(This is a new person containment thread, since I have three people waiting to join at the end of Chapter One, which is very slowly chugging along.)
NSS Nemesis
The NSS Nemesis was the flagship for the Fifth Battlecruiser Squadron of the glorious Nepleslian Fourth AASP Fleet. Every Squadron in the fleet was led by an Admiral, and the fleet itself was led by a Grand Admiral-- a lofty rank of which there were only five in the entire navy. Thus, the Nemesis being a flagship, it was painted a regal white instead of the typical Nepleslian Green. Furthermore, its brilliant white pain was in especially good shape with perfect trim because Grand Admiral Dominic Valken had just announced his retirement. Now, every flagship of every squadron in the fleet was putting on its finest show of running smooth and looking great as all the Admirals vied for the favor of the four remaining Grand Admirals-- in hopes that they would be the one chosen to fill the leaving Grand Admiral's station.
This meant that the three marines being guided through the corridors by a tired-looking Petty Officer of the watch were passing over gleaming tiles, closed-tight compartments, and beneath bright flourescent lights. None of the grime that usually passed inspection on a Nepleslian ship was present, nor did any of the running lights need to be replaced. Every wall was decorated with wooden trim and major intersections were carpeted with a rich green shag.
The short, portly man at the head of the group was explaining to them the particulars of this political situation, "... so Admiral Kuznyetski says we have to make this ship look beautiful in case any of the Grand Admirals pop in and visit. At least, that's what Chief Dogard said. Anyhow, the wardroom we're going to is carpeted and the table's mahogany so everything's really nice and I'd just appreciate it if you didn't eat or drink anything while you were in there. I mean, it'd just be nice. Whatever, though, I mean-- It's like this..."
He never even turned to look at the three of them. Privates Roy Rotunda and Adam Edison, walking with Corporal Lisa Simmons; the three of them having been roused from their berths where they'd been left to rot for the last day and a half without so much as half an introduction to their unit. Their unit, they'd been told, was on a one-day leave and belonged to the strange Freespacer ship moored in the Nemesis' fighter bay. Their unit, they'd been told, was not to be sought out until they were given a proper orientation from the Freespacer liason (though Private Edison had already met with one of his squadmates and Private Rotunda had already been shown to his quarters aboard the ship. Their unit, they'd been told, was in trouble for being terrible and they would be, too, if they didn't attend to the Freespacer liason they were being taken to meet now.
"Well, here we are." Said the Petty Officer, removing his cover and standing to one side of the wardroom's entrance. "You guys call me if you need anything, just send out for PO Hartley. That's me."
Waiting for them inside the room, at the head of the long wooden conference table, was a child. Or rather, something that appeared to be a child. With her patchwork blazer tossed over the back of her chair, and her work-shirt unbuttoned by about three buttons, the mop-headed little girl seemed to be playing with her notably small breasts. With some amusement she moved them around with her hands, trying to create the slightest hint of cleavage in the valley of her shirt, a soft tune on her lips. A small, spider-like robot noisily skittered across the table to bring her a strip of tape which she discard instantly. She didn't seem to notice that her guests had arrived.
NSS Nemesis
The NSS Nemesis was the flagship for the Fifth Battlecruiser Squadron of the glorious Nepleslian Fourth AASP Fleet. Every Squadron in the fleet was led by an Admiral, and the fleet itself was led by a Grand Admiral-- a lofty rank of which there were only five in the entire navy. Thus, the Nemesis being a flagship, it was painted a regal white instead of the typical Nepleslian Green. Furthermore, its brilliant white pain was in especially good shape with perfect trim because Grand Admiral Dominic Valken had just announced his retirement. Now, every flagship of every squadron in the fleet was putting on its finest show of running smooth and looking great as all the Admirals vied for the favor of the four remaining Grand Admirals-- in hopes that they would be the one chosen to fill the leaving Grand Admiral's station.
This meant that the three marines being guided through the corridors by a tired-looking Petty Officer of the watch were passing over gleaming tiles, closed-tight compartments, and beneath bright flourescent lights. None of the grime that usually passed inspection on a Nepleslian ship was present, nor did any of the running lights need to be replaced. Every wall was decorated with wooden trim and major intersections were carpeted with a rich green shag.
The short, portly man at the head of the group was explaining to them the particulars of this political situation, "... so Admiral Kuznyetski says we have to make this ship look beautiful in case any of the Grand Admirals pop in and visit. At least, that's what Chief Dogard said. Anyhow, the wardroom we're going to is carpeted and the table's mahogany so everything's really nice and I'd just appreciate it if you didn't eat or drink anything while you were in there. I mean, it'd just be nice. Whatever, though, I mean-- It's like this..."
He never even turned to look at the three of them. Privates Roy Rotunda and Adam Edison, walking with Corporal Lisa Simmons; the three of them having been roused from their berths where they'd been left to rot for the last day and a half without so much as half an introduction to their unit. Their unit, they'd been told, was on a one-day leave and belonged to the strange Freespacer ship moored in the Nemesis' fighter bay. Their unit, they'd been told, was not to be sought out until they were given a proper orientation from the Freespacer liason (though Private Edison had already met with one of his squadmates and Private Rotunda had already been shown to his quarters aboard the ship. Their unit, they'd been told, was in trouble for being terrible and they would be, too, if they didn't attend to the Freespacer liason they were being taken to meet now.
"Well, here we are." Said the Petty Officer, removing his cover and standing to one side of the wardroom's entrance. "You guys call me if you need anything, just send out for PO Hartley. That's me."
Waiting for them inside the room, at the head of the long wooden conference table, was a child. Or rather, something that appeared to be a child. With her patchwork blazer tossed over the back of her chair, and her work-shirt unbuttoned by about three buttons, the mop-headed little girl seemed to be playing with her notably small breasts. With some amusement she moved them around with her hands, trying to create the slightest hint of cleavage in the valley of her shirt, a soft tune on her lips. A small, spider-like robot noisily skittered across the table to bring her a strip of tape which she discard instantly. She didn't seem to notice that her guests had arrived.