Operation: Pacifica, What Goes Up...
by DarkSide (darkside@seanet.com)

       DarkSide yawned as he tromped up the gantry of the DTT
  _Freedom_, lugging his huge duffle.  He wandered through the maze of
  corridors, seeking out his quarters assignment.  Although he maintained that
  sleep was for the meek, he had not slept much for a few days, save for the
  period he had passed out in the TARAV, and his body was telling him that he
  was meek... if only for a little while.  He wandered into the room and
  chucked the bag on the floor, collapsing on the bunk.  He gave his watch a
  quick glance-- 0710-- plenty of time for a quick snooze.  He yawned again,
  closed his eyes, and was out almost immediately.

       He wandered along a dark corridor, straining to see through
  the darkness.  He held his sword at the ready, creeping along with his back
  against the wall.  Whispers suddenly hit him... not the ones he was used to,
  none of them familiar.  They reminded him of the ones he heard on the night
  of his Awakening, but yet they were different... more devious.  The voices
  broke into a chant, and an odd chill ran through his body, followed by an
  explosion of pain.  He fell to his knees, Darkness clattering to the floor
  as the pain ripped through his body, his strength draining away.  A normally
  invisible aura of deep blue light appeared around him and the sword, fingers
  of pure energy travelling the surface of both.  His strength continued to
  drain away as the light surrounding him began to fade.

       "What... what's happening?" he asked of the ever-present
  voice in his head.

       The only response he got was silence.  Nothing.  For the
  first time in 340 years, he was alone in his consciousness.  He looked at
  the broadsword laying on the ground next to him.  It pulsed with it's bluish
  aura, but lay silent.  The link had been severed.  Mortality had settled in.

       In answer, another storm of pain raged through his body, this
  one truly physical.  He felt unknown hands grip his limbs and pull in all
  directions, straining his joints to their limits.  More pain ripped its way
  through his torso as it threatened to literally tear his body apart. Deep
  red lines formed at his joints as the skin began to split, oozing blood. He
  howled in agony as slashes appeared about his body, deepening as he was torn
  to pieces.  His joints finally gave in to the stress, ripping apart in a
  shower of sinue and blood.  His body soon followed, ribcage splitting down
  the middle, spine tearing itself from his back, pelvis ripping in half.  The
  pain was overwelming as the life drained from him.

       Kirk snapped awake, half from the dream, half from the sound
  of the yeoman knocking at his door and informing him of the TRES meeting
  that was starting in fifteen minutes.  He quickly hopped off his bunk and
  hauled his duty uniform out of his duffle, flinging off his black fatigues.
  He quickly donned the blue and white Zeta squad uniform, taking a moment to
  pin the gold twin bars of his Commander's insignia on the collar of his
  tunic.  He gave himself a quick look and slid his coat on, bolting out the
  door.

       He slid into Conference Room G at 0950 and promptly pulled up
  a seat in the dimmest section of the room he could find.  He pondered
  silently, trying to decipher just what it was that the imagery in his dream
  meant. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant.  And he had a feeling that
  sometime, somewhere during this trip, he was going to find out just what it
  meant.

       "Mr. Felton! Mr. Geier! Front and center!"  The sound of
  Grand Admiral Marburger barking his name startled him, breaking him out of
  his pensive state.  He quickly rose along with Geier and approached CP at
  the head of the room.

       "Commander Felton, for your exceptional work in Zeta Squad
  and imaging intelligence work on our enemy, you are hereby promoted to
  Captain Felton with full rank and privileges.  Ensign Geier, you've shown
  yourself to be an outstanding officer in the Corps.  Admiral Piper as has
  commented several times on your capabilities, and you are to be rewarded for
  it: You are promoted to Lieutenant with all effects due your rank.
  Congratulations gentlemen!" DS and Geier accepted the symbols of their new
  ranks, both bowing slightly, then turning on their heels and returning to
  their seats. Kirk kicked back, replacing his Commander's bars with his
  Captain's, happy, yet grumbling slightly at the thought of all the Trek
  jokes he would be forced to endure, as the Grand Admiral moved on with the
  meeting.

...

       The newly-promoted Captain Felton stood at the end of the DTT
  _Freedom's_ flight deck, gazing out over the water at the setting sun as San
  Francisco disappeared on the horizon.  It had been a good fifty years since
  he had last been on a carrier cruising through the waters of the Pacific,
  and it was something he missed a little, though the circumstances at the
  time were less than pleasant.  He gave the sunset one last glance before
  crossing the tarmac and heading back to his quarters.

       He flopped down on his bunk stretched out, staring at the
  ceiling.  He pondered for a moment, then reached into his coat pocket, and
  pulled out a small hand terminal.  He keyed up a short sequence on the pad,
  and the air in the room began to ripple, a small section of space seeming to
  turn inside out, plopping a brown leather easy chair into the room.  He
  quickly slid into the chair, listening with satsifaction as the systems
  hummed to life.

       "{Lay-Z-Boy of Doom[tm] Operating Systems active.  User
  identified as DarkSide.  Loading personality module,}" droned the chair.
  "{Module loaded.} Hey! What's up there, fruitcake?!"

       "Hey chair," he said as he popped a Jolt out of the dispenser
  on the side.  He sometimes wondered if it was such a good idea to make the
  AI have the personality of the Jerky Boys' Frank Rizzo.  "Chair, tap into
  the TRES game net and give me list of the active Quake servers and their
  stats."

       "You got it sizzlechest," complied the chair.  A thirty inch
  flat screen monitor extended out and over from the back of the chair, as an
  800 watt microspeaker system deployed from various points on the chair.  The
  armrests flipped out, extending two sections of a keyboard console as a
  third section swung up and met them in the middle.  Kirk gripped two sets of
  joystick-looking things on either end of the keyboard, each covered with an
  array of triggers, as he scanned over the server list.  He picked his server
  and beamed in, immediately reducing some poor schmuck to bite size chunks.
  He cackled as he collected a Thunderbolt from his telefrag, and immediately
  set about frying up some newbie ass.

       Several hours and a good couple thousand frags later, a knock
  at his his door distracted him long enough for some newbie scum to send a
  rocket sailing down his throat.  "Damn!" he muttered, smacking the spacebar.
  "Enter!"

       An "ahem" from behind him made him glance around, and he
  immediately hopped up and snapped to attention at the sight of Admiral J-
  Rock, allowing yet another lucky bastard to turn him into giblets.

       "At ease," said J-Rock, eyes wandering to the sight of a
  lounge chair with a built-in entertainment system.

       "Pet project of mine," grinned DarkSide.  "You should see the
  *real* toys."

       J-Rock just shook his head.  "I won't ask. Anyway, I'm
  rounding up pilots for a volunteer mission.  I understand you're flight
  qualified?"

       DarkSide smiled slightly.  "You could say that, Sir."

       "Good. I'll level with you, DS.  We've picked up a number of
  surface contacts headed in out direction, and it's our job to head out and
  ID 'em. This could turn out to be a lot less of a walk in the park than it
  sounds. I can only ask for your help."

       Kirk nodded.  "You can count me in, Sir.  I'm looking forward
  to getting back in the saddle."

       "Excellent," J-Rock replied.  "Be on the tarmac at 1250."  He
  turned, heading to the door, stopping to glance at the chair once more, and
  left the room, shaking his head.

       DarkSide sighed and glanced at the rankings.  Satisfied that
  he still held the top frag count in this session, he smacked F10 and exited.

       *{DarkSide has left the game with 753 frags}*

...

       DS slid into the pilot's seat of the Dobe F-14 Tiger 202,
  settling in.  It had been a while since he was last behind the stick of a
  fighter... it felt good.  He sat back as he was being hitched up to Catapult
  One, giving a quick look behind him at the empty RIO seat- clearly operated
  by some sort of AI now.  He ran through a quick pre-flight, then opened up
  the comm.  "Tower, Tiger two-oh-two requesting clearance for takeoff."

       "Tiger two-oh-two, you are cleared for takeoff."

       DarkSide leaned on the throttle, listening as the engines
  advanced to the roar of full afterburner, the craft shivering in
  anticipation.  He saluted the launch officer and opened his mouth to give
  the launch command, and then closed it again, shifting to a smirk.  He
  braced himself, grinning, and shouted out a single word.

       "PULL!"

       DarkSide was shoved back into his seat as the catapult flung
  Tiger 202 out over the ocean like the clay pigeon that DS mused that he was.
  He pulled back on the stick, starting the plane on a slow climb, gradually
  cutting back on the throttle.  He settled into a slow circle around the
  carrier, waiting for the rest of the flight to get airborn.  He chuckled as
  Persephone's craft was launched from the deck, following her command of
  "Pull!"  He was straining to keep from cracking up by the time the rest of
  the group was up, each having issued forth a mighty "Pull!"  He finally gave
  in and broke out into loud laughter as Charcharadon inadvertantly spoke the
  magic word, sending him sailing off the carrier unexpectedly.  With everyone
  in the air, the group fell into formation with 200 in the lead, headed off
  in the direction of whatever it was that they were supposed to find.

       Two hours drifted by, going from clear, endless sky and
  ocean, to thick, unyielding cloud cover almost immediately after their
  midair refueling.

       "Can't see a damn thing through this cloud cover," grumbled
  Rear Admiral Yearnshaw through the static.

       "Admiral, I'm getting a bad feeling about this," Persephone
  noted.

       "Who isn't?" J-Rock asked in response.

       A sudden blip on DarkSide's radar snapped him back to
  reality.  "Holy..." he said as that blip turned to blips.

       "Sir, this is serious--" she started to say.

       "We have contacts!" DS cut in.  "Bearing three-one four, ten
  miles, eight hundred knots closure!"

       "How many are there?" J-Rock asked.

       Kirk gritted his teeth slightly.  "Fifteen."

Copyright (c) 1996 DarkSide Studios