**Backdated for historical purposes**
I originally never planned to post this, as people didn’t have interest in my writing at the time. As years went on, I’d mention that I had this story of “A space-capable C-5 Galaxy in a pseudo-Star Trek universe.” A few people had asked to read it now and then,
I can’t put a clear time when this got conceived. The date of image is around Thanksgiving in 2003, but I had posted that to deviantART in 2005. Considering I only played Sigma Star Saga in the tail end of 2006, April of 2007 is accurate with some uncertainty.
I was still very much into “borrowing popular characters to fill your cast”, so Psyme from that same game makes a feature. “Petrie” is the only exception; this is a reference, not the exact character. Think of him being more life-size, and the “claws” being actual hands to use rocket launchers.
This was long overdue based on someone who asked to read it years ago. Unfortunately it looked like that person passed from some illness, but I was unable to find it for a number of years to share with them. This is only seeing the light of day as it was part of a hard drive recovery in 2024. I’m only getting through the backlog a few years later.
So please enjoy, and one day this will get rewritten with much more descriptors than the short bit you see.
Pat and Psyme were in the galley, drinking coffee and eating bagels. Psyme was leaned against the front of the fridge, a cinnamon bagel in her hand. Her Parasite squirmed occasionally, and her movements were slower than usual.
Pat was at the table, drinking a large mug of coffee. She had changed out of yesterday’s clothes, now dressed in a black vinyl top that exposed her midriff with a gray miniskirt. She had black boots that reached above her knees, and her body gave off a faint scent of ginseng. Her green skin was somewhat shiny this morning.
Jennifer stumbled into the kitchen. Her eyes were barely open, her crimson hair in disarray, and dressed in a blue bathrobe which was open, showing a white bra and panties beneath.
“Well, what part of ‘wake up’ before you get out of bed didn’t you get?” Pat joked.
“I did wake up.” Jennifer replied back in a sleepy voice. “I’m standing here, right?”
Psyme did a double-take at Jennifer. “Since when does regulations allow crew to march around in bathrobes?” She took another bite into the bagel.
“Officer’s privilege.” Jennifer mumbled, fumbling for a foam cup and feeling along the wall for the water nozzle.
“I don’t know how far that would fly.” Psyme replied. “Other than rules, the boys would flip if they walked in here.”
Jennifer just glanced at Psyme with half-closed eyes, unaffected by her comment. “Where’s the water dispenser?”
“Uh, by the fridge, like where its always been?” Pat offered helpfully.
Jennifer did as Pat suggested, filling the cup with cold water. Once the cup was full, she brought it to her lips and gulped the contents down quickly.
“Man, it looks like you had a hard night. Are you okay?” Psyme offered.
“Other than having that scary dream again, I couldn’t sleep last night,” Jennifer answered. “That news statement really bothered me.”
“About the Japahari? Yeah, like what did they do to us? At most, renegade terrorists. They didn’t like blow up our fleet or something.” Pat pondered.
Jennifer washed her face in the kitchen sink, much to everyone’s surprise. Then she wiped her face with a couple paper towels.
Her behavior just got weirder.
“I have a feeling that vice-president is a puppeteer. Everything he said is just wrong; especially the sudden absence of the Councilor.” Jennifer trudged to the fridge.
“Jen? I know it may be weird, and I don’t know a lot about the Imperial Galactic Alliance, but I do know you should get a pants on before any of the boys come back here.” Psyme pointed out.
Jennifer gave an irritated sigh, shrugging her shoulders. “Whatever.” She slowly started to make her way back to her quarters.
Pat slid the coffee cup to the center of the table. “Well, that ends that. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll check on Petrie and see how he’s doing.” Psyme said. “You?”
“Ah, I guess I’ll just hang around the landing bay until the guys come back,” Pat replied, rising to her feet and making a beeline down the hall. “Later!”
“Yeah, later.” Psyme answered half-heatedly.
Psyme headed back to the cockpit of the Nighthawk. Upon arrival, she sat down in the co-pilot’s seat, relieved of her somewhat long morning routine.
Petrie was at the science station, adjusting the frequencies of the scanners and monitoring for anything that may seem unusual. He worked at a moderately fast pace, the glow of the screen illuminating his pterodactyl form.
“How’s it coming along?” Pysme called over her shoulder.
“So far, so good.” Petrie replied. “You?”
“Uh, okay, I guess. Just a weird morning and an even weirder night.” Psyme replied, starting to study the readouts that were being brought in by the sensor array.
As she sorted through them, something unusual stood out. A small spike in the low radio bands, and relatively weak.
“Hey, I got a faint long-range signal. Amplify it if you can, will you?”
Petrie didn’t reply as he tapped away at the keyboard at the science station, adjusting the incoming signal.
“It’s a message. I’ll patch it in now.” He announced. “Video-audio.”
The mainscreen fuzzed and showed the unmistakable face of the Councilor.
“It’s the Councilor!” Psyme exclaimed.
“I thought he went somewhere.” Petrie remarked.
“You’re telling me.”
Pat came onto the bridge. “What all the hullabaloo about?”
“Take a look for yourself.” Petrie answered, pointing to the screen.
“Talk about second insights.” Pat replied.
The audio was extremely terrible, having a constant fuzz.
“Rescue…attempting…chaos…”
“Clear that up!” Pat slid into the pilot’s seat and hit the intercom button next to the armrest.
“Bridge to Jennifer. Get up here on the double. Minus bathrobe, plus a pants.”
Pat happened to have a very weird sense of humor; especially in the midst of something important. Everyone gave a slight chuckle.
“Its looping.” Petrie noted. “I’ve cleared up major disturbances, and am now playing back.”
The screen was a lot clearer now, and the audio wasn’t so bad. But the message would flicker occasionally.
“To any vessel within our range; I am Larini Octavio, Grand Councilor of the Imperial Galactic Alliance.”
“Still makes lengthy speeches, huh?” Pat commented.
“I, my wife and child, and Empress Nareena of the Karanti Empire are being held hostage by Vellis Grant, vice-president of the Imperial Galactic Alliance. Please rescue us. He is attempting to throw the galaxy into total chaos-”
The message suddenly broke up and disappeared.