please critisizeBellow is a short story ive written, its about 3 sides of A4. Its set in the NS2 universe. Please critisize
ive never written a short story before so i have no idea whether this is crap or not so i need people to tell me. I would like harsh constructive critisizim. If you think its rubbish say why.
its a work in progress (still needs proof reading but i cudnt wait to post it) so i intend to make changes.
I need to know:
Is my "law" correct
is the story any good
what do you make of my writting style
what you like and dont like.
Its based on an encounter in the new refinery map unknown worlds have created. If they dont already have a back story they can use this one. I dont mind changin place names and organisation names to make the story fit better with the NS universe.
Why did i write it: I read the inteview posted on the news page (bigdownload) and it said i could google "Six Days in Sanjii". to get a back story written by Jeff Paris. I didnt get Jeff Paris's work but a sequal written by Mucguyvok. I thought it was pretty good and so decided id give writting some material a try too.
The Story (i dont have a title yet)
This coffee tasted like crap. Cornell new they had a supply of real freeze dried coffee in the Doctors mess. Heâ€™d once heard a rumour that back on earth and some other the other core plants they had a sort of ground coffee that tasted even better. Cornel gulped some of the hot brown blandness down his throat, at least this was a distraction from the nightmares, even if it was the produce of nanites. Doctor Maxwell had told him that the nanites had done a top notch job on his body. His new hand reminded him of this. It was a pitty they couldnâ€™t do the same for the scars in his brain.
â€œMr S Cornell pleaseâ€ a monotone speaker summoned him to the continuation of his rehab. A starch coloured door slide open to reveal the psychiatrists office. Cornell took a seat. â€œhows the day treating you Mr Cornell, im Doctor Monbiot,â€ said a middle aged man from across a pristine desk. Cornell regarded the man, he had thin swave of combed back hair, and rounded and well lined face. He must have been some where in his fifties unless he had been through regression treatment. â€œits just Cornell, and the days been fine.â€
â€œVery good Cornell, you know why you have been referred to me?â€ Monbiot continued with out waiting for an answer â€œDr Maxwellâ€™s report tells me you arenâ€™t sleeping due to some psychological stress and nightmares, im here to help you get through this,â€ said Monbiot as he gazed at a scrolling screen display. Cornell considered saying some thing but instead decided to settle for a placid smile, talking about problems wasnâ€™t some thing he was fond of. â€œI thought we should start with some open therapy, so just start talking when your ready, tell me about your recent experiences, your childhood, the hardest times in your life and the easiest,â€ instructed Monbiot in an almost fatherly manner.
Cornell thought back, three months ago heâ€™d been assigned to the 64th TSA frontiersmen. They had been sent to assist in the evacuation of Myadeir in the Sirus system. Myadeir was a temperate planet that had its alien landscape decimated by Trelis corporation after vast deposits of nickel, lithium and titanium had been found. Cornell could remember seeing photos in a history class from some of the first expeditions to the planet, there had been spectacular rock formations and a geomorphological beauty to the planets clean surface. A decade later its resource survey was published and the Trelis Corperation was the first to the jackpot. Now the planet was dotted with vast industrial and mining archaeologies. These super structures of steel and glass struck out on the once tranquil landscape and fired pillars of smoke into the sky from their colossal chimney stacks.
The bacteria was first reported in the ventilation ducts above one of the cargo transfer houses. The theory popularised by the Admirality was that the Kaarah had arrived at the planet via a freighter from either the Lectius or Promxia system. After a blockade had been established the evacuation began. Cornellâ€™s ship the Torronto had arrived late to the party thanks to a junior navigation officer. Most of the evacuation was complete and about 40% of the archaeologies had show signs of infestation. There were more than five hundred archaeologies on the planet and the infestation had reached over 40% in just five weeks. Each archaeology had a considerable capital value attached to it, and the politicians on earth had declared they would wipe the Kharra off the galaxy after the Origin and Hera incidents. On less valuable worlds high command may have opted to wipe the surface clean with nuclear strikes but Trelis was already suffering under the recession so a take and hold strategy was applied. Cornellâ€™s platoon had phased down to Iokia archaeology on the seventh. Some memories faded with age. Cornell didnâ€™t believe these memories would ever fade.
Six hours before the arrival of Cornellâ€™s Platoon, nanites had started flooding out some infiltration capsules and into the archaeologies atmosphere. Phasing had always made Cornell sick and Parkinson confirmed Cornellâ€™s feelings by spewing on the floor. The air smelt of burnt gasoline and nanites. Nanites werenâ€™t supposed to smell of any thing but Cornell swore they did. He examined the steel framed foyer they stood in, the power was still on but a darkness hung in the air. There a number of vid screens on the walls still running commercials but the sound was muted. Scattered around the floor were the remains of ration packs and personnel possessions, evidence of the evacuation. â€œQuit day dreaming Cornellâ€ the sergeants voice rang in his ears. â€œYour squads on set up.â€ Cornell jumped to realising the rest of his squad was busy assembling structures. Squads A and B were already moving out to secure the perimeter and various locations the commander had listed. Cornels squad had been drawn the long straw on the outing. Setting up base and then reinforcing the other squadâ€™s positions was a cake walk compared with the perimeter establishment squads A and B had to do. Whilst Cornell spent his time welding doors and wiring equipment the other squads filed causalities. The fact that Cornell was being spared wasnâ€™t much comfort to him a nauseous edge clung to his mind all the time.
At 21:00 the commander issued the order of assault. Squads A and B had gathered considerable information on the scale of the Kharra presence and paid for it in blood. The infestation had spread down a dozen corridors rooms and complexes centred on the refineries main processing hall. The size and position of the room near the main ventilation conduits led the commander to believe this would be the main hive location and the nexus of the infestation. Barricades, turrets and sealed doors blocked off all the main exits out of the refinery sector. The comms plan was to move Squads A and B in from the recreation complex and dormitory areas as a diversion whilst Squad C took the rail transit into the refinery to siege out the hive. After reading the text on his visor and listening to the commentary Cornell did not feel willing. This was it, crunch time.
After checking over his armour, ammo clips and rifle Cornell assembled with the remaining six members of his squad. Sergeant Clark made some clicking noises with his shot gun and turned to address his men. â€œRight lads you know the deal, youâ€™ve all been briefed. These,â€ he turned and pointed â€œare the new mobile assault siege cannons or MASCs, you should have all seen the vid on em. We need to look after these babies and pray that they work.â€ After a short breather the Sergeant announced â€œI look around and I see men that would have scared the crap out of Cesar him self, we are mean and we are going.â€ Despite the poor comparison between the roman emperor and the Kharra Cornell felt his spirits lift maybe they would kick ass.
After negotiating a labyrinth of sheet steel corridors they reached the transit station, the armour armadillos known as MASCs in tow. Three and a MASC to a carriage, Cornell boarded the front carriage with Parkinson, and Campbell. Cornell opened up the key screen and plotted in their route, â€œweâ€™re rollingâ€ he called as the procession lurched forward. There was a shallow roar in Cornells ear as Parkinson fiddled with the settings on his ignition torch. Never was Cornell more glad that Parkinson was packing 200 degrees of heat. The train glided down its track through a montage of red lit rooms and past windows of a chrome and fire landscape. Seconds seemed like hours until they reached their destination. They passed over an orange glowing abyss and into a small station. After taking up a fire wedge formation around the MASCs they moved forward. Parkinson was on point flame thrower at the ready. Cornell was on the left flank, the Sarge on the right and Stone at the rear. The MASCs trundled down the corridors with a metallic humming sound, foot steps clicked against the grubby floor all else was silent. It wasnâ€™t long until Cornell noticed patches of infestation on the walls. Dynamic infestation it was popularly called these days. He was told that in the first incidents it didnâ€™t spread like it did now, everyone new the Kharra were adapting, evolving to meet any threat. Cornellâ€™s foot squelched through a pool of the bacterial growth a slightly putrid smell hung in the thick moist air. Some lines of sweat ran down Cornellâ€™s cheek and mingled with the intense humidity. Most of the lights in this area were semi operational; the flickering of the light seemed to slow time down as Cornell moved down the corridor his vision shifting from left to right. Sarge uttered something reassuring through his ear piece but he didnâ€™t quite catch it.
The corridor opened out in to a small room lined with various dead consoles. The walls had a solid decor of bacterial growth, and the rooms main light pulsated a dull blue. Cornell joined the others in flicking on his lamp. â€œ this is itâ€ said Sergeant Clark. A depressurising sound came from both the MASCs. They were positioned more or less centrally in the room about a metre apart. A set of metal struts had emerged from their flanks and gripped into the floor. The MASCS then began to unfold like some monstrous insect lava morphing into an adult. The titanium shells split to reveal a myriad of wires and fibre optic cables fixed into a cylindrical coil of lights and moving metal plates. After a few moments of werring noise the cannons settled and then began to rotate like some predator scanning for prey. Both cannons honed in on a point on the east wall. Lines of lights pulsed down sections of the cannons. Cornell felt the oxygen being sucked out of his lungs and his ears popped. A deep bass sound crescendoed around the room. There was a dull flash and both cannons recoiled back like theyâ€™d been hit with some invisible mallet.
A pittering sound came from the south door. Cornell took a few steps back and examined his rifle. Parkinson was squatting to his right eyes fixes on the corridor beyond the south door, the cannons pulsed in the background. A splintered roar echoed down the corridor, the aliens were coming.
The shade of a shadow changed in the corner of Cornellâ€™s eye. He swung is weapon round to bear on the ghostly spectre. And then he stopped, he wanted to fire but he couldnâ€™t. His finger froze in his heart lights flashed across the room and noises thundered in his ear, the shadow erupted in to a spray of green and brown mucus. He felt the vapourous atmosphere start to ignite as Parkinson lit up his flame thrower but still he was rooted to the spot like a man frozen in stone. Clark smacked him over the back of his head with his shotty. His heart leapt in to his throat as he staggered forward. â€œWake up you f*****g dope.â€ A switch flicked in his brain adrenaline started coursing through his veins his vision narrowed, what was fear. He pulled up his weapon and brought it to bear on the ceiling above the door. Heâ€™d heard of skulks many times but this was the first he had seen. Its eyes flashed as it sauntered across the ceiling, claws digging out fillings of metal as it moved. Cornell pulled his trigger and sent a line bullet holes straight across the ceiling and through the skulk. It spasamed as it fell. On the floor it some how managed to find the strength to rebound and leap for his face. A shot gun blast echoed in his ear and it was gone. He spat some mucus out of his mouth. Parkinson was busy drawing a wall of flame across the doorway, periodically burnt fragments would scatter through it. Cornell decided to join in and empty his clip through the inferno. A line of Arial text descended down his visor telling him squad A were booking it to his position. After clicking in another clip he looked up to see the face of death. A black creature that looked like the result of a praying mantis spliced with a man sailed through the flame. Its eyes cold with in humanity it ripped its claw straight through Parkinsonâ€™s chest. Cornell opened his muzzle on the creature to see no effect. The muzzle flash stained his eyes but the creature kept coming. Its teeth bared his finger froze, that was fear.
He had spent the next few days in nanite tanks letting the micro machines rebuild his torn up body. Each time he closed his eyes he saw that creature and it ravaged his mind. He was later told in his debriefing that squad A had arrived moments later and Private Connor had cut down the creature with his hmg but this didnâ€™t consol his tortured mind. Squad B had advanced through the refinery complex to the central room and found nothing but pulverized mucus. Maybe he wasnâ€™t spared after all.
He told and retold this story to Dr Monbiot over the following weeks; they discussed his childhood, his hopes and his fears. But it had come to dawn on him the line between fighter and fear was so fine and heâ€™d almost made it but slipped down the wrong side.