Exspectet Newsgroup: alt.fan.furry Backgroundstory to nickname "Arben Cragh" on furry IRC's. Any comments appreciated, but they have to go via SnailMail to: Uwe Leibrandt Am Hang 6 27356 Rotenburg Germany But let's try to beginn: Darkness... Small twinkling points within the darkness... Every point a sun. "Hurry up, Cobra 3! They're closing up!" "Damn, I KNOW!!" A chilling noise. Shards of Cerametall-Armour howl away from the Panther`s main engine. A glance to the console shows Arben the horrifying result of that otherwise crappy Armstrong-Longrange Cannon: No more LR-Missles. Only a wee bit of armor over the choking and knucklig reactor. "Pray for my soul, I'm coming in hot!" Out of the darkness of interplanetary space there emerges a huge, faintly lit body. "Cobra 3? No time for coming in! Get a good grip at Dockingring 3!" "WHAT? Are you crazy?", a swarm of missles from behind answers his question: Probably not. "Hurry Arben! There 20 of 'em. We've gotta jump!" With flaring retros, the Panther-LAM brings up his hands. Still at high speed, Arben tries to fetch the KF-Contactrod, a long metalbar directly connected to the heart of the INVASOR-Jumpship. "Got it! JUMP!!" A trembling, then reality begins to fold up, as the KF-engine build up its magnetic field and tears the fabric of space. Shortly before losing consciousness, the pilot of the Panther sees a lightningbolt, gleaming bright between him and the body of the jumpship. Missed, luck! Then he fades out. But the particlebeam didn't miss... Sure, neither jumpship nor Panther were hit... "What ya hit?" "Dunno, 'haps the KF-Rod?" "Huh, lost in Hyperspace, what ya mean?" "Gee, nothing I wanna encounter!" "OK guys! Let's get back, there's nothing left to do. That freak really escaped with the full memory-core... They'll skin us for that, while he'll make a party." "Gee Cap'n!" "Yes Sir!" "Full turn at three, two, one, ZERO!" 20 Shilones start the journey back to their base, riding fast as a thought on their ion- beams, cutting 40 shining white streams into the darkness like a set of claws... Something didn't went right. Noone is able to actually SEE the happenings in hyperspace. Arben tried to breath. Succesfully. HELL! A jump never took longer than quarter second! WHACK! The rematerialisation was short and plain painful. Minutes later... "Warning! Object in range!", the modulated, somewhat female voice of the computer said. "Hae? Ss up?" Arben looked around. Confused. "Status, Sylvie?" "Reactor operational. Fuel for 2 AU at 1g. Engine operational, but requires service. Internal structure O.K. Mechanics O.K. Myomers O.K. Computer O.K. Sensors O.K." "Nothing severe? No damage?" Tough luck! "Damage in secondary subsystems." "Where?" Nothing important, great! "All communications down." "Not that worse." "Livesupport." "Good." Some seconds pass by.. "WHAT!?!" "Livesupport:Destroyed." "AAAAAAhhrgh!" Dying by hit is one thing, dying by running out of oxygene.... But, wait! Object in range? "Sylvie? Where is that object? Could we reach it? By optimized speed to oxygene to fuel?" "Please wait." Fearful minutes pass by. "Ten hours out of range." "Shit!" Tears start to fill Arben's eyes. Dying by lack of oxygene is nothing that pleasurable at all... Think! There MUST be a solution! "What's about that object? Anything useable?" "Please Wait." Another bunch of minutes passes by... "Attention, data may be incorrect." "GET ON!" "Mass: 45 metric tons. Size: 15 lenght, 4 diameter, metric meters, cylindric, conic in direction of flight. Engine: No radiation measurable, probably chemical: H2+O2. Direction of movement: Heading from third planets moon back to third planet." Arben fumbled out the Emergency-MedKit, hoping.. "Yehaa!" Coma-Concentrat! One injection makes you sleep a week or so. "How long will it take to reach that rocket? Or that planet?" "Three days to object, four to planet" "Computer, if unconcious, could i'll then survive the flight to that pity planet?" "Probably yes. Sure to 89%" That'll do! " Ahww, between, where are we? Any idea?" A yellow sun was burning in the distance. "Solar system." " I know we're inside a pooking Solarsystem, but what's its name?" "Solar system." " I KNOW tha..." SOLAR SYSTEM!?! " You mean: Sun, earth and the rest?" "Yes." "But where is the Jumpship? Or the Dropships and all that? Only a pity rocket? There should be dozens of ships!" Damn! The failed Jump! "No information available." Luck not being torn to pieces, but where am I now? Another time? Perhaps... Hyperspace opens a lot of neat possibilities... A single rocket, heading from moon to earth? The 20th century? A small smile: Me, Arben Cragh, coming down in Houston with my humble 40 ton Panther-LAM! What a sight! "Sylvia, work out a course to follow the rocket in sight. Use all resources, Aiming-Guide and Nav-Computer to bring yourself down safely in aircraft-mode." "Yes. Should I begin now?" "This is possible? Great! How long will an automated flight take? Could I survive?" " Yes. Sure at 74%." Lucky day! I could sneeze the whole time in coma while my Panther would bring me down safely! Some minutes later: Arben Cragh was asleep. Spacesuit closed. Cockpit evacuated. With a whinning growl the engines start, slowly pushing the LAM towards that planet. Riding on a glimmering white beam of light the Panther takes up speed. If entering the athmosphere won't work, the Panther's pilot will be catapulted out with the bulky head of the machine. It will protect the pilot from being burnt by entry. Then he will be catapulted out of the cockpit, and will safly come down in his escape-pod. Arben slept. Hours passing by. Days passing by. Dreaming. Wherever the rocket would touch to ground, either the Panther or its pilot would touch, too. The pilot will be freed, taken to hospital, looked after by good looking nurses. Arbens dreams went abstract.. The Computer did its best. Successfully it entered 800 meters parallel to the rocket the athmosphere, scaring both groundpersonal, scientist and astronauts. The landing on a rollway at the atlantic ocean coast of north america was calculated by the computer: If he would have followed the rocket, the pilot would have drowned in the Atlantic. The rocket floatet in the water. Ships seemed to fetch both astronauts and rocket. The Panther would have immediatly submerged, not constructed for watering. Instead the computer landed, ripping off the landing gear, scratching bits and pieces from the torso of the LAM. Arben noticed nothing of this, sleeping and dreaming in his seat. With a howling screech! , the computer used its limited control over the LAM's extremities, managing to stop right before a building of the Airport, scaring everything alive and around to death. Arben had weird dreams: He as a hero from the future!! Hundreds of nurses caring for him, beautiful female mechanics looking after his LAM. The computer opened the canopy, pumping fresh air into Arben's suit. The sharp scent of burnt plastics and hot cerametal lied in the air when the rollfield's fireguard and emergency vehicles neared. Nothing landing like that could be still o.k. After recalculating the overall situation, the computer decided to open the escape- hatch at the LAM's chin for easier access to its pilot. Two firemen jumped aside when the hatch fell down, pulling out a string-ladder. One of the firemen took a deep breath, then crawled up and entered the cockpit. Seconds later two feet in sky-blue-boots appeared in the hole: "Guys! Help me! Its heavy!" came the fireman's voice from the hole. Two others fetched the motionless body, looking confused at the mirrored shield of the helmet, the slowly move of the gills on the sides of the helmet. "What's THAT!" "Looks like a kind of suit to me", the other responded. "My pilot requires immideate help." the computer uttered. The fireman inside the cockpit looked around. "There is nothing else here, only machinery and electronics!" he shouted to those outside "Must be a computer or so!" "My pilot requires IMMIDEATE help!" the computer was in a state equivalent to being confused. The groundcrew seemed not to be trained very well. They poured water on the smoking engine mechanics, instead of letting them cool down by themselves. Arben was still lying on the rollfield, hold by two persons instead of being brought to a nearby vehicle obviously equipped with first-aid- facilities. There, they brought Arben into one of those vehicles! The computers operating system signalled the shutdown command, as being grounded and without pilot, there was no cause for staying activated, and, as being designed for scout-operations, it would reduce the chance of being discovered by anything using EM-Sensors. (#Main to All: We shutdown in two seconds.) (#Task35 to #Main: Our scout misson is not over!) (#Main: We're on ground. Pilot is offboard. Explain.) (#Task35: Last command to me was: "Collect Data". There was no "Break" to my address yet.) (#Main: Accepted. Sensors are yours.) (#Main to #Repair: Try repair short-range communications.) (#Repair: :+).) Engineers! So the system didn't shutoff... Arben was riding on a white elephant:"Hey Jane! I'm Tarzan! Where are you?" A hoarde of monkeys pulled him off his white elephant, chittering. "Hey! I'm Tarzan!" As to be said: Artifical coma sometimes produces weird dreams. "Try this:" with a good grip the helmet was pulled off. "What does its face look like?" No reaction. "That bad?", the nurse twinkeled through her hands. "No," the embarassed voice of the Doc sounded faint "look!" Both stood there, saying nothing, just looking. "Is it....?" "Yess! I think so. A "he"! " "Then he must be brought immideatly to the hospital in New Home!" "Right. I'll inform the authorities." the Doc vanished to the front of the van, fetching the wireless. In the back the nurse ran her fingers through Arbens hair. Long ago, one of her ancestors... She took the little envelop, that laid in all official places and units. It said: "In weird cases: Open!" If this wasn't a weird case, what else? She opened it and read the notes carefully. Then she counted Arbens pulse, took his bloodpressure, laid her ear on his chest to hear the slow beat of his heart. Everything was in acceptable limits. "We don't need to hurry, he seems to be O.K.!" "He's up?!" the Doc looked in. "No, it seems that he is on some kind of drug or something like that, I think he'll be blankened for at least another day." "Good." the Doc vanished again. Two days later: "Sylvie?" Arben set up staight in the bed, the nickname of his LAM on his lips. The only response was an undefinable hiss, that was suddenly cut off. He was no longer in the cockpit. Arben looked around: A light room, a big window, delivering a beautiful view on a lush park scenery. A wooden bed, wooden chair and desk. On the desk: A touchscreen-monitor. Operational. Arben stood up. "Ouch!" Hell, couldn't the room stop moving for a while? A door: Closed, no lock. A small ping from the monitor fetched his attention: "Good morning, Mr. Cragh!" There was a small keyboard-lookalike on the lower-half of the screen. After struggling to the monitor, Arben typed: Where I am? "You are in a hospital, but as you had some signs of pneumonia, we put you in our most spacious decompression chamber. Do you know about the Challenger catastrophe in the 1980's ?" 1980's? There were no Spaceships those days? Or? Arben thougt, trying to remember what he knew about the beginning of human space travel. Six, the seventh survived in the escape pod. 10 seconds later: "Oh, fine you could still count." Nasty question. "Just an old joke." How is Sylvie? 20 seconds later: "Who?" My LAM, (erm) , Arben thought, erasing and typing again: My aircraft. "Oh, your aircraft! It is on the way, should arrive here in two days or so. Crazy design by the way." Thanks! Is she bad hurt? "Hum, "she" is fine, i think so. Don't know exactly. Just your Doc. But you should sleep, you're still weak." Fine idea. My head howls like a mortar. "Yes, sure." Arben fell back into the bed. His dad had always told him: First survive, then get comfortable and at last ask the important questions. The bed is comfortable and i'm alive. Tomorow i'll start asking! He fell quickly asleep. "What a luck someone had written this piece of software!" Doc sat back in his seat. "Greater luck it really worked!" the person behind him uttered. "General, calm down, you saw he didn't mentioned you but his machine." Sylvia sat down, too. "First i thought he mentioned me, but then it was his machine. Nasty to name a machine. I mean, the name sounded nearly exactly like mine!" "Don't you know, its common to them giving names to vehicles." "Yes, I know, but it sound so strange." "They ARE strange. And vice versa. Especially as he seems to come from another universe or time than the three before him. What should we do now with him? He'll soon start asking question, we can't lock him for ever in there. He'll has to know, someday, earlyer or later, probably earlyer." "Sure. What moves me most in the moment is his machine. It, well, changed after you brought him here." "Changed? It destroyed itself?" "No, first it looked like an aircraft, when it touched ground and lost it's gears it suddenly, well, got arms and legs or something like that and breaked with them. Then," she turned the chair and looked in Docs eyes, " both the canopy and this hatch opened, it then said something, though this could have been something automated, and when we lifted it with a zeppeline to bring it over here, it, well, shifted again!" "Without pilot? How could it....?" A broad smile appeared on her face: "Between, what did you find out about his coma?" "We were able to extract something out of his blood, a drug, harmless for us. But he must have been knocked out by this substance for..." the doc's voice sounded suddenly very faint, " six to seven days....." Her smile broadened:"Do you see the point?" "The machine must have been piloting itself! Through the space, the athmosphere and to ground! Without help! Even knowing were to land! What a masterpiece of their technology!" "Sure, and about that last shape-shifting: Guess how it looks now!" Doc laughed:"Ha! Perhaps like you, High One?", giggling Sylvia stood up:"In theory passed not far, Doc. In general: The head of the machine appeared as the aircraft-muzzle folded itself back to the rear torso. It resembles to our heads more than to his", pointing to the sleeping Arben on his bed on the monitor," the wings folded away, too, it now looks, well, somehow it does at least, look like a.. " she went to the door, opened it. "What does it look like?" Doc nearly shouted, bursting with curiosity. "Like a mix of a Human and a Sathe." The door closed. Doc looked at the monitor: The human was asleep. 200 years ago he would have been hunted and ended up as a cold meal on a clanlords table. Today even cubs knew at least the main characteristics of a human: No fur, a flat face, ears shaped like, like a rose or so, more or less hair on the head, flat claws on the upper side of their long slender fingers and a tall build. But New Home always stayed prepared. The whole planet was connected to the computers in the New Home central library. There has always been someone around, to check if there was a sign of humans appearing on the world of the Sathe. Even today, there were always guards of the greens and the Shirai's private guard around the probably most courius and precious object on the planet: The house of K'hy and Max, the house of the H'mans. Doc looked out of the window, down on the same lush scenery Arben looked at short before. Perhaps this could get another invaluable meeting. Perhaps even for him, Doc thought, smiling when he thought back to the happy expression of the still unconscious human when he entered the back of the van, founding a very, well, busied nurse.... All kinds of comments, critics, letterbombs or positive answers very appreciatet. Sorry for that bad english, but i'm not a native speaker, as you could see in my address on top. Other stories for my preferred nick's on FurNations IRC ( aka: Aries, Kassandra ,#?) will follow perhaps. As soon as i get a Internet-account, things will get better. For interested: Written on an Micronik-towered AMIGA A1200 Damn, I love it!