The story starts at Chapter 1: Act I.
The thick oak doors swung open smoothly, but heavy, coming to rest with a resounding thud on either side of the doorway. The bright sunlight invaded the dark wooden sanctuary, chasing away every shadow except the three silhouettes that stumbled through.
Two of the forms were broad and tall, while the third was slight and struggling. With a grunted heave, the slight form was thrown to the polished floor, skidding until coming to a rest against the back of a wooden pew. A stream of curses from the young man echoed unfamiliar in the rafters. It was silenced and replaced with the hum of an Alliance pistol being charged and pointed at him.
"How DARE you enter this house of God with that weapon," a voiced thundered from the back of the hall. "Is a 14 year old boy such a threat to you?"
The church doors closed, revealing the broad form of an Alliance officer carrying a silver case. He walked past the second man armed with the pistol and stepped over the boy. "Not normally, but a 14 year old armed with a rifle of this caliber requires... special attention." The officer lay the case one one of the benches, snapped it open, and pulled out the barrel of the rifle.
"It looks like an XJ-9000 sniper rifle. Very rare, quite deadly, and completely illegal in Alliance colonies." The officer peered down the barrel of the rifle with an expert eye. "I haven't seen one of these since the war with the confederates, so I wonder what a preacher like yourself is doing with such a piece of deadly equipment. Will I find confederate outlaws hiding in your confessionals?"
Before the preacher could respond, bitter, choked laughter filled the room. The Alliance officer could see a panicked look in the preacher's eyes; he turned on his heel and headed back to the man holding the pistol. A new pair of eyes peered at him from behind the pew as the young man struggled to his feet.
"I guess just about anyone can be an Alliance officer nowadays," the young man spat. "Who did you kill to get your badges? It couldn't have been because of your eye for weaponry; people as ugly as you should be digging trenches, not commanding troops."
"Quiet boy," hissed the preacher, who tried to reach past the officer. "You'll get us both killed this day." The officer snatched the holy man's arm, yanked him off-balance, and shoved him back into the pews. The boy flinched, but he never took his eyes off the Alliance officer moving towards him.
*more to come*
Friday, April 13, 2007
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Chapter 1: Footfalls (Act II)
Everything in the 'verse seemed to be working against him that day. If the boy truly believed in Gods and such, he might have been wondering what those beings had in store for him; it was too damn hot to be able to focus on such things. The twin suns had the skies to themselves, so everything that fell in their unrelenting gaze was scorching and steaming. Although this was nothing new to the colony's settlers, the boy wondered if he would ever get used to it.
The ground seared his skin as he shifted his position, but he dared not move to a more sheltered area. Although the rays of the suns continued to find him exposed to the elements, his present perch provided the most direct line of sight while hiding him from even the keenest eye on the ground below.
Ever so slightly, he adjusted the brace that held the rifle barrel so that it angled upwards the slightest of degrees. His eyebrow ached as he search for his target through the mounted looking glass. A flash of metal caught his eye and he inched the scope back until he spotted this target. He locked the brace into place, held it for a moment, and relaxed, releasing his grip on the barrel.
Slowly, he rolled away from the rifle and reach for his waterskin. Fresh water mixed with sweat as he sought to quench his thirst, gulping greedily then drinking steadily. Sealing his waterskin, he reached for his binoculars and draped himself over the boulder behind him. He eyeballed his target in the valley below, then raised the binoculars for a closer look.
The building stood white and stark against the unyielding landscape. The whitewashed wooden walls were worn and chipped from the monthly sandstorms, the windows were cracked and etched, and the steeple had a few shingles missing. And yet, despite the constant harassment from its environment, the church still stood quiet and resolute. "Not unlike its holy man," he thought, bringing the building into sharper focus.
Suddenly, the front doors opened and two men stepped out into the sun. The first man was a stranger, but he was dressed in the grey uniform of an Alliance officer. The boy released one hand from the binoculars, pointed his finger at the distant image of the Alliance officer and whispered "Bang."
A second man appeared and closed the doors behind him. He was tall, thin, and his grey hair was pulled back tightly behind his head, creating furrows of grey against his dark skin. His skin tone was one of the few things that was not a product of the intense rays of this planet's twin suns.
At the sight of him, the boy hissed with a sharp intake of breath and grinned. This day was working out better than he thought, even though he knew his ideas would only lead to painful trouble. Somehow, painful trouble can be worth it if you piss off the right people.
The boy cast a final look at the two men as they continued a conversation that had obviously begun within the shaded confines of the church and was now reaching its peak. The tone of the conversation was matching the heat of the weather as the gestures became sharper, quicker. Each man seemed to be trying to end the argument, only to be cut off by the other man. The boy even thought he could start to hear what they were saying, as the odd word echoed in the valley below. Time for a distraction, he grinned.
He dropped the binoculars into his pack and gently retook his position with his rifle so as not to knock it from its carefully-acquired target. The young sharp shooter took a final look at his target, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger.
He didn't need this binoculars to gauge the reaction of the two men below, but he scrambled to his pack as quickly as he could. He could still hear the echoing blast repeating endlessly, but quieter on each replay. Eyeballing the church, his raised the binoculars and spied the metal cross on the steeple. The force of ricocheting bullet had twisted the cross on its steeple at almost a 90 degree angle. Increasing the zoom factor, the boy laughed as he spied the deep dent the bullet had left in the horizontal cross-piece.
Swinging his gaze down, he also spied the two men who were laying face down in the dirt. The old man looked up cautiously at the church and froze when he saw the cross at its new angle. The Alliance officer scrambled to his feet and ran for the church, hoping for cover. The boy could see him searching for his communicator and he knew he was calling for backup.
Again, the boy dropped his binoculars into his pack and began disassembling his rifle, packing it away into a metal case piece by piece. He had just locked the case shut and began to lift it when a knee slammed the case to the ground, carrying the boy with it. He felt his shoulders twist as rough hands forced him on his belly and pulled his arms back. The hot metal cuffs bit into his skin as he was dragged to his feet.
The boy glared defiantly before the Alliance officer whose face was partially obscured by the barrel of his pistol leveled at the young man's forehead. Even though he was staring death in its face, the boy couldn't help wonder if his father was still gaping at the church steeple, if he already knew his own son was responsible, and if anyone of them would live to see the twin suns rise again over this desolate colony.
And still, the gun shot echoed in his ears.
Act III
The ground seared his skin as he shifted his position, but he dared not move to a more sheltered area. Although the rays of the suns continued to find him exposed to the elements, his present perch provided the most direct line of sight while hiding him from even the keenest eye on the ground below.
Ever so slightly, he adjusted the brace that held the rifle barrel so that it angled upwards the slightest of degrees. His eyebrow ached as he search for his target through the mounted looking glass. A flash of metal caught his eye and he inched the scope back until he spotted this target. He locked the brace into place, held it for a moment, and relaxed, releasing his grip on the barrel.
Slowly, he rolled away from the rifle and reach for his waterskin. Fresh water mixed with sweat as he sought to quench his thirst, gulping greedily then drinking steadily. Sealing his waterskin, he reached for his binoculars and draped himself over the boulder behind him. He eyeballed his target in the valley below, then raised the binoculars for a closer look.
The building stood white and stark against the unyielding landscape. The whitewashed wooden walls were worn and chipped from the monthly sandstorms, the windows were cracked and etched, and the steeple had a few shingles missing. And yet, despite the constant harassment from its environment, the church still stood quiet and resolute. "Not unlike its holy man," he thought, bringing the building into sharper focus.
Suddenly, the front doors opened and two men stepped out into the sun. The first man was a stranger, but he was dressed in the grey uniform of an Alliance officer. The boy released one hand from the binoculars, pointed his finger at the distant image of the Alliance officer and whispered "Bang."
A second man appeared and closed the doors behind him. He was tall, thin, and his grey hair was pulled back tightly behind his head, creating furrows of grey against his dark skin. His skin tone was one of the few things that was not a product of the intense rays of this planet's twin suns.
At the sight of him, the boy hissed with a sharp intake of breath and grinned. This day was working out better than he thought, even though he knew his ideas would only lead to painful trouble. Somehow, painful trouble can be worth it if you piss off the right people.
The boy cast a final look at the two men as they continued a conversation that had obviously begun within the shaded confines of the church and was now reaching its peak. The tone of the conversation was matching the heat of the weather as the gestures became sharper, quicker. Each man seemed to be trying to end the argument, only to be cut off by the other man. The boy even thought he could start to hear what they were saying, as the odd word echoed in the valley below. Time for a distraction, he grinned.
He dropped the binoculars into his pack and gently retook his position with his rifle so as not to knock it from its carefully-acquired target. The young sharp shooter took a final look at his target, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger.
He didn't need this binoculars to gauge the reaction of the two men below, but he scrambled to his pack as quickly as he could. He could still hear the echoing blast repeating endlessly, but quieter on each replay. Eyeballing the church, his raised the binoculars and spied the metal cross on the steeple. The force of ricocheting bullet had twisted the cross on its steeple at almost a 90 degree angle. Increasing the zoom factor, the boy laughed as he spied the deep dent the bullet had left in the horizontal cross-piece.
Swinging his gaze down, he also spied the two men who were laying face down in the dirt. The old man looked up cautiously at the church and froze when he saw the cross at its new angle. The Alliance officer scrambled to his feet and ran for the church, hoping for cover. The boy could see him searching for his communicator and he knew he was calling for backup.
Again, the boy dropped his binoculars into his pack and began disassembling his rifle, packing it away into a metal case piece by piece. He had just locked the case shut and began to lift it when a knee slammed the case to the ground, carrying the boy with it. He felt his shoulders twist as rough hands forced him on his belly and pulled his arms back. The hot metal cuffs bit into his skin as he was dragged to his feet.
The boy glared defiantly before the Alliance officer whose face was partially obscured by the barrel of his pistol leveled at the young man's forehead. Even though he was staring death in its face, the boy couldn't help wonder if his father was still gaping at the church steeple, if he already knew his own son was responsible, and if anyone of them would live to see the twin suns rise again over this desolate colony.
And still, the gun shot echoed in his ears.
Act III
Monday, June 26, 2006
Chapter 1: Footfalls (Act I)
Reynolds sat bolt upright, his hand already stabbing his pistol into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he scanned the semi-darkness for any signs of movement, but there were none. Glancing up quickly, he was relieved to see that his door was still closed and he sniffed the air tentatively.
It took months for Captain Malcom Reynolds to get used to the creaking noises that Serenity made as she surfed the black. Every ship had its own personality and Serenity had it in spades. He was so intimate with the ship nowadays, only when she was in real danger would Reynolds truly sense it.
Again, his bunk shifted violently beneath him as a deafening rumble rattled his bones. He dressed quickly in the cold light of his quarters, swearing under his breath. "What the hell is Wash doing to my ship," he complained quietly as he climbed the rung ladder unto the deck.
Reynolds pulled the door to his quarters shut and looked about. He spied Wash at the controls, tapping the buttons and looking from monitor to monitor furtively. In the engine room, he saw Kaylee's foot hanging out from her hammock, dangling a shoe half-off her toes. "At least I can know the engine's not explodin' if Kaylee's relaxin'," he half-grinned, turning on his heel, heading for the bridge.
"Good morning Captain," a deep voice rumbled in his ear.
Reynolds whirled about, hand on his pistol, and came virtually nose-to-nose with Shepherd Book who, though his eyes widened at Reynolds sudden movement, still smirked.
"'Mornin' Shepherd," Reynolds breathed, relaxing slightly. "The walkin' of a righteous man is as silent as ever."
"You could say that," Book replied. "Although I've always thought that it's an occupied mind that can miss even the loudest of footsteps."
"I've a right to have an occupied mind," Reynold said, rubbing his neck. "That last job was none too profitable and Wash seems bound and determined to rattle any loose nuts and bolts off my boat."
"I've heard it said that it's love that keeps a ship in the air," Book said as he glanced at the Bible he held, his thumb caressing its leather binding. "But I imagine a fair amount of faith is what keeps her in one piece."
Reynolds grinned, turning back on his heel, and headed for the bridge. "I'd say it's a healthy bit of both, preacher. I'll see you at breakfast after I've had a word with the man at the wheel."
Book turned and headed for the mess hall; he could still hear Wash and the Captain discussing the finer points on the stability of Serenity and the profitability of the next job. Curling his hand into a tight fist, he smacked his chest in a quick movement and cursed softly. "Dammit... I need to remember to make more noise when I walk. Stealth is not part of THIS job and it's going to get me shot if I'm not careful."
As Book made his way to the mess hall, his mind drifted to that other life that seemed so long ago...
Act II
It took months for Captain Malcom Reynolds to get used to the creaking noises that Serenity made as she surfed the black. Every ship had its own personality and Serenity had it in spades. He was so intimate with the ship nowadays, only when she was in real danger would Reynolds truly sense it.
Again, his bunk shifted violently beneath him as a deafening rumble rattled his bones. He dressed quickly in the cold light of his quarters, swearing under his breath. "What the hell is Wash doing to my ship," he complained quietly as he climbed the rung ladder unto the deck.
Reynolds pulled the door to his quarters shut and looked about. He spied Wash at the controls, tapping the buttons and looking from monitor to monitor furtively. In the engine room, he saw Kaylee's foot hanging out from her hammock, dangling a shoe half-off her toes. "At least I can know the engine's not explodin' if Kaylee's relaxin'," he half-grinned, turning on his heel, heading for the bridge.
"Good morning Captain," a deep voice rumbled in his ear.
Reynolds whirled about, hand on his pistol, and came virtually nose-to-nose with Shepherd Book who, though his eyes widened at Reynolds sudden movement, still smirked.
"'Mornin' Shepherd," Reynolds breathed, relaxing slightly. "The walkin' of a righteous man is as silent as ever."
"You could say that," Book replied. "Although I've always thought that it's an occupied mind that can miss even the loudest of footsteps."
"I've a right to have an occupied mind," Reynold said, rubbing his neck. "That last job was none too profitable and Wash seems bound and determined to rattle any loose nuts and bolts off my boat."
"I've heard it said that it's love that keeps a ship in the air," Book said as he glanced at the Bible he held, his thumb caressing its leather binding. "But I imagine a fair amount of faith is what keeps her in one piece."
Reynolds grinned, turning back on his heel, and headed for the bridge. "I'd say it's a healthy bit of both, preacher. I'll see you at breakfast after I've had a word with the man at the wheel."
Book turned and headed for the mess hall; he could still hear Wash and the Captain discussing the finer points on the stability of Serenity and the profitability of the next job. Curling his hand into a tight fist, he smacked his chest in a quick movement and cursed softly. "Dammit... I need to remember to make more noise when I walk. Stealth is not part of THIS job and it's going to get me shot if I'm not careful."
As Book made his way to the mess hall, his mind drifted to that other life that seemed so long ago...
Act II
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