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Paragon, Chp 2



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Sat Jan 28, 2012 6:23 am
firefly882 says...



Recap: Aster, a young bartender from a small town, has just made possibly the biggest mistake of her life. However, this opportunity may be just what they need...

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Paragon
Chapter Two
{{...}}

Three rows of flat holographic screens were centered on rectangular desks in a semicircle on the bottom floor of a white-walled room. Technicians were weaving in and out of the rows, their footfalls barely a whisper over the data transmissions buzzing from the computers as they scurried back and forth with clipboards in hand.

'Like busy little ants,' Lieutenant Commander Samuel Scott thought as he gripped the rail in front of him; the metal was cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the stuffy temperature inside the building. From the third floor of the Interplanetary Transmissions Collection of Mass Media's observation deck, they did indeed look like mindless little workers, all running back and forth to collect food for their queen.

"S-sir."

Lt. Scott turned, his hard eyes resting on a rather scrawny-looking boy of about seventeen. "What?" he grunted, glancing the boy up and down. Disheveled thick brown hair, untucked white button-down shirt and thick-rimmed glasses that were too small for his face, the boy looked more ready for school on one of the unscrupulous outer planets than he did to work at ITCOM. It was all Lt. Scott could do to keep from shaking his head in disapproval. 'Interns.'

"They, uh, they think they've found something on Terminal Three, sir."

Nodding, the commander followed the intern down into the anthill below.

"Say kid," Lt. Scott mused as they neared Terminal Three. He almost scoffed as the boy nearly jumped out of his skin. Clearly, this was his first day as an intern at ITCOM; he wasn't used to people actually talking to him instead of ordering him around.

"Y-yes, sir?"

The commander scratched his chin, running thick fingers over the smooth clean-shaven surface before gesturing towards the young intern. "Have you considered optical enhancements?"

"Wh-what?"

But the Lt. Commander waved the boy off as he stepped up to the technician stationed at the third monitor. "The kid said you found something?" he inquired as the intern wandered off.

"I believe so, Lt." The technician, a balding man in his late thirties, removed his earpiece and pointed at the screen. "Look at this mass, here."

Lt. Scott narrowed his eyes, trying to assign some meaning to the colored blobs and columns of numbers that littered the monitor. "Where is that?" he questioned, tapping a finger on the edge of the screen; there was a light purple mass with a darker blip on its outer edge, no bigger than a pinprick.

The technician glanced at the mass before scanning the chart of numbers. "That's Sector 7, sir," he replied, tapping on the monitor. The screen zoomed in on the spot in question, and more colors and numbers popped up. 'This shit's a nightmare,' the commander thought as he waited for the technician to continue.

After a few more taps and clicks, the technician pointed at the center of the screen and turned to face the commander. "I think we've found her, sir."

This piqued Lt. Scott's interest. He examined the video that was now playing on the screen; a young woman, perhaps twenty-five, was spinning on top of a counter. The man in front of her was toppling over in slow motion, one arm flailing wildly as he fell. "Stop," Lt. Scott commanded, and the video froze. Pointing at the monitor, he directed his question to the technician next to him. "Where did we get this image?"

"We received it through a surveillance feed from a bar's television unit, sir."

"Where is this bar located?"

Tap, tap, tap. "Tauron, sir. In a little community called…" tap, tap, "Bailey's Corner, about three hours out of Esclium."

Lt. Scott examined the picture frozen on the screen—her golden hair billowing on a motionless breeze, fluttering down to frame her flawless face, hard blue eyes burning with lethal desires, full lips flattened in concentration. He'd seen rough snapshots of her trickling down through the chain of command over the years, but all of them paled in comparison to this live footage. She was phenomenal!

"Tauron," he mused, scratching the underside of his chin pensively. "Do we have any units that way?"

The technician shook his head. "No, sir." He replied, reading over a clipboard in his hand. Lt. Scott watched, amused, as colored charts and graphs flashed on and off the small handheld screen. "But Public Relations is sending a small convoy to Esclium in a few days. Something about a massive flood they had three years ago?"

"Good job, Terminal Three." Lt. Scott praised, patting the technician on the back as he turned around and headed upstairs. "Send me a copy of her location, and keep me posted on any more unusual activity spikes."

As he headed toward his office, Lt. Scott kept envisioning the stunning beauty he had seen on the holographic screen. The stories he had heard over the years, much like the pictures he had seen, hardly did her justice. 'So, we finally found you.'
"Have I ever told you the story about how our kingdom was nearly torn apart by greed and betrayal? No? Well then gather 'round, my children, and let Ol' Nan tell you about the Legends of Arenthul." ~Naneria
  








If a nation loses its storytellers, it loses its childhood.
— Peter Handke