EVula's Note: This "story" is actually a combination of two Chronicle submissions, "You're making a big mistake" and "The fun you can have as a Vell-os." Explination is provided in my reply.
"This will be an easy take", chuckled Pari Meklaor to the rest of his bridge crew. The Macabre was one of the most feared Manticores in known space. His one-hundred-twenty crew men were a scurvy lot, but they wouldn't desert him, he paid them too much, and they knew he would hunt them down and kill them and their family if they did.
His bridge crews were all talking happily between each other quietly, they were going to get another batch of salvage, and a larger paycheck this trip. "All shields forward, bring the Ion Cannon online, prime the fighter bays!" ordered Meklaor, his crew new the routine, they were passing on the orders and prepping for combat before their captain finished
rang a voice inside Pari's skull.
He looked around quickly, no one had heard it, no one had spoken too him, no one was looking at him. He looked forwards, out the Transplas screen, and remembered something he should not have forgotten: all Vell-os were teeps.
Engines full ordered Pari. Pari knew how to respond. Shut the f**k up he thought. Pari sat up straighter in his command chair and reset his game face as he felt the deck move under him.
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Allen stood in space, eyes closed, arms outstretched to either side. Around him was a complete, 360ş view of space, unimpeded by anything, and actually enhanced past his peripheral vision by his psychic. Though from inside one could not see it, he was standing, or more like floating, inside a creation of pure psychic will: a Vell-os Dart, a basic creation for one like himself, but his preferred model.
He sent one last message towards the Manticore, then opened his eyes and twisted into a ready combat stance. He could sense the pirates souls, and knew the where too confident about this fight.
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said that annoying voice in his head. No! I will crush you and your puny barrier! thought Meklaor with utter confidence, believing these threats to be hidden pleas for mercy. The voice was gone, good.
Marik, tell bay control to launch all fighters NOW. Bolinsk, get a firing solution for the
Ion cannon and blaster banks! commanded the pirate swiftly.
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Allen could sense the fighters dropping out of their docking nets and flashing out of the bays.
He sensed the Ion cannon charging up its coils.
He sensed the thoughts of the gunnery sergeant as he plotted solutions for the main weapons.
He sensed the ship drawing closer; 40,000 km; 30,000 km; 20,000 km; 15,000 km. his pulse quickened as adrenaline poured throughout his vascular system; 10,000 km; 8,000 km. optimum firing range for the Ion Cannon; the fighters, mostly vipers, were closing to: 6,000 km.
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Pari grinned with satisfaction, believing that his pray was paralyzed with fear. The grin left his as quickly as a star went nova.
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Allen kicked off a imaginary ground to the left and forwards, almost faster than the eye could see, off behind the first modified viper to reach 5,000 km distance. He quickly concentrated his thoughts into a beam of energy and slammed it forwards with his palms, straight into the engine of the craft, disabling it.
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Jesus Christ!! screamed the next pilot in line as the Dart flew right over his canopy, close enough for him to make out Allens figure inside. He pulled back hard on the control stick and attempted to whip around at his adversary, but his wings had already been clipped by two more beams of the same sort.
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Allen twisted to the side, performing an elegant climb and barrel roll out to between the vipers and their mother ship. He pulled out of it was about to perform one of his own special attacks, when his psychic barrier was struck hard by the Ion cannon, all he could do was accelerate upwards out of its reach because of the pain and psychic overload.
Once he left the beams path he recovered almost immediately and went into a looped dive that brought him down behind the ships bulk, out of the cannons arc. He sensed almost too late the heavy blaster turrets center on him and open fire, he was only barely able to avoid the majority of the bolts.
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Come on! Hes only a Dart! screamed Captain Pari Meklaor at his crew. the voice was back. No you wont! replied he replied, not as calmly as he had wished.
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Allen blasted two of the turrets away then quickly flew up the Manticores spine, over the Ion array, and down the curving nose to stop right in front of the Transplas window to the bridge.
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Meklaor nearly leapt up out of his seat as the Vell-os craft appeared directly in front of him, and barely twenty feet away. was the one voice every one of the one-hundred-twenty crewmen on board heard as a image of the Dart sitting in front of their bridge flashed through their minds.
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Allen, did an elegant twist and curl in the zero-gravity space of his dart then almost explosively he whipped out of his semi-curl and stretched himself out as far as he could in all directions.
A nearly invisible ripple of psychic energy exploded outward from the Vell-os ship, passing over and through the Manticore and Vipers in a mere second, knocking out every soul onboard.
Almost as an after thought Allen Bloodmore thought, I really hope there werent any Vell-os or telepaths onboard and with that he began the process of returning the vipers to their bays and tugging the famed Black Sky Manticore into hyperspace and off to the nearest federation facility, via his psychic abilities.
The fun one can have as a Vell-os
Sol, near Earth
sometime during the year 1177 NC
Static... then, "what do you want?" came the annoyed voice of a federation pilot over the channel.
"oh, not much... just to say hi... again" replied Mr. Bloodmore, captain and creater of the Vell-os Dart 'Night-Blade'.
"for the seventeenth time!" screamed the soldier, clearly angry.
"can i have some assistence?" asked the Vell-os pilot, halting any forthcoming expletives.
"NO!!!" shouted the Patrol Ships pilot in reply to Allen's request.
"fine then! you must suffer the consiquences..." and with that and a small grin, Allen Bloodmore cut the line and geared his ship into motion.
The patrolman continued his rounds around Earth and its moon, Luna, though he wasn't alone. The Night-Blade was flying circles around the federation ship, twisting around and doing a very good job at bugging the hell out of the federation pilot.
This story was inspired one time when i asked a patrol ship for assistence and it told me to 'bug off', or something to that affect... and i flu circles around himfor the next two minutes, before i got board and jump out of system.
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 09-06-2003).)
