Here's My shot at a story; please don't mock me, as I don't have the mind of a pulitzer winner.
As Fallon looked at the torrent weather from his dorm room on his homeworld, he could think nothing but this space race his race had entered into.
Fallon was a scholar in the Academy, where he was training to fly the latest fighters developed by Hypersonic Aeronautical labs, some of the finest research institutes for matters in physics, and aeronautical research and development, which included researching deadly fighters that could rip through hostile skies and satellite link-ups. From since day one of his life, Fallon was fascinated with all things flying. His first interest with birds made him an ace student in Nature and head student in a presentation about birds native to his continent in grade 10. Soon, he signed up for a doctorate in ornithology at the Washintowsky University, but he dropped out due to lack of interest.
What was interest to him were planes. Fighter planes, Fusion planes, Ordinary Jet planes, anything that flew and he could control, was of interest to him. After dropping out of the Washintowsky University, he quickly enrolled and enlisted at the Academy. It had no formal name, really, as the Federation denied the existence of a Full-fledged paramilitary program, but it was there, nonetheless, under the guise of training people for rescue patrols and jobs in the private sector. Fallon had no interest running courier for people, but he dreamed of piloting the fighters and “airboats”, aeronautical search and rescue platforms, for his nation, for the Federation.
But Fallon’s interests quickly ended planetside. He was one of the supporters of banning Ion Drives and Ion-drive equipped ship launches. He also condemned the use of Depleted Uranium cannons and Nuclear weapons in space, as anything used in space, it was sure to affect his planet. But even with strong sentiments, his group could not discourage space travel and development. Space fever grasped the countryside. Everybody was doing the “Spaceage” Dance. Anything commercial now had a space theme in it; and the colonizing of the nearby rock planet of Gillana 3 was heralded as the greatest achievements of their time. Space fever was in full force, and no political movement could stop it.
But he was soon put into a dilemma.
As Fallon progressed in the academy, word spread among recruiters in the Nation self-defenses forces and the commercial sector of his top score in the unbearable Gillana Gorge scenario, which had broken more than one cadet over time, and his aptitude in weapons control was deemed extraordinary. As the days approached to his graduation, a woman walked into his room, asking for Fallon Kronavesky.
Fallon answered the door. The woman described herself as Talon Cealto, an officer in the Federation Intelligence Service.
Fallon heard of the FIS, and wondered why they were named the “Intelligence service”. All they did was work as a planetary police service. Nothing like the ruthless former intelligence services of Nations long dead.
Fallon had an interest in history also, and he liked reading about past events such as the big food shortage and the Vertisan affair.
The FIS had come knocking once or twice before. Only to issue warnings about protesting responsibly, and not to disrupt daily life patterns anymore. They also broke up some of his protests that got out of hand, especially one fanatic began throwing homemade exothermic reaction devices; affectionately named Osomo Bombs.
The FIS officer began to speak. She began to speak in a hush-hush voice, telling Fallon of a secret project to launch a fully functioning interstellar vessel complete with a full set of Ion Engines and One Capital ship missile launcher, as they were called when they were used in space. They also began to talk about the launch date and the rate of construction, and that it would be finished in one month.
When Fallon asked her if she is telling this to him in order to scare him into silence about the protests, she said no, and said this simple sentence:
“The Federation wants you to pilot this vessel, following your graduation.”
Fallon became enraged by this offer, and politely asked the FIS officer to step out. The Officer stepped out apologizing about her remarks, but only asked him one favor:
“Please consider this offer. Our race’s survival depends on it.”
Then, she left into the elevator.
After calming down, he began to think about what she said, explicitly the Last sentence she said: “Our race’s survival depends on it.” What did she mean? What is so disturbing that the Federation wouldn’t tell its citizens? Why did they choose me?
Then, he decided to accept the offer, not to be a pundit, but to find out what’s going on.
As Fallon looked at the torrent weather from his dorm room on his homeworld, he could think nothing but this space race his race had entered into, only to realize that this space race is anything but a race.
[ May 23, 2002, 01:01: Message edited by: TerranC ]
Re: Recent history of Quadrant: Adamant 4
Hybrid Mode
