posted 07-02-2002 05:43 PM            

"Initiate engines to warp 3. Now."

Captain Hunter Retriever looked stern through his Dominion-crafted portable viewers. By using a simple ion-fused crystal lens, the leader of the Terran ship UNS Helios was able to see through the hull of the ship without hinderance and could magnify distant images some quarter light-year away. Trailing alongside the Helios was their sole companion, a survivor of the old Space Rover Federation. It's name was UNS Sirius, a relic, but a good ship none-the-less. It's crew of 40 was led by a young mix named Auricann Dobermann and his first mate, a bio android, a self-sufficient creature by the name of Number who'd lost all contact with the obidient ways long-ago hammered into him. It was by pure miracle he had enough strength to keep his troops in line and nearly flourishing in their militaristic ways. Both the Canis Major and Delta quandrants were in ashes with some planets like Hunter's homeworld of Terra still smoldering in seas of wreckage with no survivors left to rebuild, no atmosphere left to breathe.

Both ships bolted to lightspeed and left the Andromeda system behind them.

The Captain bleeped the goggles off and took slow, measured steps about the bridge, observing over every shoulder the movements and instrument arrays of each fellow crewmember. For years now they had been hacking out an existence on bare minimums. Water wasn't so needed with the Canos as some of the other weaker species from the Androemeda system, but it was still required. Rigging recycled debris from derelict ships and planets alike, his engineers were able to modify a storage room into a moisture-condensing chamber that collects some 20 gallons of liquid water each solar day from the cooling coils on the engine drivelines. More than twice the water requirements needed for his crew of near-60 each day. A high-value commodity bridging on treasure in these tumultuous times. Direct combat would have been his preferred method for any situation, but time has honed this Captain into a true tactician, and with their small ships and little true battle strength, stealth and speed were their most powerful blessings. 'Cloak & dagger tactics' those in the long-dead Terra Ordinence would have called them. The ways of the assassin. Captain Retriever could only, for the moment, label it 'survival'.

His soldiers had all proven themselves and they had taken only a handfull of casualties since the Great War had burned out in final flames. Now, rogue and lawless remnants of fleets roamed fleetingly between systems like gravel from a exploded meteor. How did that old Earth saying go . . . ahh, I remember now: 'dog eat dog'. How true is life that it always reinforces the past . . . The question goes unanswered in his thoughts as he attends to the warp core readouts and the away teams' assessments of their newly acquired Kilrathi cargo.

Hunter smiled grimly, they were part of an exploration party, looking for a new homeworld...for the lost Terrans in his crew, and others in the Space Rover Federation. It was almost a lost cause....but in the very least it was something to live on, a hope for things better in this life. He suddenly felt his hand being taken by a small delicate one.

"I admire your persistense dear Captain..."

He smiled and leaned down laying a tender kiss on her lips. He pulled away slowly and smiled. The Long-haired German Shepard/Shiba inu mix smiled warmly at him. He chuckled.

"Thank you dear heart, but that's what I have you for."

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Onboard the UNS Sirius:

The two ships zippered through starspace like hunting sharks in some endless ocean. Through identical goggles, Blitz looked at the ass-end of the Terran ship and the stars streaming past all sides of their Federation fighter ship.

The doberman pinscher couldn't help but grimace, Another day, another dance with death. If his troops would ever catch on to his complete and utter loss of hope, they would stand beside him, throwing their own bodies into the gaping maw of hell . . . because they were created to perform that exact duty. A smile returns to his lips, that infamous smile of his that drove the females of his species silently mad. Power, even in the face of certain destruction, does have it's merits. If only I could get them to turn back the vicious hands of damning time. Then, THEN! I could TRULY be happy about all this! Those cursed aliens will pay for their atrocities by my hand alone!!! The aliens who had destroyed his homeworld...

"What?!" he screamed at the crewmember standing stoically at his back, waiting to be addressed, holding a readout in his hand. Was he watching me the entire time?!!

Unblinking, with eyes of piercing cold, the crewmember spoke,

"Tactical efficientcy reports from the rogue Kilrathi encounter. Minor damage only to left armor. Maintainence system computer already has it mended and reinforced."

"Excellent. You all did well once again, another badge of honor for the Dominion by your skills. Another in a long succession of badges and medals and trophies. A path unending . . . and a path delicious."

Blitz's voice grew dark. Darker than was normal, but his crewmember number one didn't ever change expression or give hint to noticing.

"We'll need to make more ship modifications over time. More weapons and greater strength to take on bigger fish in this vast sea of tempestuous chaos. I trust YOU, will see to it as we acquire new resources and technology."

Number One(That's his name, he is an andorid as well) veared his eyes off the bulkhead straight ahead and replied simply, yet with every grim fiber in his hollow soul, "It is as done. Victory is Life!"

With that the slate gray wolf left, leaving the young captain to brood.

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The ships blasted through deep space with the Terran fightertaking the lead. It's speed was unmatched and the Terran ship had to strain just to keep up at a fair distance. Long range sensors were alight and scanning every recesss, every dark spark in the hellish vacuum of perpetual oblivion.

posted 07-22-2002 09:54 AM            

Rick Stellar stared with bleary eyes at the screen in front of him. The solidly built German Spaniel normally enjoyed his position as the Sensor Opperator. Unfortunately, there was a lot of space out there to scan, and not many ships. Thus, it became boring rapidly.

Possessing the characteristic bounce of the German Spaniel, Rick grew bored quickly. This was obviously a task that didn't suit his species, but help was scarce and experience scarcer still.

So, while he sat there, trying to keep his knees from physically bouncing, he would brainstorm new types of technology. Or, at least, that is what he would tell you he was doing. Most of the time, thought, he was preoccupied with thoughts of Ursa Centarry.

Ursa, a pure-bred English Setter, was a subordinate tech officer. Her luxurious black and white fur flowed gracefully along the curves of her body. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

The head Technical officer was an old Siberian Husky named Exile. (does someone have the correct spelling of his full name?) Exile's strength and vision aided him greatly in the pursuit of repairs and refits. In fact, his vision had come in handy in many situations. There was that one time, when...

Rick's thoughts were pulled back to the present by a soft alarm. Looking down at his console, he said, "Sir! I'm reading an unidentified craft on the fringe of our scanning range."

"What is its heading?" Captain Retriever asked.

"Uh, sir. It's just floating there. No movement," Rick keyed up the scans. "I'm not getting any energy readings whatsoever. It must be a ghost ship."

Hunter's brow furrowed, "Navigation, plot course toward this ghost ship. I don't want to rush into this, so raise our sheilds and arm the phasors. Tactical Officer! Prepare an insertion team. Let's see what we can salvage."