1. http://www.penny-arc...004-08-09&res=l
The "original" inspiration for this.
2. Figured I'd dual post this on both the quiz board and serials board for... well, obvious reasons.
3. I just find it funny that I was thinking about posting this chapter as a "quiz piece", but thought that it wouldn't work since it likely wouldn't be on topic... and then this week's topic ended up being what it was being. Huh. Fancy that.
4. Included a Fight Club quote. I had to. It was fun.
5. Nalia "officially" gets her callsign.
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Base Camp
Primary Landing Zone
1857 Hours, Local Standard
“Something like that happened to me once - except I wasn’t in the woods… and there were no raccoons anywhere.”
Falynn frowned in bemusement. “That information doesn’t really help me at all.”
Nalia shrugged. “I’m making wheatloaf… it’s like meatloaf, only with wheat…”
“Isn’t that just… bread?”
The two of them stood in silence, trading stilted expressions.
“What’s going on here?” Imoen asked, entering the “conversation.”
“The Ensign is making ‘wheatloaf.’”
Imoen’s expression soured. “Is this a good idea? Letting the spoiled, little rich kid cook, I mean? I’m sure she picked up some wicked culinary skills watching her wretched slaves toil endlessly in some dingy kitchen, but still-”
Nalia protested violently. “Hey!”
“Oh, I’m just teasing… I’m sure it was a very -opulent- kitchen that your wretched slaves toiled endlessly in…”
“Quit that!”
The Lieutenant snickered.
“I’m going back to my… bread…” Nalia grumped.
The two sisters watched her go then stared placidly at each other. Falynn spoke first. “Lemme guess. You wanna talk.”
Imoen snorted derisively. “Yay, I’m obvious. Look, Lynn... you said ‘later’. It’s later.”
“I kinda meant ‘later-later’ as opposed to ‘sooner-later.’” She sighed. “Give me some more time, ok? As soon as I’ve got the solution set for this all hashed out, I’ll share it with you, all right? Look, Im, that’s the best you’re gonna get out of me right now. You should probably take it.”
Imoen nodded sadly. “I can’t help it. I’m worried about you.”
“That’s a switch.”
“Maybe it is, maybe it ain’t. I’m still worried.”
“I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Look, if you need some time, go ahead and take it… but for now, there’s something I wanna tell you.”
“Which is?”
“I know…” Imoen trailed off, “I know this isn’t some kind of magical, cure-all panacea, but… for what it’s worth… well, it’s easier if I just…” She stopped talking, instead letting her actions speak for her. She put her arms around Falynn’s shoulders and squeezed. The hug was warm, friendly, and reassuring all at once, and despite Imoen’s disclaimer, it did help a little.
The older of the two sisters managed a half-smile and ruffled her sister’s hair. “Thanks.”
“Any time. I mean that.”
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1913 Hours, Local Standard
Almost as if she were worried that it would suddenly animate and try to eat her, Imoen poked at the “meat” on her plate. The tines of the fork didn’t come close to penetrating through the tough, rubbery substance. She rolled her eyes and muttered grouchily. “This food is terrible… as usual.”
Jaheira looked up from her meal (which was little better); her eyes narrowed slightly. “For it being so terrible, you’re sure eating a lot of it,” the medic quipped.
“Well, you know what they say, hunger is the best spice.”
Nalia tossed her own fork into an empty ration container. The flimsy, plastic, eating utensil clattered around inside. “Sorry, but I didn’t have a whole lot to work with,” she said in her defense, “There’s only so much you can do with prepackaged field rations, you know. And besides, I think someone stole my corn.”
Imoen cut in. “Who cares about the corn? Good gravy, woman, it’s a nutritionally useless starch!”
Nalia smirked, then gnawed on her lip for a few moments before an idea came to mind. She reached into a nearby storage crate and pulled out a small package.
She tore the top off (it was paper), and peered inside at the contents – a powdery substance protected by a thin foil lining.
“What’s that?” Imoen asked.
“Synthetic bacon flavor, apparently. Maybe adding some of this might help.”
Imoen held her plate out eagerly. “Well, then! Bacon up that sausage!”
-----
2032 Hours, Local Standard
“Any air support?” Anomen Delryn looked over at the tactical planning map and frowned. Despite the decisive action that morning, the Dominion still had some resources in the area; those resources would almost certainly be pulled back to defend the Command Post – the one obstacle which still stood between them and those hidden Confederation X-Labs.
“Good question. Rob? Thar?” Falynn turned to the two Non-coms standing nearby. One was a dark-skinned male human, and the leader of the Gallante’s Tau Gray team. The other was a slightly frail looking elf, but despite his fragile appearance, was the most effective leader Sigma White had ever seen. The two Sergeant Majors and their teams had spent the better part of the day mounting assaults on Dominion SAM sites in the area.
The news was good, and Robert Foster, head of Tau Gray, delivered it. “Recon reported six Surface to Air/Space Missile Emplacements within a 30 mile radius of the C&C base. Sigma group got three of ‘em, Tau got the other three. There could be more, biding their time until they get some birds to shoot at, but probably not too many.”
Falynn nodded. “The Task Force managed to beat back the Dominion assault fleet, too… they’re at a standoff up there, but we have a tentative edge in space superiority. If the SAM sites are down, we should be able to call in some Sabre blanketing runs, and get Rapiers to fly close escort when we make our assault.”
“Any specifics on the base itself?”
“Not much, unfortunately. Basic prefab garrison, according to the satellite recon photos. Fortified with everything they could set up on short notice. Sandbag emplacements, a few watchtowers, Concertina wire… the usual.”
“Looks like they got some concrete reinforcement on the command bunker walls, too…” That was Delta Team’s C.O., Garik Loran.
Falynn took another look at the images and nodded. “Hey, a foot of concrete’s important... you know, when your next-door neighbor lets her hearing aid go and has to watch game shows at full volume, or when a volcanic blast and debris that used to be your furniture and personal effects blows out of your floor-to-ceiling windows and sails flaming into the night…”
2035 Hours, Local Standard
“Er… what is it?” Nalia de’Arnisse stared suspiciously at the box she held in her hands. It looked innocuous enough, but looks could be deceiving. She was still new to the team, and didn’t yet know any of her new squadmates particularly well, but she’d learned very early on that it was always very important to be wary.
Imoen rolled her eyes at the unspoken accusation. “Oh, come on… it’s not going to explode, or infect you with a flesh-eating virus, or some other kind of trivial inconvenience. Trust me…”
Nalia frowned. “No offense, Lieutenant, but the words ‘trust me’ when applied to you… they just… don’t compute.”
“Gee… I really wonder how I’m not supposed to be offended by that,” Imoen joked, though she wasn’t acting as if she’d been seriously insulted. “Seriously, just open it. I promise, it’s nothing bad… and if I’m lying, I’ll let you… I don’t know… shave my head or something.”
The naval officer managed to keep a straight face. “Let me get a straight-razor.”
Harlequin laughed out loud. “You learn fast, Nalia.”
“I’m a coffee-achiever, Lieutenant,” she quipped, in response, before making to open the package. Carefully, as if expecting a rabid animal to leap out and claw at her eyes, she flipped the top of the box up. When nothing jumped out at her, she peered inside, then stared confusedly at the object within. “It… it’s a combat helmet,” she began hesitantly, “like the ones you guys wear.”
“Check out the other side.”
Nalia pulled the black helmet all the way out of its box, and brushed a fingertip over the clear face-shield before turning the entire thing around in her hands. On one side, in gold paint, was a large, hand-painted oval with a line slashing diagonally, from top right, to lower left, through it. The letters “C-I-P-H-E-R” were stenciled next to the image. Nalia felt a small smile creep across her features. “Cipher?”
A shrug. “I figured the name fit… what with you being a crypto-expert and all.”
“You did the graphic on this?”
Imoen nodded and grinned, proudly. “Yep.”
“Wow… I… I mean… thanks…”
Harlequin’s grin broadened. “You bet.” She turned her head, catching sight of the meeting that had just broken up. Falynn was walking in her direction, and Imoen decided to try and intercept her. “So, what was with the idiot convention?” she asked, casually.
“Operational planning… looks like the assault on the C&C post is go for tomorrow night…”
“What are our assets?”
“Us, Alpha, Delta, Epsilon, Sigma, Tau, and Anvil…”
“Same as today, then.”
“Pretty much. Gonna raise Command, see if we can’t set up some overnight bombing sorties to soften the bastards up a bit.”
”Bastards, huh? Well… -someone’s- wearing their ovaries on the outside…”
“Cute.”
“That’s me.”
“So? What news?” That was Jaheira, entering into the conversation.
“We’re go for tomorrow night,” Falynn responded.
“Good. We bloodied their noses this morning. We should press our advantage.”
“You don’t think we risk overextending our forces?”
“We always risk that, but you can’t fight a defensive war forever. And even if the assault doesn’t go as planned…”
“They never do…”
Jaheira ignored Falynn’s wry comment. “Being on the offensive will at least help lift -some- spirits.”
“Huh. Always finding good in every situation, huh, Jaheira?”
“Absolutely. If I didn’t, I might end up like you.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”
