Baronhawk's Nest

Ten hours to go before launch time and as always I am feeling my usual pre-op jitters. But this time it is not about nerves or worry over the trivial. This time it is bigger then most, bigger than the usual mere missions of UN peace keeping operations.

To keep myself together, I try to busy myself with the details, technical pre-op briefs and seeing to the men and women under my command. Fussing over the equipment and armaments, the logistics tail of an interstellar military operation.

I even donned mechanic's overalls and tinkered with my 'Henny'. My AMP II Heinlein Class Titan-suit. Nice to have some physical exercise before the long sleep for the journey ahead.

My 'Henny' is already stowed within the massive double hulls of the interstellar assault carrier UNSV Hera. Joining other Titans of the United Nations Armed Forces (UNAF) 33rd Mobile Armor Battalion which forms the teeth and vanguard of the Pandora Expeditionary Force (PEF)

The newest and deadliest design of the Amplified Mobility Platform (AMP) technology, the Titan was specifically designed for hazardous duty in the unforgiving environs of that far off Alpha Centauri moon.

Bigger, badder and more heavily armed and armored than any military grade AMPs ever. It is the deadliest weapon in the United Nation's(UN) arsenal.

A personification of the Mobile Infantry powered armour, envisioned by Robert A Heinlein for his 'Starship Troopers', earning it the nickname of 'Henny', short for Heinlein's Titan.

There are scarcely a hundred of these deadly robotic behemoths, their construction nearly depleting Earth's remaining Unobtanium supply. Or at the very least, pushing it to near critical levels.

But the need is great and what is at stake is nothing short of the very survival of our species. Humanity itself is at stake. That is why the UN commissioned the PEF.

Our mission, is to retake Pandora.

Pandora...

The moon of legend, the heart to humanity's survival and the birthplace for Earth's struggling recovery effort. The only source in the known universe of the miracle ore, Unobtanium.

Once...

Now it is a hotbed of rebellion. Seat to an uprising by feral natives and a collection of traitor humans. Humans who have forgotten their place and betrayed our species. Those who have 'gone native' and took up arms against humanity's cradle.

It once took six years to travel to Pandora, but we shall get there faster. A new development in Quad-Dimensional Physics have seen the creation of Humanity's first hyper-dimensional drive. Engines that use streams of quasi-dimensional antimatter particles to accelerate to nearly triple the speed of old interstellar engines.

Instead of six, we will get to Pandora in one and a half years... or less. What a shock we shall be to the rebels!

But even one year doesn't seem fast enough. Earth and humanity may only last a decade at most, without new supplies of Unobtanium from Pandora.

The gigantic orbital ark-freighters which houses Earth's surviving forests and the Noah Class zoological ships keeping safe every species of fauna we have managed to save will cease to function.

The massive atmosphere re-claimers will shutdown and Earth's healing process will stop. No more ice shipped from off world to refill once blue oceans. No more explorations of other planets to find new homes for humanity as Earth is allowed to heal.

All for want of Unobtanium... and the selfish wants of feral natives and the ungrateful humans who aids them.

It would usually also take six years for news from Pandora to reach Earth as well, whenever one of RDA's massive commercial vessels make port. But the news of the rebellion in Pandora arrived about two years ago.

Desperate to convey the news of the uprising, the loyal survivors of RDA's mining operations on that far off moon, sacrificed the fuel in their ship's fuel cells and used it to transmit a massive burst of coded sub-space signal to Earth informing of the events on Pandora.

That selfless action was done under emergency executive order by RDA Administrator Parker Selfridge, whilst the ISV Venture Star was en-route to Earth after being evicted from Pandora by the insurgents.

Needless to say the interstellar ship did not survive the ordeal, it's fuel depleted, the ship, it's crew and passengers float lifeless in space. Such sacrifice by humanity's heroes... they will never be forgotten.

Neither would we forget those who betrayed the human race. We... the tooth and claws of the PEF are the just and righteous wrath that shall avenge that betrayal.

It took two years to fast track the Titans and to organize the PEF. But now we are ready. A full third of the expeditionary force will be shuttled to Pandora within the cavernous interior of the UNSV Hera.

Four smaller Pegasus assault landing crafts are piggy backed to the Hera. The largest and most heavily armed combat transport designed for planetfall operations. These will be the workhorse of the PEF. While the Hera maintains orbital beach head and provide fire support and coordination.

The UN Space Vessel (UNSV) Hera is the first in a new class of interstellar assault carriers. The latest in planetary assault technology and equipped with the necessary tools to retake the mining colony or deny Pandora to our enemies.

Bristling with weapon mounts for guns and cannons as well as armament pods for torpedoes, rockets and missiles, the Hera is capable of space to space as well as orbit to surface action.

Not to mention a full third of the PEF complement comprising of aerospace fighters, combat transports, gunships, Dragon II combat command crafts, assorted combat vehicles, ground pounding infantry in tactical armour and not to forget, the 'Hennys'.

In the coming years, sister ships to the Hera, the UNSV Mulan and UNSV Morrigu shall join Hera in the fleet that Earth is sending to reclaim humanity's chance at survival, along with more reinforcements for the PEF.

We will take Pandora back or die trying...

We must do what we must. Unlike those traitors... scientists who have lost their objectivity and went head over heels for the natives. A paraplegic ex-Marine who reveled in his avatar's new found mobility. Avatar drivers who now see through Pandoran eyes, forgetting the roots of their humanity.

They remember not an Earth that lie dying, nor the Great Recovery effort that Unobtanium is fueling.

We shall make them remember and and make them pay!

If all else fail... the Hera or one of it's sister ships will release the ultimate weapon. The experimental Quad-Dimension Physics orbital launched 'BlackHole' bomb. With the power to punch a hole in reality itself, imploding it, to create a blackhole that will destroy Pandora.

If humanity is to be denied Unobtanium and hence it's survival... than so shall Pandora and it's insurgents be denied existence.

"Enough of this musings. I have things to do before I sleep, and millions of miles to go after... the cryo-chamber awaits."

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?

The answer? Something wonderful. At least that is what I thought it is. As I lose myself fully into the embrace of her arms. Dancing away to the passable music of the dance hall band. It is awkward at best, as my stiff arms and two left feet struggle to keep time with her languorous, seductive and sinewy dancing.

All the while her eyes sought for and engages mine with that reassuring gaze of hers. As my nervous eyes does all it can to look away and look for an excuse to run.

The music thick as the finest malt liquor, drowning me in its beats, caressing me with its melody and intoxicating me within its high. All throughout, I am conscious of her unbelievably delicious hands upon me, her body warm and sensual casually leaning into and against mine as she gyrates gracefully in exquisite dance while I try to clumsily keep time.

It was a stupid move perhaps, bordering on the insane. But considering the circumstance we are in, maybe we tire of the game of which we are unwilling participants in. Inducted since infancy into the opposing sides, myself of the Sanguine Stoics and her to the Clan of Dance.

We are both paragons of our orders. I am the most dedicated of the Steadfast Stoic and she the most unrestrained Sister of The Dance. And yet we find solace in each other, the implacable stoic and the narcissistic queen of dance.

An unmovable object that meets an unstoppable force.

As is only natural orders finally come down from our separate leadership that we both contend with one another so as to prove the true legacy of our race. Both clans asserting its right of philosophical ascendancy.

A fight to the death.

We have contested many times since the orders were cut. Most times resulting in the death of many. Members of my coterie and her entourage. Cut down in countless battles from which we both came out unscathed. For we are evenly matched.

But throughout our battles, a strange relationship blossomed, and in many cases we would meet upon the roof tops of Idea City, firstly to duel privately, so as not to lose lives unnecessarily. Later on to talk and as it turns out to somehow fall into each others' company.

I know not what to call it, love, camaraderie, friendship. But it is something real that grew from our many opposites.

There were ancient rumours of this, of a third option open to our race, not to follow one extreme or the next, but to meet somewhere in between. Something, or perhaps some place, that she and I have found between ourselves.

But this is no longer our choice. Those of us dedicated to the order and made for a life of service. The ever suspicious elders on both sides found out of our dalliance and so here we are today, ordered to a final and fatal confrontation. Under threat of excommunication, we agreed to meet one last time in the Dance Hall that we so often observed from our hiatus on the rooftops.

I remember how she would dance a little ditty as the music drifts to our lofty hideout and explain to me how music and dance is the core of he soul, while I struggle to show her why silence and tranquility is mine.

We made a pact, that someday before the end, we would teach each other of what the other meant. She would take me to a dance hall for a dance lesson while I would attempt to educate her about steadfastness and stoicism.

So here we are dancing to the music of the dance hall band as we stand at the cusps of the final day on earth for one of us. My coterie and her entourage scattered around the dance hall in nervous knots of hardened philosophy war veterans struggling to fit in with the partying crowd of lessers.

Here we are for my 'dance lesson.'

I find myself unable to assemble any logic from this. I find myself overwhelmed by something which I have no experience with. She said its okay, she calls it feelings. I am unsure, how can something feel so good and so painful all at once.

Doubting myself once more I wonder if the Stoic Elders are right. Maybe there is great evil in this.

But all it took is just one look from her dreamy eyes and a slight squeeze of her fingers on my shoulder and waist to reassure me of the reality that is before me. This is not something that I would want see undone.

A buoyant feel seem to fill my senses. A happy warmth that floods my being. I am probably the happiest and most contented that I have ever been. Right there encircled in the arms of the dancing queen.

But life is not always fair, and bound by contradictions. I must now teach her of steadfastness and stoicism. A lesson which she may not like at all, but the only way I can ensure that she and the child within her, my child, survives our forced meeting.

She looks at me quizzically as thoughts pass through my mind and distracted me for a while from the beauty of her eyes. I smile at her and steeling myself, place my lips in a kiss upon her forehead. Then my lips pause by her ear as I tightened my embrace of her and whisper into her ear, "Be well my love, for the end comes soon and your lesson in steadfastness and stoicism with it."

"When, my love?" "My love... I like the sound of that..." she quips caressing the word 'love' exquisitely with her pronunciation of it.

I close my eyes and sigh aloud, trying to keep my newly acquired emotions in check. "Soon my love... soon. After the music ends."

Then, I force myself out of her delicious embrace and stand before her waiting for the music to die down.

No sooner when the music ended that we finally realize that we now have to take our proper places in the scheme of things, not to dance in each others' arms but to fight across the divisions of our clans... that immutable line equivocally drawn between the un-living and those who pursued living to the fullest. My Katana slid out of its scabbard as her twin stilettos emerged from their sheaths.

The tell tale screeching hiss of cruel metal blades resounding throughout the dance hall as my faithful coterie and her loyal entourage did the same. Blades akimbo, we threw ourselves into that deadly dance of death, as musicians and patrons of the club ran pell mell into the dark of night, trying to get away from the quickening onslaught.

We are too evenly matched, so much so that I know neither one of us will prevail against the other in a straight fight. But if none prevails, we both risk death at the hands of the inquisitors of both our orders.

That cannot be... not for my queen of the dance.

Thus I wait until she is caught up in the throes of her death dance, her whirling twin stilettos surging through the air towards my body in lightning fast stabs.

Judging that the moment was right, I deliberately let down my Katana and ignore my guard, surrendering my chest to her stilettos. I can feel the puncture wounds begin and their organ shredding rush as the motorized blades shreds into my exposed and unarmoured chest. I deliberately did not wear my chain mail undershirt for just this moment.

Time seem to stop as a blinding pain courses throughout my body. I feel myself crumple towards the floor and saw the anguish on my dancing queen's face. Everything became a blur compressed into that single moment. I can feel my lifeblood seeping out of my gutted chest, but strangely I no longer feel any pain. Just a cold numbness that slowly spreads all over my body.

I find myself cradled upon my dancing queen's lap. I look up into her eyes and smile at my love. She smile back at me, despite the tears flowing from her eyes and the sobs that threaten to overwhelm her.

"It's the only way my love. And my lesson to you. Be steadfast my love... be stoic", I manage to gurgle out to her in between my gasping intake of breath. "Go to our roof top hideout, there is a package there. Travel papers for you and some cash. Flee to the hinterlands, stay safe.... keep our child safe..."

Afterward there was another blinding flash of pain and then... darkness.

Thus end my lesson for my beloved and my time upon this earth with her.

...
...
...

Or so I thought... but that is another story.

As I type these words, I know that they will probably be my last. The only worthwhile and hopefully lasting legacy, that I have to leave behind.

I have never thought much about it, first as a Corporate Mercenary in the Resource Wars and later on as a Hunter. Death seems to lurk behind every corner. I have thought that for me is a soldier's short life and the inevitable sudden violent end.

It is ironic, that my desperate and accidental stint with the resistance did actually woke within me this need and want for life. This huge capacity for love and an unbridled yearning to savour all that this world have to offer

It is as if I have never been truly alive before.

Never before...

Not before that long cold night in the Bavarian cemetery and subsequent return trip aboard the hovercopter to the Hunter Stronghold in Geneva. When I had my long and fateful talk with the Vampire Ancient Maximilian Tchaikovsy.

Good old Max.

Damn him and his suave words. I never did find out why he did what he did and why he chose me. All Max would tell me is that he saw something in me.

Cryptic to the last, his only comment was that he had a foretelling. That I was the one. The mortal that shall tip the scales of balance. Or was it back into balance? One can never be sure of a Vampire's words. And Max being Max, he was always slightly more obtuse than most, even amongst the Ancients.

Though I have grown fond of old Max, accustomed to his friendship and our long rambling talks.

I am going to miss him.

He came to visit me yesterday. Appearing suddenly out of the fog of night, as is the way of his kind, as I was manning my turn at watch on the ramparts above the bunker.

It was he that told me of the approaching enemy that wil soon extinguish me from this existance. He offered me a way out. Sly as always, he baited me with the fact that death will find me even if I somehow escaped this final trap. He offered me a place in his coterie, everlasting life and escape from my inevitable fate.

Unlife as one of the arisen.

I declined.

I would not want to lie now that the end is near. Yes, I am afraid of what may come, more than a little terrified actually. To pay this price that all living beings must finally succumb. But a distant part of me is intrigued to see what comes next after the end.

Though as the knowledge of my soon to be demise quickens within me, I feel strangely at peace with myself. I have seen much these last few years. Miracles and horrors that defy description. I have done and experienced things that most humans can scarcely even dream of.

I have lived and experienced life. More in these short months than ever before.

Yes I am afraid, but I am also quite content.

So I declined Max and his kind offer.

He told me to reconsider, for Sharna's sake at least, he pleaded.

It was then that I told him the heartbreaking news, that Sharna had already passed beyond the veil the day before. Her blessed life taken by a sniper's bullet as she led the last of the resistance's scouts in an effort to screen our retreat into the coms bunker.

Ironically my beloved was slain by another Sister of Skirmish, one of her own. The fatal bullet fired by one of the recruits that she herself trained when she still fought for Hunter Corp. When she was their best and most heartless assassin.

I know, for it is I who killed her assassin. Arriving in the hovercopter to rescue her and her team only to find their killers in the midst of finishing off the mortally wounded scouts and my Sharna dying.

When I first saw her, she was an assassin sent to kill me, now she lies cold and lifeless, in the medlab, her life given to protect my own. That is perhaps the greater irony.

Though come to think of it, the heavy assault Hunter Squads that will be coming to attack the coms bunker I am in and execute the kill order that is upon my head, will probably be the ones that I trained when I was a Hunter. They always send the best.

Always...

But regardless of who killed my Sharna and is going to kill me, at least she did not die alone, she died in my arms, the arms of her newly wedded husband. We decided to be wedded in the last few moments before the retreat. Dragging Ustaz Rahman out of his tent in the dead of night to sanctify our marital union.

Sealing our matrimony with the strangely unhurried lovemaking that was surprisingly tender and gentle, despite the pre-battle frenzy and our pent-up and close held desire we had for each other for so long.

Husband and wife for scarcely a day and a half. But I guess, in our case, it was a life time.

It was enough.

Though, the memory of her pretty face, sweet smile, soft smooth skin and sultry voice still threatens to unman me with tears every time I am reminded of my darling Sharna.

If he felt anything at all, Max never revealed them to me. But was he perhaps taken aback? Sharna was the only offspring of his great-great-great-great-great grand daughter, from the time before he was turned.

The only progeny he had that were the legacy of his loins than were his fangs.

Vampires are sterile, procreation to them is only through infecting other living beings and embracing them into their fold.

Max took it all in stride, philosophical as always. He said that it is sad that all that is best, good and noble of humanity are the ones that will suffer and perish, while the wicked and the evil ones thrive and survive.

Though maybe he was numbed and devastated by Sharna's passing. Even Vampires Ancients are not immune to emotions. Did I detect a slight tremor in his normally cool and frustratingly dry voice?

Whatever it was, it is something that I will never find out.

We bade our farewells, old Max and me. Punctuating our comradeship with one last long discussion about life and death. And everything else in between those two pivotal moments of a human's lifespan.

In a way, I think he envied me my coming respite, for he is doomed to carry on without the opportunity of that final rest nor the ability to truly savour life upon this sun swept world.

Max left slightly before dawn, vowing to avenge Sharna's death and my upcoming demise.

But now I too must bid my final farewell and end this missive. For I hear the crack of the big artillery guns from afar and the ever closing explosive thumps of the plasma artillery shells as they pound upon the bunker's shields.

It will not be long now before the shield falls and the hunters move in for the final kill.

Not long now...

Attached with this final missive is a data matrix that I and the members of the resistance have fought hard to compile these last few months. In the matrix is all the proof of the conspiracy between WorldGov and Hunter Corp to mislead and make use of the public for their own ends.

Including the statements of reliability and cover-up orders that followed this outrage against humanity.

First and foremost of which is the sealed report on the "Standard Normal Deviation" which has so doomed a percentage of the population of the end users of para-products to their dismal fates.

I am now activatng this data burst transmission to all WorldComs stations. As this bunker is part of the backbone WorldComs grid, this transmission will reach throughout the world and hopefully to all receiving stations.

I... we have done our part, now it is up to you. Brothers and sisters of the armed forces, it is time for you to turn your guns upon Hunter Corp and the corrupt WorldGov. It is they who are the real enemy of humanity.

And to the general populace, now is the time for truth, now is the time for you to know the real story. Raise your voices, raise your hands and correct this wrong that has been done upon you.

I leave you now to better times than mine was. I guess all that is left now is to pick up my rifle and join what's left of the resistance in our final stand. To buy time for this transmission to reach out to all of you.

Farewell... and good luck.

It was difficult but necessary. One of those decisions that many of us watchers ask ourselves about but try not to think of. I sat on my seat in front of the control panel and watched through the main view screen as the entire colony burned to ground.

For good measure, I flicked my finger upon the controls to send down another rain of incendiary bombs to wipe clean any trace of the colony, making sure that everything is reduced to cinders.

10,000 lives lost. Another failed experiment. They never listen to reason. Don't they understand. I am only trying to make a better life for them out here. I only want to save them from themselves.

They never listen. Rules are rules for a reason.

Well, its back to the drawing board.

I am not going to have a substandard colony on my hands. Any colony I set up must be perfect. Perfect... or it should never be at all.

I signaled the colony ship to thaw out another 10,000 colonists and send down another batch of factory bots to construct a new colony on Eden.

Tomorrow I shall begin again. hmm... I might have to signal earth for another colony ship with a fresh shipment of bots and colonist. They don't seem to make 'em like they used to. The bots beak easily and the colonists are getting more useless by the batch.

The job of a colony overseer is never easy. But it is our duty to ensure that everything is perfect, and it is all done right. Everyone wants a good colony, but nobody wants to do the work. Except us watchers.

Some balk at the cybernetic enhancements that watchers go trough to ensure that they can survive the rigours of interstellar travel without being transported in the cryo capsules. The necessary modifications to allow a watcher to survive the long periods needed to seed and colonize a world. Indeed with the enhancements, a watcher is almost immortal.

Some say that the person inside the shell of a watcher is no longer human, devoid of feelings, devoid of... soul. But then, that is the purpose of a watcher. To keep the eternal watch. To seed the cold stars with the warmness of life and seed the human genome to the dust of stars themselves.

It is a hard job, a noble duty. One that I am sworn to upkeep. Whatever the cause, whatever the price. No matter how many colonists and bots it would take, the costs are immaterial. I WILL have a string of perfect colonies in the Beta Irridani cluster before next comet fall!

It was a hastily arrived at decision, one made over a particularly bad weekend. One that followed a rather particularly stress filled week. But looking back at the events of the last month or so, I somehow feel that this was one of those things that was probably meant to be.

Well... it has to be.

For I am now seated at the back of a bus with about a dozen or so others, as the dilapidated vehicle makes its way to the MERCY Malaysia aid station on the Egyptian border with Palestine.

I had quit my job with the fledgling online current affairs portal and liquidated all my assets, the few that there were, settled the debts that I can, made my peace with my family, bade farewell to the few friends that I still have and put in my application to volunteer with several aid organizations with operations in and around terror stricken Palestine.

As it turned out MERCY Malaysia and several other allied aid organization were in need of someone to man their IT operations on site. They needed somebody to maintain a website for their operations near the Palestine border as well as clock in regular updates and reports. Quite my bailiwick of course.

On the flip side I am also to assist in their logistical operations as I need to help out with their scheduling, shipment and actually help to move supplies in and out of their main depot. Another area my checkered employment background has provided me with the necessary skills and experience with.

Or maybe they were short of volunteers. Regardless I got into their volunteer rolls and here I am.

It is a beautiful vista. One that stretches far and wide. Across what remains of existence. The boundary fields that separates what is still left of what earth was and the wasteland that is the outside. The empty acres that lie beyond the grey hued yonder.

It is a greenish blue sea of verdant grasses from which dreams and tales comes and beckons. It is a sight that calls for many but only answers to some.

I am one of those chosen, one of those born into service. I am a Keeper. One who watches and waits. Whose cluttered mind and weighty hand lie ever so slightly upon the thermonuclear trigger.

You see, the frontier is not a safe place. It hides dangers and signs. Way beyond norms and dictates. Where the rules and reality may not matter as much as belief and faith.

It is a quirky paradox of fate and the greatest joke ever played that ones who understood less about life are those destined to be the keepers and guardians of what life is.

It is a difficult existence, that I must admit. But to be the bulwarks that we are requires great sacrifices. It is just another one of many,an echo of how the needs of the many outweighs that of the one an only.

But I am just a man. The boundary knows that and it tries hard to work its way into my defenses. But this is where sometimes I understand the logic and knowledge that goes behind the appointment of Keepers.

We are watchers and observers. Those who know everything but does nothing. And in this way the elders seeks to defuse the boundary. You cannot tempt those who are afraid of that which is their purpose and calling.

For the gift of the boundary is one of dreams and possibilities. Its gift is life itself. Keepers as a rule, myself included. Are afraid of life. Such that we hide from it and may even destroy ourselves and everything and everyone around us, at the very hint of life approaching.

But the one assigned to me from the other side seems not to have it in her to give up. The guerrilla that tries to find a breach in the wall that falls under my watch and charge. The one that is trying to bring the taint of life into the sanctity of the last fortress on earth.

She sang to me again last night, the angel with the long green tresses. Who beckons from beyond the distance just outside of range for my sensor array to deliberate. She sings of many things all beyond the range of my AI Matrices to translate.

"Hope" is her name. A veteran of many battles. A slayer of many keepers. But I swear to remain ever steadfast. I shall soon drench my sector under a hail of nuclear warheads than betray my duty and calling.

I am a KEEPER and I shall remain steadfast. As long as I remain, the boundary shall remain sealed. I would rather die than be alive and tainted with 'life'.

"We need more guns!" thunders Captain George's hoary voice as his hands move about in their usual, wild manner punctuating his point. His unlit pipe resting precariously in his gesticulating right hand. In his left, a faded red soft velvet apothecary's cap threatens to fly off in all directions. Both remnants from his Shakepearan Theatre days.

"Not to mention ammo!" he adds, his tone and gestures settling down, taking a more sombre hue as if to reflect his resignation with their present conundrum, he silently looks at each member of the crew in the eye, one by one.

"Hmmmm...." Hazlan the security Chief scratches the stubble that marks his tree day old growth of beard and looks at First Mate Mooza. "I thought I ordered more ammo and guns in our last supply stop at Port Seksans?"

First mate Mooza wiggled her generous nose and sighed. "Look! I forwarded those requests to the quartermaster, its not my fault that she decided that a consignment of sea monkeys is more important than guns and ammo."

All eyes turns to scrutinize Quartermaster Kathleen as she begins to uncomfortably shuffle her feet upon the floorboards of the wardroom and wiggle her bottom in the suddenly hot seat that she is in.

Ship's Physician, Doc Reza folds his massive arms across his barrel chest and fixed a fierce stare upon Kathleen's lowered forehead. "Hmmpppppp....seamonkey?" he enquires.

"Yes! Sea monkeys!" Chimed in Sheena their normally soft spoken and usually imperturbable Chief Engineer. Throwing her hands in the air and shaking her head emphatically.

"What now?" asks Evanna, their sexy and voluptous Ship's Navigator as she turns he body slightly to one side and throws both the question and her head to another.

Thee was silence as each member of the crew withdraws into their personal selves trying to find a way out of their present conundrum.

"What are your instructions...Captain..."

Part I : The Mission

And then the roar of the choppers lifting off obscured the rest. That was the last Chong or anyone else saw of them and everyone with them.