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Four Kings(IC)


Ari

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GM

The three men paused, and looked at each other, before looking back at Marceau.

"You have, courage Earth, man but orders are, orders and, you, will fall!" replied the nearest, as the three men nodded to each other and once again took aim.

Two shots went astray, but one hit Marceau square on the chest, its energy sizzling over his body and burning a hole in his clothes...

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The young Frenchman dodged the first shots with some ease, making him once again prey to taking one chance too many and not stepping aside as fast as he should have. Forced backwards a step by the shock of the blast, Marceau looked in dismay at the sizzling gash the shot had cut into his armor. Well, they seem to have powerful(though somewhat innaccurate) weapons. Got to beat them quickly so they don't have a chance to try that again!

Leaping to the left of one of the aliens he jabbed at them with his fist, hoping the blow would have sufficient impact to incapacitate them.

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GM

The man crumpled under Marceau's blow, sinking to his knees from the force of the blow.

The other two men looked like they were beginning to have serious doubts about the whole business. They looked at each other.

"This, is unexpected resistance we, may need, to retreat if it, continues" gabbled one.

"Unexpected indeed I, agree" concurred the other.

They both turned there head and fired again, the two beams again hitting wide. Marceau was too fast to draw a bead on.

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Ducking smoothly under the blasts, Marceau lunged at the closest of the aliens, a note of embarressment entering his mind as the rudimentary nature of his hand-to-hand tactics. He was all-too aware of how amatuerish his efforts would no doubt look to any of the highly-trained Circle, and reaolved to brush up on his combat options.

But first he needed to defeat the diablocal aliens assaultors and uncover what and who they were, what Ford was to them, and why the blazes they had tried to crash the plane in the desert instead of just waiting for him at the airport and shooting him as he disembarked.

Tensing his legs, he shot forward and, bending his arm slightly, unleashed it when he got within range of his enemy's sternum, the blow hopefully enough to render the foeman incapable of fighting further.

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GM

Another crushing blow, and another man sank to his knees. If indeed man he was.

It was true that two of the men were still fighting, barely, but only one was still on his feet. Seeing the odds stacked against him at this point, he pulled up his sleeve to reveal a strange metallic bracelet.

"Activate, emergency translocation driver!" he squaked, in a high pitched voice.

As soon as he did, all four men were enveloped in a shimmering glow, like a mirage, and disappeared, leaving only a strong smell of ozone in the hot desert air...

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With a sigh of relief, Marceau turned to where he had last seen Ford Fector. He had some serious questions he needed answered.

Before doing so however, he checked to make sure that the gun was stil in his hand, as he knew of some people back in Freedom who would be glad to work with alien technology, maybe he could even figure out a way to emulate its effects.

First needed to know what was going on, though. "Ford" he said as he turned, "Who are those people, what did you do, and is there any way of stopping stuff like this-" he gestured to the plane "-and this" he gestured to the sands around them "from happening again with them?"

He was now deeply curious, waht could Ford be hiding?

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GM

Ford sighed. Well, sort of sighed. It was like a sigh blended with a whooping cough.

"You should, know the truth fair, is fair as you, saved my life it, seems..." he mused to himself, tucking away his mobile phone.

"My name is, Captain Torr of the Kahn, I am a hunted, man. It seems that the Star, Kahn, was not happy with my resignation, and want's my head, still..."

He sighed.

"I hope to find, refuge, on this planet, and hide away, as Ford Fector..."

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Marceau listened to Ford's brief tale of woe with great attention, marvelling inwardly at the bizarre things the universe kept turning up. When Ford's explanation as to who he was and why he was being chased by men(?) with odd speech patterns and crazy guns had run to its conclusion, he stated flatly "Who is the Star Khan, and is there anyone we can appeal to that has some hold on or authority over him?"

While he spoke he glanced at the gun in his hand and offered it to Ford, figuring the other man would have more need of it than he.

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GM

"The Star Kahn?" replied Ford, nonplussed.

"Ah, yes you earthlings may, not have heard of, him of, course" he said.

He cleared his throat. Again, the sound was not quite what one would have expected. It sounded slightly like he was gargling at the same time. This time, when he spoke, it was like he was rushing to get the words out, reading some internal monologue without pause or hesitation.

"The Star Kahn is a warrior a general a leader of a band of worlds like a barbarian horde except of course it is not barbaric in technology or organisation but it is military and he is their undisputed king or despot he rules with an iron fist it is a military warlike culture and he is their commander in chief accordingly he answers to nobody he seeks only to conquer more and more worlds and crush them under his fist"

He took the gun from Marceau.

"Thank, you" he said gratefully.

"I expect they, will be, back...."

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Marceau looked at Ford for a minute or so, processing the awful circumstances he had somehow gotten into. At last he sighed and offered Ford his hand. "Mr. Torr" he declared firmly, "just give me the chance, and I'll get you out from under this tyrant's thumb. I don't know what we can do, but I dare say it would be a good start if we let people know we're here, if we can get to the nearby town I can get you in touch with people who could kick seven shades of scarlet out of any force this Star Khan could snd after you. They can let the Freedom League know about your peril, and the League can settle this Khan's hash with you once and for all" a moment's thought led him to add "Besides, if this is what he can send against you, I don't think we need fear him much. That gun would be almost overkill, seeing how quickly I fought off four unarmed by myself"

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GM

"Yes indeed, you fought, well" replied Ford. "But we are, not at a, tactical advantage may, I draw your attention to, the fact that, we, are in the middle, of what appears to, be a, desert?"

Ford swung his arm around. It was not strictly true. Morroco was not a desert. But it was hot, it was dry, and there was no obvious sign of civilisation nearby. There was just a plane, a flume of smoke, and a hundred odd passengers, some of whom were badly injured.

"It will, only be, a matter of time, before they, return. And perhaps use less, subtle, approaches. Artillery, perhaps. They have, no qualms".

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GM

Meanwhile...

The four defeated men stood shame-faced before their commander, a squat 5 foot man dressed in full battle armour with a red-purple cloak and a face hidden by an intimidating helm.

"How could one earthling fight off all four of you! pathetic! It will be one day in the Null-cell for all of you!"

All four men shuddered at the thought, and proceeded to blubber excuses and explanations.

"Enough!" shouted back their commander. "If it was not for the fact we are short staffed, and my other minions are probably even more incompetent, the punishment would be even worse, and you would be replaced immediately. But as it is, I am forced to rely on you again. However, given your blatant incompetence, I shall have to... upgrade... your weaponry..."

He pressed a button, and, free from gravity, a jet black box floated into the room. Silently, it opened up, illuminating the four men's faces.

"Behold! the pinnacle of our weapon technology, four customised weapon staves, each modified for your own preference. I trust that this time you won't fail..." he said, with obvious threat in his voice.

The four men nodded, reaching for the out of sight weapons.

"Do with them what you will. Just get the mission accomplished. Seek out your enemy and crush him. And come up with some appropriate title for these weapons. Not that you deserve it, but to do so would serve a purpose: to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies... "

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Marceau's eyes narrowed. As if it wasn't enough for this Star Khan to try and crash a passenger liner, he now had to send artillery to kill one subject on a remote planet on the edge of the galaxy. He kept what he wished on the Khan to himself, focusing on the bare fact that they weren't in a good spot.

"Agreed Torr, is it alright if I call you by that, or do you prefer Ford? Anyway, let's head back to the wreck. We'll send off flares and make a fire to alert people to our presence, and then we can hash out what to do over some food" he looked worried at Torr and added "If you like our food, I mean. Do you have a different digestive system? Anyway, we're not beaten yet and we can still fight these guys, if you know anything that might help I'd like to hear it, I have some weapons I brought along with me that can give me an edge as well, if we get a chance at battle on roughly even terms" shrugging he offered finally "If that strikes you stil as something hopeless, don't forget that if we do nothing, then we all might well die anyway. We might as well try and not lie down at the end of the road, hoping for mercy from this tyrant you describe"

Clapping Ford on the shoulder he made to take him back to the wreckage.

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GM

The wreckage was not severe. Whilst the plane would never fly again, most of it was intact. A few small fires had broken out, but had been put out by helpful and courageous passengers (one of whom was a fire officer).

Luggage had already been broken out and people where raiding there luggage for clothes, food and water. Most of the luggage was intact, bar the inevitable smashed goods from the bumpy landing.

VAnessa, the stewardess, approached Marceau. "We have got some supplies. Enough to feed and water our passengers for two or three days if we stretch it. Some flares, life jackets, that kind of thing. Unfortunately, the radio has smashed, along with most of our electrical equipment and power. So unless you are an engineer as well as a pilot, it looks like the cockpit is shot. "

She sighed "All I could find that might help is a map of morroco, some passengers have. We can guess where we are now, its about 20 miles to the nearest small town, although there may be roads and houses en route. A couple of hours walk then, providing of course we do know where we are, and whoever strikes out isn't going to get lost..."

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The rush of victory had quickly faded on the walk back to the wrecked plane, and Marceau was thus fully affected by the impact of how lost they were. That they were at least 20 miles awat from the nearest town, the broken radio, and the desolation around them were more than enough to knock the final vestigial notes of triumphalism out of him. He searched almost perfunctorily for his luggage, concealing his weapons about his person, and slipping into his costume with his customary overalls overtop them. That done(in his internal monologue he cursed his blithe assurance to Ford that all would be well) he set out looking around the wreck for anything of help.

Checking around the crash-site, it struck him that he could do worse than try and see where they were, and if anything or anyone was nearby. Climbing nibly up the wreckage of the plane, Marceau stood on the highest point he could safely reach and scanned the horizon, the gentle breeze, chilled by the rapidly cooling desert, blew through his closely-shorn hair, and he heard in his memory a faint melody, like a sound of soft trumpets and mournful violins.

With that music setting him at greater ease, he looked to the horizon, desperate for the faintest chance of seeing a house, caravan, or even a passing jeep.

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GM

There was nothing in sight. The Morrocan desert rolled on right into the horizon. It was not flat, but hilly and broken.

IN the distance, Marceau could make out some dust trails. A car, maybe?

But no, it was too far to see. The lay of the land was clear, and he could see the best route towards what (hopefully) was the nearest area of civilisation, but no trace of it. Some binoculars would have helped. But in the fading sun, even at this height, he simply could not pick out the detail that far away.

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He hadn't really the eyesight to see much, so Marceau was only slightly dissapointed by the vast waste that stretched around him. Shrugging his shoulders(rather than his teeth, as was the custom), he jogged down and off the wrecked plane to get a team together with Vanessa's help for trekking off in search of the supposed city. He would have to take a look at the maps she had mentioned, and he guessed it would be a terrible idea to leave Ford/Torr without protection(the pistol would only go so far, after all).

Coming back to the level-headed stewardess after his brief reconnaissance, he instantly began "Vanessa, I think we should start drawing up some plans for who will go looking for that city you say we might be near. I checked from the top of the plane, but without a pair of binoculars I couldn't see anything clearly enought to be sure"

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GM

"Vanessa, I think we should start drawing up some plans for who will go looking for that city you say we might be near. I checked from the top of the plane, but without a pair of binoculars I couldn't see anything clearly enought to be sure"

"Well, its a start" replied Vanessa, who had been organising some of the food rations and helping with the injured. "My concern is some of the injured passengers. I'm no doctor, nothing terrible, a few broken bones, scrapes, cuts, that kind of thing. But I guess if they are too long without help it might be a problem. I don't suppose you are a surgeon as well as a pilot" she asked with a smile.

"We got some flares, some rations, heck, we got a set of golf clubs if they would be of any use. I am sure any of the passengers would lend what's needed. Binoculars, we only had one set in luggage, and they smashed I am afraid. " she sighed, handing MArceau a pair of black binoculars without any lenses left in them.

"So who are you taking on the trek?" she asked.

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Cringing at the reminder of his rash decision that had almost multiplied the danger they had faced, the lean Frenchman ducked his head slightly by way of apology. "Taking with me? Only a few, Mr. Fector and those three" he said, indicating the three stronger and more physically-adept passengers he had noticed. Accepting the near-useless binoculars with as much grace as he could given the circumstances, he continued with what he had in mind. "The flares should be fired either tonight, to let people who saw the plane know there are survivors in need of rescue, or tomorrow morning before dawn, when there will be a chance for them still being spotted against the sky. We shouldn't wait to use them, by my reckoning. What do you suggest?"

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The flares should be fired either tonight, to let people who saw the plane know there are survivors in need of rescue, or tomorrow morning before dawn, when there will be a chance for them still being spotted against the sky. We shouldn't wait to use them, by my reckoning. What do you suggest?"

"Don't ask me..." replied Vanessa, with both modesty and playfulness. "I'm just a stewardess!" she smiled.

"Look, I'll do what you say, but I think the best thing to do is to strike out. Lets hope the flares work, but I'm counting on you. In the meantime, I'll do what I can to make sure we last as long as we can out here. The nights might get a bit chilly, but we have blankets and it's never that cold in this climate. "

Ford Fector strolled over with the three men Marceau had indicated. Two of them were firemen, who had helped control the plane's fires on the crash. The third was a middle aged but extremely fit Swede, apparently a Biathlon competitor of some minor national fame.

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"Deserts can become astoundingly cold at night, especially this far inland, but I'm sure we'll be alright"

Waving the four others over, he and they gathered the supplies they would need for their search.

Supplies gathered(mostly water, as by his estimation that would be the most important), he led the group off what the position of the setting sun decided as the north-east, thinking that they were more likely to find something closer to the coast, rather than setting out further inland.

The setting sun was a relief to him at first, due to it meaning they wouldn't have to face the terrible Sahara days, but as the chill worsened he silently wished he had brought something warmer than his armor and coveralls for the approaching desert night.

The sand crunched softly under his boots, the air was still at their lower altitudes, the moon gleamed in a cloudless sky, and he felt a tingle of fear at the realization that they could be attacked at any time...

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GM

The desert was indeed cold, and Marceau's four companions were soon suffering, despite the extra blankets and clothes. By night, it was harder still to navigate, but the moon and stars were bright - bright enough to put one foot in front of the other. The horizon was too dark to make out however, and the very real possibility of getting lost or treading in circles started to loom.

Ford's phone rang. An odd bleeping noise. Bringing out, he consulted it and moved to Marceau.

"Proximity, warning. There are hunting, drones, nearby. I used them, myself when, in Khanite army, not armed just, designed to locate".

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Dropping prone to the ground(and gesturing to the others to do the same) Marceau asked Ford "Where are they, and how can we evade them?"

For the last few hours the gnawing fear had been growing within his stomach, he was glad to finally have a chance to vent it through action rather than having it fester.

Craning his head up, he scanned the horizon for any sign of the phantoms the mobile had detected. It was unlikely he would be able to see them, he knew, but it felt more reassuring than simply lying on the sand and waiting for the end.

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GM

"There..." said Ford, pointing at the darkness. It was impossible to make anything out, but Ford seemed convinced, looking at an incomprehensible readout on his mobile phone - which was clearly not, after all, a mobile phone.

"Evade them? I don't know how... they are fast. Fragile, but fast. We could shoot them, if we could see them, perhaps. Hide, maybe... but where? What it does mean is that my hunters are not far behind..."

He looked at the three men with them.

"Distract the drones?" he said, his face impassive.

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"How?" was the prompt response. "Do they track heat, movement, soundwaves, souls?" ppeering into the darkness of the desert night, Marceau wished he had night-vision goggles.

He quietly began the process of discarding his outerwear, the dull greyish-blue coveralls that had withstood a great deal of potential damage over the years, including a light acid. He had since discovered that the material the coveralls was made of was proof against all but the harshest cleaning agents, and the acid had never stood a chance.

Now in full costume(and thankfully almost invisible in the dark of the desert) he added "Distraction would be a good idea. How many? You want me to do it?"

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