A story I'm writing.

[Ulric Jorgensson]

Hey all, I've been working on the Grim backstory more, and it kind of blossomed into it's own story.

Take a look and tell me what you think, please!!

Prologue

The space station bar was as dark and dank as ever, coolant valves occasionally loosing pressurization and expelling gas, the lights fluttering off and on. It was the old man that sat at the bar that interested the young woman who walked in. She walked to him with purpose, ignoring the cat calls and whistles the ruffians that usually populated the bar gave her.

She looked at the old man, his age clearly shown on his face in the wrinkles in his cheeks and the dead, lightless sheen in his one good eye, the other having been replaced with a glowing blue cybernetic one years earlier and suffering from all manner of corrosions. The woman thunked a metal bar down beside the old man. The Bar went deathly silent, the bar was made of platinum, and looked to weigh easily 5 pounds.

"I want that info old man. I want to know about that ship" she said to him in a low tone. The old man sighed slowly, shifting in his seat and looking to her with a worn expression, the face only a man who has seen and lived through the worst experiences can give.

"You and everybody else. Why? Why do you want to find that accursed thing?" He asked, his voice husky, thick from age. He sounded tired. The Woman looked at him.

"Why should it matter why I want the info? All I want to know is where you found that ship!" she said heatedly, her voice low, but menacing in the same moment.

"I'll not give you, or anyone else, the location of that deathtrap. You wouldn't survive for five minuets anyways." the old man laughs, looking at her with his glowing blue eye, as he grabs her by the scruff of her shirt, bringing her close enough to smell his fetid breath and see the yellowed flesh of his one good eye. "You see this, little missy? You see my eye. Their the ones that took it. And their the ones who'll take more then just an eye from you. The like us, little missy, oh, they like us alright, for dinner. They'd fillet you like a fish and leave your bones to float in space for the rest of whatever. Take your money and get out of my sight, what's left of it" The old man lets her go, chuckling to himself.

"Get out of here before this pack of wild dogs takes what they want from you and leaves you for dead"the old man says, grinning, leering at her, that one good eye glowing harshly in the dim light of the dingy bar. He tosses the bar at her, his lip curling.

"Get out of here before you stir a memory to painful for even this swill to drive away" he says softly. The woman looks at him, sadness and anger mixed upon her pretty face. "I guess they were right. Too old and too used up, to consumed by the drink to even think about going for once last mission. One last chance at glory" she says, hope sparkling in her blue eyes like diamonds.

"Glory? All glory gets you is nightmares. Get the fuck out of my bar little missy, the natives are getting restless. And they won't stay quiet for long" The old man pulls a pistol quickly, so fast that even the young woman could barely track his movements, firing a green ray of energy at a man that was about the accost the young woman from behind.

"That be no way to treat a woman Gregory, I'd advise you to not try it again" the old man says darkly. The old man looks to the woman and smiles, his stained teeth showing through his crooked smile.

"Last chance little missy. Get out of here, I may not be fast enough next time. Forget about that ship. Forget about the bounty placed on it by the government. Most of all, goddamned well forget you ever saw me... young upstarts thinking they can conquer something like the Grim and their deathships... All for a measly few million creds" The old man sighs heavily, like an weight descending upon his shoulders once again taking hold.

"Just forget about everything you ever heard about Captain Joseph Hawkins... and let him forget about it too" the old man says, returning to his drink. The young woman looks at him, holding her platinum bar, and she runs out of the bar, blonde hair flying behind her like starship exhaust.

The old man watches her go. “That's right little one, run. Run, and remember that the Grim bear nothing but Grim Tidings for all of humanity" he says as he downs the last of his drink, the metal cup clinking against the glass bartop as he sets it down.






Grim Tidings
By: Chris Poole


It was the last week of Cold Navy Officer Training, and Joseph Hawkins was ecstatic. He had not only passed his J.O.R.G training with flying colors, he had attained the rank of Sub-Lieutenant, which was the highest the N.T.O Navy would assign to a raw officer. The young man was dressed in his officer's finery, rapier at his side, hat perfectly straight, buttons buffed to a mirror shine.

They had been told earlier in the week that the N.T.O Navy had encountered a new, alien species that called themselves the Grim. It was said their ships looked almost organic in their construction, and they used a communications system not unlike ancient Terran Dolphins. Sub-Lieutenant Hawkins had studied the transmissions that the Grim ships had given off, and he was nearly straining his ears to find some trace of them.

Hawkins had been assigned to the deep-space exploration ship 'Escobar', a heavily armed and armored craft, equipped with the best electronics and weaponry. The reason for his assignment was that the Escobar had the latest in translation technology, and in hand with Hawkin's extensive knowledge of the Grim transmissions it had the best chance of locating and conversing with the aliens.

**********

“Sub-Lieutenant Hawkins, anything yet?” asks the Captain of the Escobar, a grizzled older man, a salt and pepper beard covering his chin, steely gray eyes looking out from under the shining black visor of his hat.



“No sir! Nothing” Hawkins answers with a snap to his voice. The Captain looks at him for a moment. “Mr. Hawkins, I'd like a word in my ready room, if you please” he says, looking at the young man. Hawkins nods, standing up from his post and removing his ear piece, waiting for the Captain to enter the room first, which he does. Hawkins is sweating bullets by the time he gets into the ready room, and he takes his hat off once inside.

“Mr.Hawkins, do you know why I called you in here?” the Captain asks, sitting behind a simple, spartan desk. He removes his hat and sets it upon a hanger to the side of his desk, setting his steely gray eyes upon Joseph.

“No sir. I'm not sure what I have done” he says, meeting the Captain's gaze with his own blue eyes.

“It's not what you have done, it's what you have not done, Mr. Hawkins” the Captain says solidly.

“Sir?” Hawkins asks, confused.

“Tell me lad, do you see me snapping off orders and riling up the non-coms?” the Captain asks.

“No Sir! I've never seen such a thing, or said I have! I don't....” Hawkins trails off, realizing his mistake.

“Your unique Hawkins,” the Captain says, folding his hands in front of him, leaning back in his chair. “You'll make a good officer. Maybe even Admiral-of-the-Fleet one day if your lucky. Now, when you get out there, loosen up a little. You don't need to look like you've got a tungsten shaft up your ass just because your a Sub-Lieutenant. Save that show for the Admiral, alright?” he says, smiling thinly to Hawkins as he stands, replacing the hat upon his head.

“Thankyou sir! I'll try to do the rank justice” Hawkins says with a smile and a nod.

“See that you do and I'll back you for your next promotion” the Captain says as he walks to the door. The door opens vertically, with a 'whoosh!' of hydraulic air, Hawkins following behind him quickly. Hawkins smiles as he returns to his post, setting his hat down and replacing his listening device. He concentrates upon the open channel, watching the readouts in front of him for a flicker of movement, listening so hard he can almost hear his own heartbeat.

“Anything yet, Mr. Hawkins?” asks the Captain, looking to the young man.

“No sir no- wait” he says, turning a dial slightly, flipping a switch or two. “Sir! Grim Ships located, y axis 65, x axis 43, z axis 98! Grim ships are on open hailing frequencies and are sending their standard greeting. Orders sir?” Hawkins says, his tone softer and less like a small barking dog then before. The Captain smiles his approval, nodding to him.

“Helm, set in those co-ordinates and head to them at maximum speed. Mr. Hawkins, send word to the Grim Ships that we are coming to escort them into Terran Space” the Captain says, sitting up in his chair and watching his men scurry into action.

Sub-Lieutenant Hawkins smiles, relaying the Captain's message to the Grim Ships, when an incoming transmission ruins his good mood.

“Sir! The Grim are reporting that they are under attack by Fryl Raiders, they do not know how long they can last, and are calling for help” he says. The Captain nods.


“Alright men! Let's show the Grim what we're made of!” he says, his men answering in unison with a hearty “Yes Sir!”

“Hawkins! Get on the horn to the Infirmary and tell them we're going to have alien refugees, and to be ready for them. Then get tactical on that bloody thing and make sure their ready to make us look like the avenging Seraphim of God himself! I want those Alien's impressed! Last thing we need is another fiasco like the ones with the Fryl” he says, looking at his crew. Hawkins nods, relaying the orders and relaying the answers to the Captain.

“Sir, the infirmary is ready and waiting, and Tactical says we're going to have a light show so spectacular that it would impress God Himself” Hawkins says with a grin.

“Good. Helm, ETA!” the Captain says, watching his crew like a sheep dog.

“Ten minuets and counting sir!” the helmsman answers back.

“Perfect, Hawkins, tell tactical to get those Concussion Lasers fired up and set to overcharge, we don't know what's coming” the Captain says, beginning to read the holo-screens in front of him.

“Yes sir!” Hawkins answers quickly, relaying the orders and answering back “The Concussion Lasers are set and ready to overcharge in three minuets sir!”

“Good, now, let's get in there. Helm, once we're in range, activate the Hopper and get us into a advantageous firing position!” the Captain says, his words short and clipped, perfectly enunciated.

“Sir! Yes sir!” the helmsman answers, working to properly align the Hopper, a short range jump device born of a scientist's attempts to make a interstellar jump drive.

**********

The Escobar flies into range, and pulls to a stop, marveling at the Grim ship. The space vessel was larger then the Escobar, but did not seem to have a single weapon upon it. The Fryll attack craft were firing at it from nearly ever angle, but the helmsman sets in the most advantageous firing position to the Hopper and begins the countdown, the Escobar's point defense weaponry already to take out errant shots from the Fryl vessels.

The Fryl ships, however, did not have this problem of no weapons. These vessels were simple two-man fighters armed to the teeth with all manner of high-firepower weaponry. This left little room for deflectors or shields of any kind, but the Fryl were taught from birth that dieing in the service of their navy was an honorable way to die.

The Escobar activates it's Hopper, slipping into sub-space for a fraction of a moment, and appears behind the Fryl vessels. The Fryl continue to fire, not even registering the Escobar behind them.
**********


“Sir! Tactic says that we're in range!” Hawkins says, looking to the Captain.

“Good. Tell them to fire at will” the Captain says, watching the Fryl as they attack the Grin vessel.

“Yes sir!” Hawkins says, relaying the orders.

**********

The Escobar shudders as the Concussion Lasers power up and let loose their deadly payload of super-charged heat and light, the beams an angry orange, and they destroyed the Fryl ships with a single pass, making the small attack craft explode with small “K-CRUMP!” sounds. The Fryl vessels soon broke off their attack on the Grym vessel and turned their weaponry upon the Escobar.

The Captain smiles, watching the Fryl attack.

“Unleash Hell” he says flatly, Hawkins nodding and relaying the orders. The tactical officers knew exactly what the Captain meant when he said 'Unleash Hell'. The two senior tactical officers press a series of buttons and then pull a large level down. The Captain smiles as over fourty missile tubes open across the hull of the Escobar and it's Plasma Missiles activate and launch, utterly crushing the Fryl Raiders in one fell swoop.



So, what do you all think!!?

[bien4500]

It's great, just a few spelling errors, especially "minuets" they should be "Minutes" (To Midnight), otherwise you're good!

[Da Don Mega]

its awesome! 'UNLEASH HELL!!'

[Normandy]

Oh god... Forum margins are so bad for reading.

[Colonel_Sanders]

Actually I was pleasantly surprised. It was a good story but you could do a few things to make it better.

Starting with: quotations end with a comma, except for exclamations and question marks.

"Blah, blah, blah," said the generic example. "Furthermore, yadda yadda blah," said the example as it stood stood up. "NOOIIISE!" it screamed.

Just doing that would be a huge improvement. Now let's focus on the ending paragraph.

“Unleash Hell” he says flatly, Hawkins nodding and relaying the orders. The tactical officers knew exactly what the Captain meant when he said 'Unleash Hell'.

You build up the tension in the last paragraphs, and do it well here, but completely flub it at the end. We know that the tactical officers know what he means, and repeating the line just takes away from it. Get rid of the sentence, and you'll be much better off.

The Captain smiles as over fourty missile tubes open across the hull of the Escobar and it's Plasma Missiles activate and launch, utterly crushing the Fryl Raiders in one fell swoop.

Right, so I read the rest of the story and I don't think you have a problem with describing things, in fact that seems to be a strong point for you. So why the one sentence description? This is the CLIMAX! Make it spectacular!

Here's more or less what I'd write, were I in your shoes.

The fourty missile tubes launched their payload, shaking the ship with their booster ignitions.

The Fryl were helpless against the onslaught of munitions. Missiles crashed against them like tidal waves, and obscured the vessel for a moment with the brilliant flashes of explosions. Chunks of debris tore themselves loose and scattered in all directions, while internal explosions racked the superstructure, ripping the ship wide open and exposing it's fragile, pressurized interior to the cold, harsh void.