|Soler, Book One: The Sacrifice
Author: Asenka.N.Chernyaeva PM
My name is Soler Halifax, and I am the person most wanted by the Grand Navy of my home planet, Ibiri Tertius. How did it happen, you ask? I was a soldier once, a pebble on the military shore... and sometimes pebbles are carried away. Slash sideplot.Rated: Fiction M - English - Sci-Fi/Tragedy - Chapters: 3 - Words: 3,307 - Reviews: 11 - Favs: 3 - Updated: 04-06-07 - Published: 02-12-07 - id: 2319068
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: Hey! Wow, I'm so glad you're taking a look at this. Soler was my NaNoWriMo contestant piece, and though I was only able to write 15,000 words out of the required 50,000 before college and band took over my life, I got some good ideas out of it. These 15,000 words were written very, very hastily (in the spirit of NaNoWriMo), and so I might write myself into a corner. As it is, I would like to post a few of the chapters to see where it goes and if anyone reads it. The chapters are short. Sorry. Right. On to the show. Please leave this starving writer a review!!
This story is rated M for: Character death, swearing, mass murder, lots of angst, war, drugs, sex, big words, bad writing, and strange plot twists. You've been warned.
Book 1: The Sacrifice
Prologue: The Heavy Tide
Silence lay like a cold compress over the bridge of the Azura Mazeppa, flagship of the Ibiri Tertius Grand Navy, currently hanging in space like a spectre against the cold backdrop of space. The bridge of the Azura Mazeppa was ill-lit; controls glistened under a thin layer of condensation brought on by the malfunction heating panels above them. Red and green lights blinked on and off incessantly, on a ceaseless pattern. Off, on, green, red, dit, dit, dot, dit. The gold and blue sphere of Ibiri Tertius drifted sickeningly in an upward arc past the bridge windows as the ship rotated gently and silently to its left. A soft gray cloud broke the silence as Yick Omree exhaled.
How did it come to this? Four Standard Years ago he had been gracefully bowing out of his station as a Chief Advisor to the Board of Governors of the Ibiri Tertius Grand Navy; bent on retirement and a quiet life on the colorless lakes of his home planet. It was a far cry from his current station. He couldn't say exactly which events were culprit, but he knew it had started with one man; nay, a boy. A boy formerly under his care, devoted to his cause and his Navy, an upstanding and brilliant soldier; framed. Though there was more at work than simply the unraveling mind of a former student and soldier, Yick knew that that had been where it had all started. Soler.
A sudden pitter-patter and a far off whine brought Yick back out of his reflection. He turned to the window and clasped his large hands behind his back as an unmarked single-engine fighter shot past his window and around again in a fierce trajectory; the pilot filled with intention. A blue blaze erupted from the single cannon mounted below the cabin of the fighter, and the Mazeppa's shields thrum-thrum-thrummed as they absorbed the hit. The fighter made a dismissive swoop and came around again. Yick followed it with narrowed eyes. It's one of his.
The fighter shot towards Yick's station on the bridge, the most vulnerable part of the ship. The gray haired man stepped to his left and allowed his fingers to dance across the control board now in front of him. A deceptively gentle hum sounded from below his feet, and the deck throbbed with the sound. Yick felt the vibration in his teeth. The pitch of the hum increased twofold and ceased as abruptly as it had begun. Blue eyes stared the approaching fighter down patiently. The markings on the small ship became apparent, and Yick's suspicions were confirmed. A red sun adorned the blackened hull; the pilot was a Mihrutt. Yick's fingers clenched around his controls spasmodically and as a force of habit. His eyes returned to the cannon meter. Go!
As if responding to the mental command, a loud bang erupted from the same place below deck. Yick held grimly to the console as the Mazeppa lurched with the impact. Too late, the Mihrutt fighter pilot realized what the sound meant. He was close enough to the bridge for Yick to see the gleeful, saw-toothed grin transform into a bulging mask of terror. The Mazeppa's twenty-third cannon hit its mark perfectly. Yellow and red bloomed across the backdrop of space, and Yick shielded his eyes as the remaining metal shards of the fighter caught the reflection of the explosive flames. Lacking oxygen, the flames died out as suddenly as they had come. Yick let go of the console and stepped up to the windows of the bridge again. A far-off movement caught his eye, and he craned his head to the left. Just past the starboard wing, four metal shapes glimmered. As he watched, they grew bigger. Faster. More ships. Yick reached for his communicom, grimacing.
It begins. Again.