full power and to transmit on all UGC channels. After a moment he hit the send key.

Hope. Hope isn't for a soldier like him. For him there is law, order, discipline. Hope is too fragile a thing, but he couldn't help but latch onto what little he had left.