z

Young Writers Society


The Plasmic Wars



User avatar
6 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 400
Reviews: 6
Sat Mar 01, 2014 4:53 am
Dreamery says...



Spoiler! :
Look here, @ladcat13!


Prologue:

The Plasma Age (2100 A.D. –) gave way to groundbreaking technologies that have only been seen in the science fiction movies; exoskeleton combat suits, specialized weaponry, even colossal spaceships were achieved. Things that were once impossible became possible through science and engineering. Walls were broken in those twenty years that couldn’t be dented before. It was an age of prosperity for the world. The world powers lived in peace for the longest time in all of history.

But, as technology was developed, so were weapons. To compensate for the need for advanced weaponry and defense, countries competed to obtain all of the weaponry they could get their hands on as quickly as they could; plasma blasters, concentrated laser guns, electricity grenades, exosuits, and more. It became an Arms Race. As armories amassed, so did tension between them and the threat of war. It was clear that one nation would realize what power they held and make a move to prove that power. So, they all built defenses. All of them were tucked safely behind their energy shield and their reinforced walls except for a single one: America. Instead of defending themselves, they went on the offensive because a direct order by the President. No consent from Congress, no check by the Supreme Court. He made it an official order as Commander-in-Chief. Armies marched into nations, dominating the denizens, and assaulting the enemies. They retaliated by sending their own armies on the offensive. Some loyal allies to America sent troops to their side. A war had officially begun.

After eight years of war, and nearly four hundred million troops--not to give mention to the civilian casualties--lost on both side, the once powerful nations fell to their knees. The civilization they worked so hard to create had crumbled to dust in their hands. Towns and cities were left in ruin and the battlefields were left stripped of their natural features and those who survived were lucky to do so.

The remaining leaders met together in a central location and bickered about the war; where to place the blame and where to place the remaining funds. This would later be known as Jarel Convention, named after the American President who launched the initial attack: Michael Jarel. It was here that the rules for any future wars were dictated and the pillars of civilization were rebuilt.

The new capital of the world was in London, England. Cities and towns flourished around the epicenter and the progress spread to the rest of the continent. The Council was based in London; it was a group of thirty representatives that discussed any issues that they came across. The European continent was divided into five provinces and each was assigned six delegates. There were also four military leaders, Commanders, they were called, on the Council, leading the armies in case anything should happen. To assist in the decision-making process, a Senate was created with three delegates from each province; although, they were average people voted for by the province as a whole. The Council was given life-supporting pills that would ensure the longevity of their life so they could continue the rule. No one else had access to these pills; they lived and died naturally, except for the Council. The military leaders on the Council were given specialized exosuits which were far superior to those that their soldiers were given. The exosuits were outfitted with different technologies that could be of use to them. Everything was going according to plan with no issues. Until they made one fatal mistake.

Like the continent, the army was much too large to lead. The Council made the decision to divide it into two factions: the Centurions and the Legionnaires. Two Commanders were assigned to each faction and it went smoothly. For another year. Soon, disputes between the two separate factions began and two groups of allies were pitted against each other in a heated war, once again in the cities they worked so hard to beautifully replicate.

It was brother against brother in a bloody war. But this time it proved new boundaries; boundaries never thought to be taken in war before. They took to space. Five years, and the war is still active with outposts and even some cities on distant planets.

This war needs to end. But how?
Last edited by Dreamery on Sun Mar 02, 2014 3:03 am, edited 1 time in total.





User avatar
120 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 2520
Reviews: 120
Sat Mar 01, 2014 1:31 pm
ladcat13 says...



Spoiler! :
Hey hey hey! I see that! Nice job ya did there, ddman. I can't work on my first post now, I'm on my phone, but I'll get something up 'soon as I've got my laptop.

Millions of miles from home
In the darkness before the dawn
In the swirling of this storm
When I'm rolling with the thunder
But bleed from thorns
Leave a light, a light on.





User avatar
120 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 2520
Reviews: 120
Mon Mar 03, 2014 10:14 pm
ladcat13 says...



Spoiler! :
I said I was going to get it up last night but I couldn't get back on my computer after dinner. Sorry 'bout that. >.<


"Where in the hell is Aaron... Ramshaft! Ramshaft!! Damn it, where'd 'e go?"

Commander Maeve Fleetnight had been up and ready for the day at six o'clock in in the morning, as usual. It seemed her second-in-command, General Aaron Ramshaft, was not. She rang and rang the bell outside his quarters, but the door remained shut and no one answered. She was getting annoyed; it was now 7:00, and there had been no word. That was extremely unlike him, and she needed his help. She frowned and began to walk back to her own rooms, her steel-tipped boots clicking on the floors and her grey-and green cloak swishing behind her. She was almost never seen without the distinctive garment. Those in the hall as she walked by stopped and saluted, and she waved them on their way. Already her ship, the Defiant, was humming to life. It would be just about dawn right now, if they were not in deep space, and Maeve knew she should eat breakfast. Not surprisingly, she wasn't hungry; they'd just lost another planet to the Centurions. It was a small one, but the enemy was gradually taking over that sector, little bit by little bit.

Maeve reached her rooms, nodding to the three guards outside her door as she entered. Her offices were one of the most high-securiy places in the ship, and it took a hand and voice scan to let her in. No one else could enter unless she was already inside, and gave them permission from her desk. Few others could replicate her Scottish brogue, and none could replicate the curious scars on her right hand- each of the pads of her fingers had a slash mark on them, and instead of the lines of her palm there were scars. With a heavy sigh, she plopped down in her big, high-backed office chair, rubbing the tips of her fingers together. Sometimes she wished here chair weren't so comfortable- she fell asleep in it occasionally, when she was overworked. She decided she needed coffee.

"Computer" she prompted, and the room dinged to let her know it was listening. "Send for a cup of coffee from the kitchens. Make it black." While the kitchens were doing that, she went back to her room to get changed again. Today was not going to be her most favorite of days; this morning at 8:00 she was going to go to the sickbay, to talk to the doctors. Passing a mirror in her room, she stopped, muttering: "Jezus, I look terrible."

She did. Maeve's long, wavy black hair needed to be brushed, her pale skin looked sallow, there were dark circles around her startling green eyes, and the strong, noble features of her face were tired-looking. She changed into her nicer uniform; not dress greens, but nicer. Also, she pulled her hair up into a tail, and dabbed on a little make-up. She wasn't a vain woman, but she knew her troops needed to see her as in-control; not worn-down and tired. Her ever-present sword, she strapped around her waist. It wasn't like the ceremonial sabers that were worn by her high-ranking officers; it was a broadsword, made of a light but extremely strong alloy. Modeled after the traditional swords of her homeland, Scotland, it was her primary weapon; she could draw it in the blink of an eye and decapitate you in another.

Coming back into her office, she picked up her coffee and sipped from it. "Computer" The room dinged again. "Is Aaron Ramshaft in his rooms?"

"No". Replied the mechanized female voice.

"Is he in the mess hall?"

"No".

"The commander's washrooms?"

"No".

"Any of the wash rooms?"

"No".

"The barracks?"

"No".

"Well then where in bloody hell is he?"

"Define 'bloody hell'".

Maeve sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Where on the ship is he?" She clarified for it. Dumb computer; she hated those things. There was along pause.

"Well?"

"Aaron Ramshaft is not aboard the Defiant".

"Whaddaya mean, not aboard? Of course he's aboard, no ships have left or arrived in the last 48 hours."

"Aaron Ramshaft is not aboard the Defiant".

"Then where is he?" There was a long pause while the computer searched. Maeve's computer access was the highest-clearance of all and could search any Legionnaire database, and then some. It was also one of the most secure in the galaxies.

"Aaron Ramshaft cannot be found on any Legionnaire vessels"

Maeve was getting very worried. Ramshaft was her right-hand-man; he was nearly as important to the Legionnaires as she was, and was privy to nearly all the information she knew. It wasn't a good thing when you lost a person as important as him. Maeve checked her watch; 7:30 AM. She decided she had time to look for him before she went to her 8:00 appointment. "Computer, send a memo to Colonel Raines and tell him to meet me at the Security wing of the Tech department. Tell him to make it snappy!"

"Message sent... message received... Acknowledged." Maeve was already striding from the room.


One guard accompanied her on the way to the Tech. She motioned him to stay posted outside the door, and entered. Rows of screens lined the wall of the large room, each displaying camera views from different wings of the ship. Raines was already there, waiting. He saluted jauntily and she nodded back; they didn't stand on ceremony, being old freinds. He was nearly forty now, with more grey in his hair than brown and the beginnings of lines around his blue eyes. She was the same age, but she retained the beauty and vigor of youth. It pained her to see her companions growing old, but she knew better than to share with anyone the precious technology that preserved her.

Raines looked up at her- she was a tall woman, and he'd always been short- and asked,

"So, what's with the urgent message?" Maeve sighed and rubbed her face.

"Aaron is missing. He didn't answer his door this morning at 7:00 when we were supposed ta meet, and my Computer says he's not on the ship, or any ship."

"Well that's not good. The Computer can't lie, though it may just be glitching. We gotta find him."

"Agreed. I'm worried. I know ye've been overseeing the building of those new stealth fighters, but can they go a day without ye?"

"Probably."

"Okay, good. I need ye ta get a team together and scour all the surveillance for the past 24 hours. I saw him last night at dinner, so I know he was here. Can ye do that for me?"

"No problem, ma'am. I gotcha covered."

"Thanks, Raines. Now I have an appointment to get to." They saluted informally as she left.



Every time Maeve visited the Infirmary wing, the weight on her shoulders seemed to double. She looked at these brave men and women and saw in each the mistake she'd made that had gotten them hurt. Each one was willing to die for the Legionnaires, and she had been told time and time again that they fought for their faction. She knew that wasn't true. Maeve was the face of the Legionnaires, and had been for ten years. Hell, she was the Legionnaires. When a soldier pledged his or her loyalty, it wasn't to the faction they were pledging; it was to her.

Maeve didn't know it, but that loyalty was well-deserved. She fought as hard and as long as her troops did, and she did more besides. They followed her because they loved her as a leader, and she was a great leader. They all agreed that if anyone was worth the God technology, it was her, whether she believed it or not.

The troops in the infirmary didn't need to know her inner thoughts to know the pain she felt as she walked through, talking to them, talking to the Doctors, talking to everybody in that Scottish accent of hers. They saw the agony in her gaze as it alit on each of them, the subtle "I'm so sorry" in her eyes. They saw, in every move she made, how heavily the burden of leadership weighed on her shoulders. This is the price you pay. But they loved her for it; that she was willing to pay that price, that she was willing to soldier on, for them and for her faction, and their loyalty to her was only increased. They told her so, or tried to, with the small things: the little comments when she spoke to them, the smiles and the jokes. They would lighten her burden if they could.

Maeve was sitting at the bedside of a man who'd been shot in the leg below the knee. Most of his calf was gone, and she was asking him if he was getting a prosthetic muscle replacement.

"Oh, I'd get one, ma'am, and keep serving, if I could afford it."

"Ye mean ye can't?"

"No ma'am. I send most everything I earn home to my wife and kids."

"I suppose ye'll have to go home too now, unless ye have another talent?"

"No, ma'am, I don't have another talent that's useful to the Legionnaires. I'm not sure how I'll support my family, being so disabled."

Maeve took the man's hand. "I think ye won't have ta worry about that... Pvt. Anderson" She filled in the man's name by looking at a card that sat at his bedside table. "It's fully within our budget to sponsor a muscle replacement for ye, considering the sacrifice ye've made in our name."

"Thank you ma'am, thank you!" Anderson gripped her hand tightly, a bright smile on his face. "And I tell you, I'd make the same sacrifice again if I needed to. We all would."

Maeve nodded and began to move on to the next bed, informing the doctors of her decision on Pvt. Anderson's sponsorship as she went. Before she could talk to the next patient, however, her wristwatch beeped. She looked at it, saw the message there, and opened it. It was an urgent summons from Raines in surveillance, and she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Somehow, she knew this wasn't going to be good.


"We didn't have to dig deep, ma'am. It's all right here. We'll interview the guilty parties to make sure, but I think you can declare it official." Raines told her. The news flattened her; literally. One of the tech guys offered her a roll-y chair, and she sat down before she fell down. Raines gave her shoulder a squeeze before pointing to the screens.

"Bring up the clips, boys. Steady, Maeve; you haven't got the worst of it yet. Look at this one first. This is in the hall where Aaron Ramshaft's rooms are situated, just next to yours. Now you know he stays up real late some nights, talking with his parents on the vidphone. He musta been just getting ready for bed when this happened. Watch." The screen showed that at roughly 02:00 hours a troop with the label of a Pvt. Engineer on his uniform came sprinting down the hall towards Maeve's rooms. The three guards at her door stopped him. There was a heated exchange between the guards and the Pvt. Engineer, during which the man was firmly turned back. Raines provided an explanation. "Last night Ramshaft was kind enough to order that you not be disturbed, not by anyone; he'd handle any calls like this in the night." Maeve was touched at the thoughtfulness shown by her second-in-command. He knew she was tired and needed her rest, so he'd made sure she'd gotten some. The video showed Aaron poke his white-blonde head out the door. "He asked what was going on, and the man gave some believable bullshit about there being an emergency with some top-secret project in the Tech Engineering." Ramshaft was seen to duck back inside, then come back out in his uniform, hurriedly strapping his saber and gun around his waist as he went. He was placing his wide-brimmed black hat on his head just before he exited the camera's view; he always wore that hat, and his black cape. Just as Maeve had her cloak and her sword, so Aaron had his hat, cape and his saber, which was his favorite weapon. They both clung to the old ways, she and Aaron.

Raines snorted. "I assure you, there was no emergency on the only top-secret project in that department; my stealth fighters. Bring up the next feed." The video flashed to loading bay C. You had to go through the giant, cavernous, airlock-able space to get to the Tech Engineering wing. TE used Bay C for their projects. There was smoke issuing from the smaller, human-sized doors next to the garage doors. There was just time to see the Pvt. Engineer put a gas mask on, draw his weapon, and stun Ramshaft before the tapes cut. "Poor Aaron" thought Maeve, "He barely knew what hit 'im." Raines signaled them to switch them off. He turned to his Commander and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"We went into Bay C and checked around, and we found traces of sedative gases in the ceiling. They must've set it off in the room to make it look like smoke, while they had gas masks and Aaron didn't. The security systems all around were being checked by maintenance last night, as you know full well, but most of the cameras only went off for a split second, as they were supposed to. The airspace sensors, shields, and gravity beams were all checked and cleared too, except the ones in the airspace around Bay C. All the cameras, the shields, and etc. stayed off around Bay C for a period of fifteen minutes. Their Pvt. Engineer mole must have planted a computer virus to give them an escape window that blended in with the security. But the scary part is not that they had a mole; who, by the way, we identified as a Pvt. Engineer Louise Avercrest. He has no records prior to being with the Legionnaires, only his records of having passed the exams to be an Engineer. No, that's not the scary part. The scary part is that they were after you. If Ramshaft, good soul that he is, hadn't ordered you not be disturbed last night, you know they would have captured you and killed your guards instead. As it was, they couldn't get you on their only chance, so they took what they could get: Ramshaft."

Maeve took a deep breath and rubbed her face, asking: "Do you think it was those bastards, the Centurions?" Raines thought for a moment.

"No, there's no evidence pointing to them. And you know they probably wouldn't try a dirty, underhanded trick like this; it'd get them in trouble with the Council and Earth's all-powerful government. They're after our colony planets, just as we're after theirs. No, I'd bet a hundred marks it wasn't them."

Maeve thought of Aaron- his solemn grey eyes, his pale blonde hair, his grave manner, and his quiet but dignified leadership. She thought of how much she depended on him, not only as her second-in-command but as a dear friend. She hadn't known him as long as she had Raines, for Aaron was younger than either of them, but somehow she trusted him even more. The thought of him not being there by her side, but imprisoned and kidnapped, maybe even tortured for information, drove a cold shaft of dread into her heart. This was the stuff of her worst nightmares, and they'd been realized. She wished her eyes would not tear up so in front of Raines, and the men in the room. She refused to cry, though. She would stay strong, for Aaron. She stood abruptly. When she spoke, her voice was not the commanding, parade-ground bark with which she was used to giving orders. She was quiet and vehement, and this scared the men around her into action even more.

"Find him."

Millions of miles from home
In the darkness before the dawn
In the swirling of this storm
When I'm rolling with the thunder
But bleed from thorns
Leave a light, a light on.








There is a difference between being poor and being broke: broke is temporary; poor is eternal.
— Robert Kiyosaki