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= Fiction = | = Fiction = | ||
| − | + | == Blade 0 == | |
| − | + | Marco felt the thick green icor slowly burn his skin. The dhragera thrashed once and then gurgled through the unnatural gap Marco had made in its throat. For a few seconds Marco focused on what the tribesmen had told him; the water must be kept pure! He quickly pulled off his shirt and wiped most of the dead beast's blood off his arm. The three toed claws had ripped open much of his right forearm and some of his chest. At least one rib was broken, possibly two. As quickly as the dhragera's tentacles had grabbed him so the adrenaline rush faded and nausea took over. It was several minutes before he could overcome the stench of bile and warm blood enough to crawl away. | |
| − | + | Like any high school kid on a mission trip, Marco was expecting to share his faith while eating some possibly disgusting things. The worse expectation, other than not being able to vox Susie once a week, would be the camp clean up chores. Marco was glad the other kids didn't notice how good he was at sweeping and mopping; his was the only family that couldn't afford a maid. | |
| − | + | He was sure the youth pastor, Yu-Wei Johnson, saw. Mr Johnson saw much more than he let on, though. Marco's secret was safe with him. As Marco started to feel faint he hoped Mr Johnson knew first aid, too. And of course, where Marco was. | |
| − | + | "Hopefully the others ran there." Marco thought as he tried to lightly breathe. His body really wanted to gasp, but that hurt too much. The others were smarter than Marco, they had ran as soon as the dhragera broke the surface. Except Jimmie. Jimmie couldn't run away; he was on a spit of rock behind the dhragera. Jimmie had no place to run. | |
| − | + | "Jimmie! Look out!" Marco had screamed as loud as the others. Yet when they vanished up the ancient stone steps he picked up several rocks and started throwing them at the tentacles that were reaching towards Jimmie. Although the dhragera wasn't more than forty or fifty kilos it still had a lot more muscle mass than the junior high waif that was Jimmie Todd. | |
| − | + | Jimmie and Marco had become fast friends last year during camp out season. Their dads had known each other before the father-son camp Mr Johnson organized. Marco's dad had taught Jimmie how to swim, Marco was already on the school team. Mr Todd had blushed when Marco had asked to learn something from him. "I don't know much a school boy should know, Marco." | |
| − | + | "Sure you do dad!" Jimmie had piped up. "Marco, you should see my dad with a knife. He's cool!" | |
| − | + | Mr Todd had blushed a bit before Marco's dad chimed in. "Might not be a bad idea, Carlos. The boys need to be able to take care of themselves. I guarantee you Marco spends too much time in his studies! Would do him good to learn something like that." | |
| − | + | Marco had learned. Well, as much as a gangly teen boy with one eye on a cute blond and the other buried in college prep studies. He had tried his best to mimic Mr Todd and he practiced at night when mom wasn't around. Dad had suggested that and Marco listened. | |
| − | + | Marco sighed deeply but couldn't make it up the first step. His knife was still half buried in the dhragera's chest. Mr Todd had given the boys matching knives before they left on the mission trip. "These are camp knives, kids. Made as a tool. But in a pinch they can be used for defense. I do not want to hear stories about you two misusing them!" He had wagged his finger. "Jimmie, Marco? You understand?" | |
| − | + | Jimmie had run up the steps when the beast turned and attacked Marco. He would find Mr Johnson. Marco rested against the bottom step. "I didn't misuse the knife, Mr Todd." He thought, and then passed out. | |
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| − | + | == A few years ago == | |
| − | + | Marco had returned home from a year long mission trip; he had helped desert people learn to irrigate land naturally and helped feed them spiritually. Early mornings and late evenings saw him hard at his studies. While not the brightest credit in the pile Marco had already gotten several college classes on his record even as he was finishing high school via self-study on a remote planet. | |
| − | + | He had other dreams, too. He and Susie would get married once he finished real college. His adoptive parents had saved some and helped him learn to work to save his own money. College would be tight but it was the key to success. | |
| − | + | As expected, as soon as his transport landed he went looking for Susie. She was expecting, too, and Marco wasn't quite sure what do do about that. He was a kind, studious soul who needed time to quietly reflect, so naturally he joined the Marines. | |
| − | + | Not the Imperial Marines, of course. Nothing against them but the bureaucracy was always an issue. Marco signed up for Prince Allesandro's Light Jump Brigade. They were Marines on a commercial payroll. Fewer rules, more chances to make a name for themselves. | |
| − | + | They also let you forget your past. | |
| − | + | Prince Al, so history said, had been a great guy who attracted his share of people needing a second chance.. He had set up various corporations and ventures to let people show they had really changed for the better. Not everything worked out, but it usually did. After a while the organizations became self-fulfilling; entrants were sponsored by members or former members. | |
| − | + | Marco wasn't really sure who to ask, so he turned to his adoptive parents. They talked long and hard about his decision but in the end, as always, they supported him. His parents dipped into Marco's college fund and helped buy the classes he needed to prepare for the entrance exam. Marco pushed himself for weeks to meet the basic fitness goals. | |
| − | + | Marco and his dad had sat in the recruiting center lobby for hours as hopefuls were tested and called into the enlistment rooms. Many were sent home, few were signed on. At the end of the day Marco and his dad were still there as the last recruiter came in and shook his head. | |
| − | + | Marco was crushed, angered and depressed all at once. He and his dad got up to leave but when Marco turned towards the door his dad walked to the recruiter. | |
| − | + | "My son's name is Marco Domici. He should be on your list." | |
| − | + | "I'm sorry sir. We're done for the day." The recruiter looked much sharper in his dress greens that Marco's dad did in his threadbare delivery uniform. | |
| − | + | "Are you sure? Marco Domici." | |
| − | + | The recruiter made a show of looking again. He was used to parents begging for their child to have a better life. | |
| − | + | "No sir, he's not on the list. Is there anything else I can do for you?" | |
| − | + | Marco's dad sighed, and reached for his wallet. | |
| − | + | "Sir, please don't. We can't accept..." | |
| − | + | Marco's dad handed a recruiter a card. | |
| + | "Sir." The recruiter stiffened, and then handed the card back. "Perhaps I made a mistake, sir. My apologies." He tapped a few places on the pad. | ||
| − | + | "Marco Domici, front and center." | |
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| + | == Irene == | ||
| − | + | "Put your head in my lap." Irene said as she sat back against the vehicle. | |
| − | + | "I bet you say that to all the guys." Marco replied as he quickly pulled himself down and close. | |
| − | + | They both vibrated for a few short seconds as Irene's gatling gun rattled directly over Marco's head. "Low flying missile." She said. "Now get back to work fixing me up." | |
| − | ... | + | "Yes dear." Marco had learned a little about battledress during a work detail in Basic. He just assumed they wanted the recruits to have a little hardware lust. Marco did, of course. He wasn't particularly looking to get his own suit any time soon. He did, occasionally, wonder about Irene's suit. |
| − | + | "Homies at two." She said without interrupting her counter fire. | |
| − | + | Marco slid right and pulled his laser rifle over Irene's well armored legs. Using her thigh as a rest he fired several well aimed blasts. "Larry, Curley, and Moeisha; exit stage left." | |
| − | + | "What in the double blue suns does that mean?" | |
| − | + | "No clue; just read it once and liked it." He pressed on the last bit of thermaseal and activated it. "Okay, you're good to go. Clear internal atmo and watch that left leg. It's too cute to mess up." | |
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| − | + | They had cleared debrief, cleaned and readied weapons, and headed back to their shared bunk room. Marco had a small box on his; courtesy Star Confederation mail. | |
| − | + | "More of your mom's cookies?" Irene asked, a little huskily. Her dad had worked hard but couldn't cook hot water. | |
| − | + | "Better, bunkie. Much better." Marco opened the slim package and waved a flat screen in front of Irene. He smiled. | |
| − | + | "Eww...didn't they quit making those things? I used to see them in grade school. All my teachers had them." Her voice lost its joy. "I..." | |
| − | + | "Yeah, I know." Marco put his face near Irene's. "This looks just like something a teacher would use because it's something a teacher would use. There's this company that refurbs the hardware and puts old style hands-on lessons on the comps. The teachers that use it are normally home-schoolers with difficult kids." | |
| − | + | "You graduated high school with a college degree." Irene used one finger to push Marco back a bit. He didn't make passes at her like a lot of the others. Not that Irene would have minded, but she had gotten her heart set on some of those cookies. | |
| − | + | "You haven't graduated high school, Irene." Marco pushed back against the finger and waved the old comp. "Yet. You wanna continue to lose at cards or you wanna get your diploma, toots?" | |
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| − | + | == A couple weeks ago == | |
| − | + | "Come in Private. It's a bit crowded but I'm sure you can squeeze in somewhere." | |
| − | + | "You asked to see me, Chaplin?" Marco looked at the half dozen chairs arranged near a desk. The only thing they seemed to be occupied by was dust. | |
| − | + | "Chaplain Domici, Private." The man grinned as he stood up and shook Marco's hand. "Technically a Major in the unit but I tend not to exercise command functions. Have a seat." | |
| − | + | As they sat, the Chaplin closed his screen and turned to face Marco. "Do you get it yet?" | |
| − | + | "What, sir?" Marco frowned. "I...ah...have you had any reports on me? Sir?" | |
| − | + | "Not yet, but I'm sure, with an answer like that, I will eventually." The chaplain stretched his long frame and ended up with boots halfway across his desk. "I've gone over your record, private. Some of your pre-enlistment activities have been reported to me as well." | |
| − | + | "Officially, I will commend you on full engagement with your duties and tasks. Your command chain has recognized your dedication to learning the skills a trooper needs and your willingness to achieve the objectives." He leaned forward. "Personally, I'm not surprised, given your history. You did the same thing with the Antiguan villages mission trip, I believe? Applied yourself, worked hard, and achieved your goals even before graduating high school." | |
| − | + | "Yes sir. I..." Marco did a double-take. "Is that part of my record, sir?" | |
| − | + | "When you work for God, private, many things are known." He laughed for a moment and then just smiled. "My conversations with the Almighty tend to be about my own challenges and duties, private. Notes on you were provided by another source." | |
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| − | + | "My dad, right? What did he say? Was he in the unit?" Marco's eyes glazed a bit as he went back in time. "The day I enlisted was the last day I saw him. I wasn't going to make the cut but he said something to the recruiter. What can you tell me about him?" | |
| − | + | "Private." The chaplain's eyes and tone fell. "First, the history of anyone who may have been a member of this unit is never a topic for discussion by anyone except that person. We take our brotherhood seriously." | |
| − | + | "Second, and this is why you're really here, is that I am to inform you that your father has passed away. Details are sketchy, the local authorities are being a bit close-mouthed. I cannot tell you, officially, that initial reports show violence was involved. I also cannot say, officially, that several of those who chose your dad as a target didn't live long enough to regret their mistake." | |
| − | + | "Third." The chaplains voice rang with cutlass steel. "You have a special assignment coming down the chain, effective immediately. The quartermaster has a draw list for you. Pack your kit and be on the 2315 lifter to high port." | |
| − | + | "Last..." His voice softened. "There will be a silent memorial service at 2145 in the chapel. Dress greens, no talking, and you are not to recognize anyone you see. It is a time of respect and reflection, private. The soldier that sits in my office now seems to have forgotten the zeal for right a teenager had just a few short years ago. If you see men and women at the service tonight, it is not because someone could brag the loudest or drink the most beer. One day you may hear stories like that but really, what draws us to honor another is the positive impact someone has had on us individually." | |
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| − | + | Marco stepped off the transport and headed for his launch. He'd have enough time on ship to clean and sort through all the gear provided, right now he just let the darkened shades hide his tears. They were sending him away to keep him out of the investigation, he was sure of that. He really didn't understand why all the unit brass had been at the service nor did he really get who his dad was. | |
| − | + | His pace slowed. At the moment he wasn't sure who he was, yet something hit him like an ortillary kill shot. Marco slumped onto his ruck in the middle of the dock. | |
| − | + | Domici. | |
| + | Al's Jump Lights let a man enlist under any name they wanted. At the end of their first honorable service term the paperwork was made legal. Prince Allesandro had been a Domici. Officers, retirees, and certain others were allowed to change their name and join "the Family" and take the Domici name. | ||
| − | + | His father had been a Domici. | |
| − | + | He was a Domici. | |
| − | + | "Something causing you to block traffic, soldier?" One of the port guards approached Marco. | |
| − | + | "Sorry officer, just got a little winded." Marco one-armed the large ruck onto his back and smiled. "Enjoy your day, officer." | |
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| + | == A personal message == | ||
| − | ' | + | As the transport moved out, Marco listened to his mother's voice again. Vids were costlier than sound; ever the frugal mother she had only sent vox. Still, he could hear the tears in her voice. |
| − | + | ''"Son, | |
| − | + | I'm sure you've been told your father was killed. The police don't want me to say anything, but you deserve to know what little I know. His military unit, your unit, has offered to pay for the burial in space and I have accepted. The money you sent was nice...I...I'm not as strong as you or your father. When you return I may be with my family. In spirit I'm still a Domici, but my spirit isn't strong right now. | |
| + | Your father was so proud when we heard you were going to be an officer! He went so far as to buy a round at Moe's to celebrate. He took the news of your reassignment in stride, but at first I think it hurt him a little. Somehow Moe found out about your medal; your dad hasn't had to pay for a drink in weeks! Sometimes I think there are...were...things he wanted to tell you but didn't feel like he should. 'It's not yet time.' he would mutter as he looked at your picture. | ||
| + | I...I've sent the chaplain your dad's ID card. He has agreed to transfer Head of Household paperwork to you. Not much of a house, I'm afraid. But it gives you the rights and responsibilities of a full Domici. Along with the card is a small blue piece of cloth your dad said he carried in his uniform. He was proud of our branch of the family; he used to talk about getting rich and painting the entire apartment blue. Praise the heavens we never won the lottery! Blue is nice but your dad had no sense of balance. | ||
| + | That's what I loved about him; he was young and full of zeal. I love that about you, too. I know Susie hurt you deeply but she's made her choices. You now have to make yours. | ||
| − | '' | + | There are other forms I'll send over, as well as a few more details you should know. Some of them are very personal but I'm sure the chaplain will keep them safe. |
| − | + | God speed, son. I love you. | |
| − | + | Mom."'' | |
| + | = Character = | ||
| − | + | == Stats and Basics == | |
| − | + | Lance Sergeant Marco Domici | |
| + | 22 Year old Domici Male | ||
| + | UPP: 78A885 | ||
| − | + | Medal for Conspicous Gallantry | |
| − | + | Combat Ribbons (2) | |
| − | + | Commendation - Lifesaving | |
| − | + | Notes: Muster out roll was a 2, +2 Int. Already in UPP. | |
| + | Survive, promotion, no comission. No forced reenlistment. | ||
| − | + | Temporary Skill/Stat: Gun Combat (Laser Carbine) and Dex. Skill marked (T), Stat increased in UPP. | |
| − | + | Need to spend Cr 100,000 in gear. Still in progress | |
| − | = | + | == Skills == |
| − | + | Admin 0 | |
| − | + | Blade Combat 1 | |
| − | + | Brawling 1 | |
| − | + | Computer 0 | |
| − | + | Electronic 0 | |
| − | + | Gambling 0 | |
| + | Gun Cbt (Energy Weapons) 1/2 (T) | ||
| − | + | Leader 0 | |
| − | + | Medical 0 | |
| − | + | Mechanical 0 | |
| + | Tactics 0 | ||
| − | + | Vacc Suit 1 | |
| − | + | Vehicle 0 | |
| + | == Equipment == | ||
| − | + | Combat armor (Cr 20,000) | |
| − | + | Laser Carbine, two energy packs, electronic sights (Cr 6,000, Wt 12,500) | |
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| − | + | Cutlass (Cr 100, Wt 1250 ) | |
| − | + | Dagger (Cr 10, Wt (250)) | |
| − | + | == Background == | |
| − | + | Term 1, in short: | |
| + | Year 1: Basic and AIT | ||
| − | + | Year 2: Space Ops school - Vacc Suit 1, Promotion - E2 | |
| − | + | Year 3: Garrison, Promotion - E3 | |
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| − | + | Year 4: Had a slot for OCS but bounced for a counter Raid on enemy forces. MCG awarded as well as a natural "12" on the promotion roll. E4 | |
| − | + | In Term 1 Year 4 he fought alongside the current ship's engineer. Need to come up with a story for that. | |
