10-30-2005, 01:30 AM
Pointing toward the gleaming object, Piccolo need say nothing as Android 17's face lit up as he saw it. It was bright, too bright for him to keep his eyes open. Now, both fighters squinting, they made their way back into the room, this time however, the object looked almost spherical and it began to glow a duller orange. As both fighters grew closer and closer, the object continued to dull until finally 17's hand was firmly around it.
It was indeed a sphere, but what was it used for and more importantly, who left it here?
The Android looked over the glowing sphere in his hand, turning it over and over in his hand, it was completely foreign to him. Handing it over to his Namekian counterpart, the sphere started pulsating faster and faster. The dull orange became a sparkling fleet of yellow and red, then suddenly, the sphere lifted itself into the air, shooting out a hologram. It was some sort of recording.
Both Piccolo and Android 17 watched the recording with great interest, it seemed to be some sort of historical movie.
From an altitude of thirty thousand feet, it's hard to determine where the blue of the ocean meets the blue of the sky. Consequently, my sense of direction had diminished greatly since leaving the military base at Prime Alpha, more than twenty hours earlier. Not that I really cared which direction I was traveling, I knew the destination well enough, but the disorientation only added to the sick feeling in my gut. It seemed the longer we were in the air, the more pale and silent the nearly three hundred GI's on their way to the great Asteroid Prime Omega became, as if a common virus had infected us simultaneously. No doubt, their thoughts, the real source of that sick feeling, were the same as mine. Would I ever see my wife, my parents, my home again? Would I come back with both arms and legs, or in a wheelchair, or worse, in a box?
Even conversations with the stewardesses were infrequent and short as we neared our destination. Not like when we first departed. Everyone firing his best lines as if he was on his way to some tropical paradise, for the hottest date of his life. In several ways, I likened the trip to an all night date between the three of them and three hundred of us. Strange, how we had gotten to know each other so well, in so short a time. They learned quickly whom to avoid in the aisle, when not to bend over and to turn off the smile at the appropriate time. We just as quickly learned their tolerance levels for ribald conversation and pushed our fantasies just short of their limits, when one of them paused for a few moments to talk.
While most of us had to content ourselves by undressing them with our eyes, as they walked down the aisle, a couple of the men did manage to spend some time in the aft compartment. That was I suppose, the girl's sleeping quarters.
Most likely, any man on board would have given a month's pay to spend time in that compartment with any of the three, at the beginning of the trip. Now, the lack of interest indicated they were starting to look like "the morning after," to most of the men. Their infatuation with us had come to an end also. Wrinkled uniforms, unshaved faces and the prevalent odor of men who had not showered recently, had greatly reduced our collective sex appeal.
My thoughts turned to the memory of Annie, my wife, waving to me from the terminal window. I recalled how I just wanted to get on the plane and go when I left, somehow thinking that the sooner I started, the sooner it would be finished. I let my own anger, fears and frustrations cause me to be short with her, as if it were her fault I had to leave. I have to realize she is just as afraid for our future as I am and more, she is going to have our baby while I am gone. How I wished I could hold her and tell her how much I love her.
Raw emotions had been full time partners of mine since the day I received my greeting from the president, which effectively shattered my world. We had a mortgage, car payments and assorted other bills that I had no idea how we could pay on a soldier's salary. Why me? I thought. I had a good job as an estimator and project manager for a large mechanical contractor. Why not take those guys who are shown on television, burning draft cards and demonstrating on campus? They're a worthless lot anyway. They should be here and guys like me who are willing to work to accomplish something should be home. Who am I kidding? We probably would not have a planet if we had to depend on their kind.
I remembered thinking when drafted, I don't like it, but I'll do my duty and when it's over I can hold my head up and be proud of our flag and myself. When I get home, I thought, I'll kick a lung out of any SOB I catch burning or spitting on our flag. If I get home! What chance does a PFC in an infantry unit have? They told us in training that our chances of being killed in a car wreck at home were greater than the chances of being killed at Prime Omega. That may be, but cars do not shoot bullets or throw grenades, or even worse. It was like Magic. Big balls of some sort of "energy", but that's later, for now, I must continue this story so you can learn from our mistakes and maybe you can save your own planet too.
It's been five days since I recorded and already, my life is looking dim.
As we entered Prime Omega, the sky opened up with a monsoon rain. Even the heavens are against me, I thought, as I ran for the nearest building. At least no one could see the tears running down my cheeks in the rain. I really felt sick to my stomach. Hundreds of people, my friends, my family, had been extinguished by those horrid monsters.
The bullets from our M-16's did little against their rock hard skin. Every last pull of the trigger seemed to be all in vain. It seemed as if there was very little hope in our efforts, our grenades did very little if any, our nukes killed more of our own soldiers than theirs. Unfortunately it stayed that way for a while, until he arrived.
Private First Class Vegeta. He was a real class act, really weird too. He always wore an animal tail around his waste, why, no one ever got an answer, but all I know is that when that man arrived, the war started to turn to our side. Vegeta had entered into the 5th Sentry Infantry, mine, and he was the craziest SOB I?ve ever met. As we marched into war, he was always the first to pull the trigger and the last to leave the fight, it was almost as if he enjoyed the seemingly never-ending massacre. But that wasn?t the craziest part, no, there is more.
One day, and I?ll always remember this day, it was the day PFC Vegeta saved my life. It was warm, very unusual really, it had been so cold you could see your breath, but we?re moving away again. The evening rain was over, the clouds were dissipating as rapidly as they had formed and the sun was a bright orange ball in the western sky as it headed for duty on the other side of the asteroid. I knew I could not, but still I wished that I was going with it as I sat inside the musty smelling bunker, awaiting my turn on perimeter guard duty. At least, the sunset signaled the end of one more day in this, the armpit of the galaxy and meant I was one day closer to home.
Three men were assigned to each of the bunkers that protruded from the earthen wall that surrounded the base camp. Constructed of sandbags, each bunker was approximately eight feet square and contained two crude benches, also made from sandbags, which served as multi-purpose replacements for chairs, tables and beds. A series of stair-stepped sandbags led to the roof of the bunker, where the lookout man would sit behind a sandbag wall and watch the cleared area from the berm to the jungle, for signs of activity.
Each man would spend two hours on watch while the other two tried to sleep. However, the heat and humidity inside the bunker turned it into a reasonable facsimile of a sauna, making sleep impossible until well toward morning. Then, exhaustion wrought heavy eyelids and bodies too tired to care about surroundings, sought relief from the all-night vigil. This period of grogginess came during the last watch in the rotation and the man who drew it normally had a difficult time staying awake.
Since I had drawn the last watch, I had four hours to stew inside the bunker before my shift and I used the remaining minutes of daylight to read the graffiti that covered the inside walls. Among the most humorous was a drawing of a combat helmet directly on top of a pair of combat boots, with the caption, "Short." The proclamation, "If God had wanted men to be soldiers, He would have given them green baggy skin," caused me to burst out with laughter and the soldier sharing my temporary quarters jumped as if a bomb had exploded.
He was busily trying to finish a letter before the darkness encroached on us and I shrugged at him as if to apologize, before dropping down on the sandbag bench, to silently watch. I knew better than to bother a man while he was writing or reading his mail. Tempers are very short when a man is lost in thoughts of family and home and a bloody nose is often the reward for interruption.
My thoughts of home were interrupted by my Vegeta, who putting away his rifle, suddenly stood straight up, putting a finger over his mouth, signaling us all to stay quiet. Leaving the quarters, the mysterious soldier became even more mysterious. A loud yell from out side and suddenly, we were ambushed by a suicide bomber. As the asteroidite advanced, the crazed Vegeta began to glow! The man?s animal tail seemed to bolt right out and his hair spiked, turning golden yellow in the process. A big blast of yellow light erupted from the Privates palm and the suicide bomber disappeared, along with a long stretch of the ground where he had once stood.
Everyone in the camp came out to see what all the commotion was, but by then he was gone. Vegeta had placed two hands upon his head and disappeared, where to, no idea, all I know is that after that man vanished, hundreds of towns on the asteroid began to be destroyed mysteriously, I have a feeling I know who did this. Unfortunately for us, the mysterious destruction died out suddenly and once again, we were losing and once again, our bullets did nothing.
I saw Vegeta only one last time, he killed off our infantry within seconds, he used his ?magic? once again. Now, I?m the only one left. This hospital will be my shelter until I die, but alas, it?s as violent as ever even in this place. I?ve seen my friends, who were killed walking about this place. This room is the only room to be left untouched by that damned demon. I will remain here with hopes that someday, someone will release us from this devilish asteroid and hopefully, you, whomever is watching this, will be that person, for if you are not, God help us and God help you...
The sphere dropped from the air at the same time the hologram died, it?s brilliant colors once again dulling to its awkward orange. The Namekian looked at his android partner. His blood covered body still ached everywhere, and his knees were shaking. Reaching over, Piccolo grabbed onto Android 17 and laid him back down on the couch, in the opposite room. Smirking, 17 tried to get something out, but Piccolo put a finger over his lips. His huge Namekian ears had picked up on a sound coming from the hallway just outside of the door way. Floating across the floor, Piccolo closed the door quietly and dropped the shades.
The dull light from the sphere shown just bright enough for the Namekian/Android duo to see the silhouette of someone walking past the room. Piccolo?s scouter had no matching ki signatures, meaning, this wasn?t someone he knew. Cloaking his own energy with his cloaking device once again, watching the silhouette intently. It seemed to stop and look towards the window with the closed shade. Slamming it?s hand into the unbreakable glass, it starred inward for only a moment more, then it walked off once again, leaving the namekian and android slightly shaking.
Walking up to the window, Piccolo peered out seeing the shadow of the figure turning a nearby corner, disappearing into the depths of the hospital. Watching for a few more seconds, the jade warrior turned back towards the sphere, it?s orange glow seemed to mock the team endlessly, warning them of the dangers of the asteroid, but giving no real clue as to what needed to be done. Maybe there was a hidden message in the story, it there was, he was going to be the first to figure it out.
?Don?t worry about me, Pic.? Spoke 17 as he noticed a worried look on the Namekian. ?Just a little flesh wound.?
Piccolo smirked at his partners resilience. They would have to move soon, there was no telling how long they would be safe here. The thing plaguing Piccolo?s mind the most, however, was that hologram and that figure outside of the window. It almost seemed as if they were connected in someway, but for now, game on. He was in the middle of a television show, so the Namekian finally decided that if it was a show they wanted, it was a show they?d get.
OOC: Well, it was a movie from the asteroids past, about the war that hit here, or at least from one soldiers view point.
Post number 4
It was indeed a sphere, but what was it used for and more importantly, who left it here?
The Android looked over the glowing sphere in his hand, turning it over and over in his hand, it was completely foreign to him. Handing it over to his Namekian counterpart, the sphere started pulsating faster and faster. The dull orange became a sparkling fleet of yellow and red, then suddenly, the sphere lifted itself into the air, shooting out a hologram. It was some sort of recording.
Both Piccolo and Android 17 watched the recording with great interest, it seemed to be some sort of historical movie.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
From an altitude of thirty thousand feet, it's hard to determine where the blue of the ocean meets the blue of the sky. Consequently, my sense of direction had diminished greatly since leaving the military base at Prime Alpha, more than twenty hours earlier. Not that I really cared which direction I was traveling, I knew the destination well enough, but the disorientation only added to the sick feeling in my gut. It seemed the longer we were in the air, the more pale and silent the nearly three hundred GI's on their way to the great Asteroid Prime Omega became, as if a common virus had infected us simultaneously. No doubt, their thoughts, the real source of that sick feeling, were the same as mine. Would I ever see my wife, my parents, my home again? Would I come back with both arms and legs, or in a wheelchair, or worse, in a box?
Even conversations with the stewardesses were infrequent and short as we neared our destination. Not like when we first departed. Everyone firing his best lines as if he was on his way to some tropical paradise, for the hottest date of his life. In several ways, I likened the trip to an all night date between the three of them and three hundred of us. Strange, how we had gotten to know each other so well, in so short a time. They learned quickly whom to avoid in the aisle, when not to bend over and to turn off the smile at the appropriate time. We just as quickly learned their tolerance levels for ribald conversation and pushed our fantasies just short of their limits, when one of them paused for a few moments to talk.
While most of us had to content ourselves by undressing them with our eyes, as they walked down the aisle, a couple of the men did manage to spend some time in the aft compartment. That was I suppose, the girl's sleeping quarters.
Most likely, any man on board would have given a month's pay to spend time in that compartment with any of the three, at the beginning of the trip. Now, the lack of interest indicated they were starting to look like "the morning after," to most of the men. Their infatuation with us had come to an end also. Wrinkled uniforms, unshaved faces and the prevalent odor of men who had not showered recently, had greatly reduced our collective sex appeal.
My thoughts turned to the memory of Annie, my wife, waving to me from the terminal window. I recalled how I just wanted to get on the plane and go when I left, somehow thinking that the sooner I started, the sooner it would be finished. I let my own anger, fears and frustrations cause me to be short with her, as if it were her fault I had to leave. I have to realize she is just as afraid for our future as I am and more, she is going to have our baby while I am gone. How I wished I could hold her and tell her how much I love her.
Raw emotions had been full time partners of mine since the day I received my greeting from the president, which effectively shattered my world. We had a mortgage, car payments and assorted other bills that I had no idea how we could pay on a soldier's salary. Why me? I thought. I had a good job as an estimator and project manager for a large mechanical contractor. Why not take those guys who are shown on television, burning draft cards and demonstrating on campus? They're a worthless lot anyway. They should be here and guys like me who are willing to work to accomplish something should be home. Who am I kidding? We probably would not have a planet if we had to depend on their kind.
I remembered thinking when drafted, I don't like it, but I'll do my duty and when it's over I can hold my head up and be proud of our flag and myself. When I get home, I thought, I'll kick a lung out of any SOB I catch burning or spitting on our flag. If I get home! What chance does a PFC in an infantry unit have? They told us in training that our chances of being killed in a car wreck at home were greater than the chances of being killed at Prime Omega. That may be, but cars do not shoot bullets or throw grenades, or even worse. It was like Magic. Big balls of some sort of "energy", but that's later, for now, I must continue this story so you can learn from our mistakes and maybe you can save your own planet too.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It's been five days since I recorded and already, my life is looking dim.
As we entered Prime Omega, the sky opened up with a monsoon rain. Even the heavens are against me, I thought, as I ran for the nearest building. At least no one could see the tears running down my cheeks in the rain. I really felt sick to my stomach. Hundreds of people, my friends, my family, had been extinguished by those horrid monsters.
The bullets from our M-16's did little against their rock hard skin. Every last pull of the trigger seemed to be all in vain. It seemed as if there was very little hope in our efforts, our grenades did very little if any, our nukes killed more of our own soldiers than theirs. Unfortunately it stayed that way for a while, until he arrived.
Private First Class Vegeta. He was a real class act, really weird too. He always wore an animal tail around his waste, why, no one ever got an answer, but all I know is that when that man arrived, the war started to turn to our side. Vegeta had entered into the 5th Sentry Infantry, mine, and he was the craziest SOB I?ve ever met. As we marched into war, he was always the first to pull the trigger and the last to leave the fight, it was almost as if he enjoyed the seemingly never-ending massacre. But that wasn?t the craziest part, no, there is more.
One day, and I?ll always remember this day, it was the day PFC Vegeta saved my life. It was warm, very unusual really, it had been so cold you could see your breath, but we?re moving away again. The evening rain was over, the clouds were dissipating as rapidly as they had formed and the sun was a bright orange ball in the western sky as it headed for duty on the other side of the asteroid. I knew I could not, but still I wished that I was going with it as I sat inside the musty smelling bunker, awaiting my turn on perimeter guard duty. At least, the sunset signaled the end of one more day in this, the armpit of the galaxy and meant I was one day closer to home.
Three men were assigned to each of the bunkers that protruded from the earthen wall that surrounded the base camp. Constructed of sandbags, each bunker was approximately eight feet square and contained two crude benches, also made from sandbags, which served as multi-purpose replacements for chairs, tables and beds. A series of stair-stepped sandbags led to the roof of the bunker, where the lookout man would sit behind a sandbag wall and watch the cleared area from the berm to the jungle, for signs of activity.
Each man would spend two hours on watch while the other two tried to sleep. However, the heat and humidity inside the bunker turned it into a reasonable facsimile of a sauna, making sleep impossible until well toward morning. Then, exhaustion wrought heavy eyelids and bodies too tired to care about surroundings, sought relief from the all-night vigil. This period of grogginess came during the last watch in the rotation and the man who drew it normally had a difficult time staying awake.
Since I had drawn the last watch, I had four hours to stew inside the bunker before my shift and I used the remaining minutes of daylight to read the graffiti that covered the inside walls. Among the most humorous was a drawing of a combat helmet directly on top of a pair of combat boots, with the caption, "Short." The proclamation, "If God had wanted men to be soldiers, He would have given them green baggy skin," caused me to burst out with laughter and the soldier sharing my temporary quarters jumped as if a bomb had exploded.
He was busily trying to finish a letter before the darkness encroached on us and I shrugged at him as if to apologize, before dropping down on the sandbag bench, to silently watch. I knew better than to bother a man while he was writing or reading his mail. Tempers are very short when a man is lost in thoughts of family and home and a bloody nose is often the reward for interruption.
My thoughts of home were interrupted by my Vegeta, who putting away his rifle, suddenly stood straight up, putting a finger over his mouth, signaling us all to stay quiet. Leaving the quarters, the mysterious soldier became even more mysterious. A loud yell from out side and suddenly, we were ambushed by a suicide bomber. As the asteroidite advanced, the crazed Vegeta began to glow! The man?s animal tail seemed to bolt right out and his hair spiked, turning golden yellow in the process. A big blast of yellow light erupted from the Privates palm and the suicide bomber disappeared, along with a long stretch of the ground where he had once stood.
Everyone in the camp came out to see what all the commotion was, but by then he was gone. Vegeta had placed two hands upon his head and disappeared, where to, no idea, all I know is that after that man vanished, hundreds of towns on the asteroid began to be destroyed mysteriously, I have a feeling I know who did this. Unfortunately for us, the mysterious destruction died out suddenly and once again, we were losing and once again, our bullets did nothing.
I saw Vegeta only one last time, he killed off our infantry within seconds, he used his ?magic? once again. Now, I?m the only one left. This hospital will be my shelter until I die, but alas, it?s as violent as ever even in this place. I?ve seen my friends, who were killed walking about this place. This room is the only room to be left untouched by that damned demon. I will remain here with hopes that someday, someone will release us from this devilish asteroid and hopefully, you, whomever is watching this, will be that person, for if you are not, God help us and God help you...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The sphere dropped from the air at the same time the hologram died, it?s brilliant colors once again dulling to its awkward orange. The Namekian looked at his android partner. His blood covered body still ached everywhere, and his knees were shaking. Reaching over, Piccolo grabbed onto Android 17 and laid him back down on the couch, in the opposite room. Smirking, 17 tried to get something out, but Piccolo put a finger over his lips. His huge Namekian ears had picked up on a sound coming from the hallway just outside of the door way. Floating across the floor, Piccolo closed the door quietly and dropped the shades.
The dull light from the sphere shown just bright enough for the Namekian/Android duo to see the silhouette of someone walking past the room. Piccolo?s scouter had no matching ki signatures, meaning, this wasn?t someone he knew. Cloaking his own energy with his cloaking device once again, watching the silhouette intently. It seemed to stop and look towards the window with the closed shade. Slamming it?s hand into the unbreakable glass, it starred inward for only a moment more, then it walked off once again, leaving the namekian and android slightly shaking.
Walking up to the window, Piccolo peered out seeing the shadow of the figure turning a nearby corner, disappearing into the depths of the hospital. Watching for a few more seconds, the jade warrior turned back towards the sphere, it?s orange glow seemed to mock the team endlessly, warning them of the dangers of the asteroid, but giving no real clue as to what needed to be done. Maybe there was a hidden message in the story, it there was, he was going to be the first to figure it out.
?Don?t worry about me, Pic.? Spoke 17 as he noticed a worried look on the Namekian. ?Just a little flesh wound.?
Piccolo smirked at his partners resilience. They would have to move soon, there was no telling how long they would be safe here. The thing plaguing Piccolo?s mind the most, however, was that hologram and that figure outside of the window. It almost seemed as if they were connected in someway, but for now, game on. He was in the middle of a television show, so the Namekian finally decided that if it was a show they wanted, it was a show they?d get.
OOC: Well, it was a movie from the asteroids past, about the war that hit here, or at least from one soldiers view point.
Post number 4