The Silent Thoughts of Whittenoom

Whit is sat on a metallic bench under the shade of a giant oak tree. She has a water bottle in her hand, and is watching a tall gallentean man run towards where she is sat. She drinks the last remains of the water and puts it into the bin besides her. As she stands up, the man stops next to her, exhaling quietly. He smiles to his younger sister, resting his gloved hands on the back of his head. Whit smiles back, reaching up and ruffling his green coloured fringe.

“You ready?” He asks, breathing now back to normal.

“Sure. Where are we going?”

“Don’t you want to know what we are doing first?” He chuckles, as him and Whit walk down the pavement, towards the exit of the park.

“Ok, what are we doing?”

“Well, I’m not sure you’re going to like this idea. But you might find it…useful...for your line of work…”

“My line of work huh…” Smiles Whit as they walk down a quiet ally way

The gap between the buildings narrows and a small smile crosses Tokkah’s face. He stops and looks upwards; Whit also stops upon noticing, and follows his gaze. All of a sudden, a man leaps across the gap over Whit and Tokkah’s heads and vanishes out of sight. A few seconds’ later two more follow him, crossing the gap and vanishing. Before Whit can speak, let alone react, Tokkah grins and turns to his sister.

“L’art du déplacement”


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OOC: 'L’art du déplacement'; English = 'the art of moving', or Parkour.
More Infomation about Parkour:
Parkour
Free Running
American Parkour
Urban FreeFlow
Parkour Generations

A small camera drone hovers slightly above Whit’s face, there is static for a second then the picture becomes clear. Whit is sat at a holographic desk inside the ‘Iron Hearted Angel’, the room is dark and a small humming sound fills the large room. Her attention seems to be focused on the holo image in front of her.

Despite almost falling asleep in the ‘Hook last night, I had the best sleep in ages when I returned.

Must have been something in that chocolate muffin…

Nether the less, I’m still going to see the Doc; I’m hoping he has some idea of what is causing it, and if he has anything to…stop them from happening. I’m hoping it has nothing to do with the new implants…

Yishal has disappeared. Woke up one day and she was no longer on the corporate roster. Every trace of information – which I had access to at least - was gone. Not sure where she is right now, but I have a feeling she is ok, she seems the tough sort…

Whit taps the holo image a few more times, seeming to rethink what she has just said.

I hope she is.

She then reaches under the table and pushes a small button, the room plunges into darkness for a brief second as the holo projector switches itself off, and the lights turn on. She reaches across the table to pick up her data pad, only for it to start buzzing in her hand. She reads the message, a cross between a smile and a confused look crosses her face.

Who the hell has Goats in a station anyway?

Goinard, Concord Bureau Station, 11:54am 22/11/111YC


The metal plated floor vibrated as the giant overhead crane slowly swung itself around in a huge arc, gently moving towards the Myrmidon Class Battlecruiser ‘Theory Over Logic’, floating in the artificial gravity well below. The crane slowly lowered its cargo onto a large moveable palette, surrounded by dozens of dockworkers all ensuring the safe delivery. Eventually, the crane grinded to a halt and the workers flurried around the palette, clipping and unclipping various ropes and hooks. They all parted as a large vehicle, resembling a forklift inched closer and closer, pulling the palette onto the vehicle it raised the container and placed it onto a conveyor belt, where several more dockhands were waiting. The forklift reversed and moved off towards another palette waiting to be loaded. The container slowly slid inside the large belly of the ship and soon it disappeared into darkness.

A few 100 meters further up was a platform where several dock mechanics, connected by harness’s attached to a large overhead beam, worked precariously on the side of ship. Panels of metal sat on the platform, revealing the innards of the vessel. Several large boxes also sat on the platform containing various repair materials.

A further 100 or so meters up was another platform, several dockworkers walked around the exterior of the vessel, pointing at plates and possible things wrong. At least four of them carried a data pad in their hand, tapping away and nodding whenever they were spoken to. One of them, a tall Achurian man, walked over towards Whittenoom, who was standing, watching the crew work on her ship.

The Achurian man stopped as he reached Whit. His face had small smudges of dirt and oil covering his skin, his dark blue overalls had been rolled up at the bottom to accommodate his height.
He extended his left hand towards her, which she gently took.

“Ms Whittenoom.” He spoke, releasing her hand.

“Mr Cédolin. How is the overhaul going?” Asked Whittenoom, looking out towards ’Theory Over Logic’ resting her gloved hands on the rail.

“On schedule, no hiccups so far, however the delivery time on one palette is off by a few days. Hopefully once we have it, it will only be a matter of hours to complete the task.” He stated, looking at the data pad as he spoke.

“Very well. I’m sure a few days delay won’t be much of an inconvenience, it will give me time to sort some other things out. Thank you, Julian. ” She smiled, not at all flustered about the possible delay.

Mr Cédolin bowed in farewell and turned on his heel, walking back towards the platform of the inspection crew. His figure soon becoming unrecognisable as he melted into the crowd. Whittenoom smiled, and turned away, pulling her grey trench coat; emblazoned with both the Ghost Festival and Naraka logo on her right sleeve around her as she walked into the crowd.

11/11/111 YC

I sometimes wonder what my role really is within this small, if sometimes dysfunctional family. What is my part? What do I contribute? Last night really got me thinking about it. I hardly see anyone out side the pod, which might be why my birthday was missed; but I never liked having big extravagant events anyway, maybe it was the right thing if no one knew….

I mean, sure I go the Skyhook every now and then, but I am hardly the best conversationalist. I usually end up listening, eating and generally – for most of the part – trying to catch up on what I have missed on internal happenings. Cael, whom I have not seen in a long time; asked me if anything had happened in the time he had been absent, I wish I could have provided him with the information that he wanted, but I could not as I did not know myself. Am I really that much of a hermit that I don’t even know what is happening within the people that I fly with?

Maybe I should speak up more…

The floor was hard, cold as I hit the surface. I felt the figures shadow cast over me, I could almost see the smug look on his face. The same smug look that made the anger in me rise. He slowly inched closer towards me; his two friends remained standing by his side. One carried a shiny metallic rod, the other, carried nothing. They were all dark, shadows – covered head to toe in black clothing, a big, wide hood hiding their identity.

‘Get Up.’

The voice was quiet, yet forceful. It carried a small hint of Amarrian undertone. A pale, gaunt hand pulled back the hood to reveal an even gaunter face. I pulled myself further against the wall, almost trying to hide.
A long, cold finger touched my face, stroking my cheek. The voice spoke again.

‘Such a shame, your father would have been oh so proud of you. So young….’

I turned my cheek away from him, averting my eyes from his pressuring glare. He wrapped his cold, hard hands around my face, moving my head so I looked him in the eyes. They were lifeless, cold, hollow.

‘I see you don’t like what I say. It will all be over soon, little one.’

A small chuckle emitted from the second tallest figure to the Amarrians left. His frame was large, his shoulders were much broader then those of the Amarrians.
His voice was deep, and rough.

‘Shame, her mother was so pretty…Hell I would have- ’

‘Go to hell!’ I spat at the flanker. ‘She never would have-’

The cloaked figure approached me, pushing the Amarrian out the way. He crouched down, looking at me in the eyes. His gloved hand pushed back the hood, a blonde headed Caldari now filled my vision. He had a sharp bone structure; typical of the Caldari race. His eyes were a deep blue; a scar ran through his right.

‘Would have what? What makes you so sure? Why do you think she ran away?’

‘Bastard!’

His palm connected with my face. I inhaled sharply trying to numb the pain that now soared across my right cheek. I tried to lift my left arm, only for the pain to return. I grabbed it instinctively, tears now rolling down my face.

The Caldari chuckled and stood up, shaking his head. The other cloaked figure seemingly slid over towards him. The Amarrian still had that smug look on his face, even more so now that I was obviously in pain. He rubbed his gaunt hands and slid on his short black gloves.
The hooded figure pulled a small cone shaped object out of his robes, and attached it to the end of the metallic rod. Then suddenly, without a sound, a small silver dart containing a green liquid, shot out the end and hit the Caldari in the chest. Within seconds his face went a pale shade of grey, and he began to gasp for air. He fell to the floor on his knees with a loud crunch, holding his chest where the dart had impacted.

‘Wrong person’

The shadowed figure said quietly and calmly. His accent rang with heavy Gallentean.
I pulled my legs closer towards my chest, my breathing rapid, I tried to keep it quiet, but I knew the inevitable was coming. Was I to be next?

No.

The Amarrian had snapped around upon hearing the crunch, and was no pointing a small, .22 calibre gun in the direction of the Gallentean. No words were exchanged, the only sound was a small high pitched squeak as a dart impacted upon the flesh of the Amarrian. He was going to meet the same fate as his partner lying face down on the floor, motionless.

Soon enough he did.

The figure began to come towards me. I pulled myself away from him, fear and adrenaline coursing through my body. With a slightly tanned hand, he pulled back his hood. A very clearly Gallentean face looked at me, his expression was sad, forgiving. His eyes were large and brown, almost near black, just like his hair.

‘I’m sorry, Whit. One day you will understand.’

He then turned and walked towards the emergency press button, pressing it somewhat hesitantly. A loud alarm sounded in my ears, I raised my arm trying to block it while he strode out the door calmly. Everything got darker and heavier, then brighter and lighter, I closed my eyes, my head going dizzy. I could hear a voice faintly in my ear, I wanted to see who it was, see if it was going to help.

I opened my eyes one last time.

It was all just a dream.

I flicked through the holloreels with a certain sense of fascination; each moment in time captured, but coming to life when the viewer gazed upon the image. Each one so different to last, some forgotten, others remembered. There were a few that pained me to look at, but there was one I could not bring myself to witness.
Nthanda had passed on the file of my Fathers death to me, and how much of a mistake the Federation Navy had made. Now I can see why they wanted to keep it hidden in the shadows. She had also, how I do not know, given me a certain box of holloreels that belonged to him as well as some other personal possessions.

My father was not around for most of my childhood, which is why it is difficult to look at those with him there. I look at him as my father, and yet I hardly know him. I hardly remember his existence at all. Yet his disappearance has always left me wondering; wondering when he would come back. I finally realise, he never will.

There are a few with mother and I before her departure, although she was there more then my father, she was never around for long. I spent most of my childhood with the Akyre family. Although Uncle could have taken me under his wing, he insisted that it would not be a wise idea to do so. Loki and Nosi made good substitute sisters, and of course Nikkita was a wonderful mother to me. She made the best chocolate biscuits in the cluster as far as I knew, and always helped me when I needed it.

Another person who was there for me when I was younger was an old friend of mine; Kai Nikolas. When I left school and joined the Navy Academy we drifted apart, and never heard from each other for a long time. Until now. I was shocked at first when I received the eve-mail from him. It has been so long, yet he seems like his old usual self. It’s strange, because if it was anyone else, I would be sceptical about the whole venture, but Kai I feel I can trust.

I recently moved aboard Iron Hearted Angel. I feel a bit safer aboard this then in my apartment. Something about living in a CONCORD station rattles my cage a bit. The external power sometimes cuts; which is interesting - I have about 30 minutes before the ship is plunged into total darkness to get the external power back online. I’m having one of the engineers look into the problem, he suspects it is rigged like this for personal preference, I find it a bit strange, but then again this isn’t exactly my ship, and I’m not exactly normal.

The Crew of Peaceful Acquisition had their first flight after months of training a few days ago. They did well, a few minor mishaps, but nothing that is serious and can’t be straightened out with practice. Now I just need to find a few to help with Generation 10.

A quiet humming emits from the Myrmidon Class Battlecruiser; Theory Over Logic. Several lone bodies hurry about inside, carrying out their various tasks of maintenance. Whittenoom and Loki Akyre can be found inside the cargo hold 31a.

Loki is wandering around; just taking in the various goings on, also keeping close to Whit; who heads towards the ammunition holding area.

“Think I might need to get some more; there isn’t enough to replace one cycle there.”

The duo turn around and begin to head towards the ramp leading to the overhead catwalk.

“Don’t you get . . . guilty . . . killing all those people onboard those ships? Whit?”

“I try not to think about it, Loki.”

“Doesn’t it-”

“Yes.”

“Do the personnel you employ know about your . . .”

“My outlaw status? Yes, of course they do. Before they sign a contract they are told everything, they know what the risks are of their employment. I do refresh the crew every so many months if the vessel stays in service for a period of time; Like Orchid.”

“I couldn’t do what you do. I don’t understand how it doesn’t bother you-”

Whit turns around and faces Loki, her face somewhat irritated, but sad.

“Like I said; I try not to think about it.”

Whit then turns back around and continues to head towards the command deck. Loki trails in her wake.

“How did you pull it off? I mean stealing the ship?”

Whit reaches a data pad and keys in a password, a green light flicks three times and a secure door opens. They continue up a set of stairs, and along a corridor.

“Uncle helped. Infact he organised the whole thing. I just navigated the obstacle course.”

“Yeah but, don’t you regret it?”

“No.” A firm, hard voice.

Loki sighs and shakes her head while Whit opens the command deck door. The two enter and sit at the centre table. Whit pulls out the keypad and begins to access the files aboard Theory over Logic. Blue-green text flicks across the large projected screen upon one of the walls. The camera feed showing an Arazu class Force Recon appears on the screen. It is being assembled in the hanger. Its hull shines in the light of the hanger. A fine layer of dust can be seen as one of the sections is moved into place.

“Have you seen this?”

“It looks like an Arazu…in bits.”

Whit nods slowly, a small smile creeps across her face.