LucByard

Hope my interim builds haven't been written too far outside the plan.

Yes. We're you there?

Your entire fleet is defining a style Marcin. And, dare i say, a canopy piece. It's certainly affecting the way I think about my next spaceship, especially after seeing the Merkabah on my pad. Well done.

Chapter 24: Rogue Orders. Vashin Tulka looked around the dim bar he had ended up in somewhere in a remote settlement in one of the least populated provinces of New California. Where the dregs wash in. He thought as he surveyed the patrons. Any one of them could be the one he’s looking for, assuming he could trust his contact. It had taken weeks of searching, making contacts, asking the right questions. Captain Aurixx was right. He thought, recalling the conversation that had before he left the Shadowfall. “Six days.” Aurixx’s voice was full of disdain and loathing. Vashin had noticed the digipage on his desk when he had entered the ready-room and guessed that it contained the orders they had received shortly after the incident. Despite Vashin’s success in his engagement with the Octan fighters, the Shadowfall had been ordered to return to the main MANTIS fleet. Aurixx had told him personally to reassure him that it was no criticism of his actions. “For six days, we were the front line of MANTIS operations on New California.” Aurixx continued. “Face to face with the enemy, where corporations are made and broken.”And now we’ll spend the rest of our careers on patrol duty supporting the main fleet.” He stared into Vashin’s eyes, a burning desire flaring behind his pupils. “I don’t know why they covered up what happened... I don’t know why MANTIS let them. But I know the answer is in the signal you were tracking before you engaged the Octan ships...” The air hung thick with tension as Aurixx prepared himself to say something he would rather not have. “I cannot order you to do this.” He said, his voice low and husky. “But I can ask.” He allowed a moment for Vashin to to take in the meaning. Any official business would be a simple matter of giving the order so a request meant ‘off the record’. “The fleet leaves Andromeda tomorrow. Once we’re gone, so is any chance of finding out what that signal was... Unless I send you on a routine patrol shortly before we depart... And you don’t make it back in time.” He gave Vashin a moment to take it in. He was asking him to be voluntarily left behind. On his own with little corporate support. “I can’t tell you that finding the answer will put everything right.” Aurixx added. “But at least you’ll have an answer”. As Vashin surveyed the dim backwater bar once more, he wondered if he had ever really needed that answer, or was he just here out of some potentially misplaced sense of loyalty to his captain. It didn’t matter now anyway; the fleet was a Galaxy away from here. “I take it you’re the one.” A low gravelled voice said from over Vashin’s shoulder. It belonged to one of the patrons, a man with long black braided hair, a grimace upon his face and the garb of a professional mercenary. He was the latest link in a chain of contacts but whereas the previous links had merely led Vashin to more links, this one had claimed to know who it was Vashin was looking for. It would come at a cost, however. The man’s eyes were wrought with suspicion as he looked over Vashin. A wry smirk grew in one corner of his mouth. “You even look corporate.” he added. Vashin had hoped it wouldn’t have been so obvious. “You have the payment?” The man asked. “If your information is reliable.” Vashin responded. “It’s worth nothing if I can’t trust you.” The mercenary considered his words for a moment. “Let’s get a drink.” Vashin swallowed a mouthful of the bright green liquid the mercenary had ordered for him and couldn’t help pulling a face. It was some kind of distilled larvae juice. He’d had it before around MANTIS but there it was always drunk with a mixer - now he knew why. The Mercenary smiled a wry smile. His name was Drakin, a disreputable ‘hand for hire’ that, like so many, had flocked to the Quarrel to offer their services when the conflict between Octan and MANTIS had escalated. The corporations never admitted to hiring mercs publicly but over the past few weeks, Vashin had heard plenty of stories. “I did jobs for a guy once.” Drakin began. “Hard to find type - always moving around. He did a lot of deals under the table, took a lot of jobs that shouldn’t be taken. To get those jobs done, he needed mercs... and smugglers.” “You think I’m looking for a smuggler?” Vashin inquired. Drakin hesitated to answer, considering his position. “You have the payment?” He asked in place of an answer. Vashin reached down to a bag. Lifting the item in it carefully, he placed the MANTIS fuel cell on the table between them but kept his hand firmly on it. Corporate fuel cells were, it turned out, highly sought after among the non-corporates; the were cleaner and more efficient that the recycled or refurbished units most of them were getting by on. A MANTIS fuel cell like this could keep a family in light and warmth for around a year. Somehow, he doubted this one would go to anything so noble and while he could ill-afford to lose a fuel cell, being out on his own now, it would be worth it if this mercenary had what he was looking for. “I have the payment.” He told Drakin. “Do you have the name?” Drakin stiffened. He doesn’t have it. Thought Vashin. His mind raced, surveying the surroundings. Could it be a trap? Who was nearby? Where was his pistol? Where were Drakin’s hands? Where were his eyes looking: Vashin? The cell? Nearby associates? Vashin tensed, ready for a confrontation. “I don’t have the name.” Drakin finally admitted. “No-ne here does... But I know who you’re looking for.” Vashin remained cautious and kept his hand on the cell. Let the merc feel like he has to prove himself if he wants the deal. “The pilot on the job was some box-runner.” Drakin explained. “Pretty as hell but twice as crazy in the seat; they said she was his best pilot. Not sure why, she had a knack for all hell breaking loose. Anyway, few months ago I’m in here and who should walk in just days after the first reports of your little incident. She comes back a few times, makes a few contacts, picks a few fights. But no-one knows her name. Few weeks later, her and her friend take an interest in Octan’s report that the whole thing was just a malfunction. Never saw her again after that. ” “Can those contacts get in touch with her?” “Remember the guy I did the jobs for?” Drakin answered. “They call him the Forwarder. You want to get to her, you need to go through him. When you get a pilot with a bad attitude, a French accent and red hair...” Vashin processed the information carefully. It was hardly proof but surety was in short supply these days. He figured the merc was drawing reasonable conclusions though; it’s easy to write things off as coincidence rather than trying to fathom the connections between disparate events. Slowly, he removed his hand from the fuel cell. “The red-haired woman.” He said, a final subtle question - is she the one I’m looking for? Drakin cautiously reached forward and took the cell... “The red-haired woman.”

Yseult, Riddaeon and a F.A.U.N. unit infiltrate Peter Reid's robot factory at Bricktastic 2017.

I used a string of LED fairy lights threaded through the core to light it from the inside. Now I have a new bedside lamp. : )

I will concede that my architectural style may be a little unusual. I think I can't resist the challenge of throwing in some conceptual sculpture while I'm there. Anyway, This is my third Nexogon build for New Elementary. A segement of the glass pulls away to show the interior. Luc.

If it does, I'll have some explaining to do. I was intending to continue all of my arcs straight through.

Some micro space craft. They're built at approximately 1:4 against minifigure scale. The P110-V light transport. A short range 'space van'. The P110-C is a car-like version of the same design. Both are single occupant. The S-Transport is a larger long-range vessel with quarters in the front section and the cargo hold at the rear between the engines. Thanks for looking.

Chapter 23: Hard Landing. It felt like being hit by a heavy speeder; given how far he’d fallen it was actually more like being hit by a planet. His head pulsated with pain, coarse sand hurt sore fingertips as he tried to push himself up... No use. He tried to recall how he’d got here... Nothing. He couldn’t remember, but then, he had just hit a planet. He thought he lying on the floor but it felt like he was standing, forced against a sandstone wall, a bright light in his face, hot, burning. That’s the sun. He thought, I must be on the ground. He sighed and his arms relaxed. It was easier if he didn’t fight. “It’s easier if you don’t fight.” The voice echoed. A gust of wind blew grains of sand onto his lips; just enough to give him a sense of them, a fragrance, an aroma... It was familiar. I know this sand. He thought. The geological makeup of sand was different from region to region and very different from planet to planet. Spend long enough among it and you start to be able to tell the difference. This one had a feint saline tint to it. He racked his brain. Where am I? He tried to open his eyes. The bright sunshine pierced the first gap in his eyelid with blinding power. He forced them shut again. I must be on the ground. He told himself. Summoning all his remaining energy, he pushed with his arms and forced his head away from the gritty surface. He started to lift a knee up under him but the dizzyness stopped him. He had become unbalanced, pushing himself away fro the wall and lifting one leg off the ground, He felt like he was about to fall over backwards but never quite did, stuck on the edge of falling and feeling more and more sick with every moment. He woke some time later. The air was cooler and more refreshing though the smell of stale vomit prevented him from feeling the benefit. His head was clearer and in the dimming light, he could just about tolerate opening his eyes enough to see. He was still unsteady but he raised himself up slowly and looked around the harsh grit-filled landscape that had been his resting place for who knows how long now. A moment later it came to him: The dusty landscape’s saline sand. It was from the evaporating lakes the planet was known for. New California... I’m on New California. He tried to remember how he’d got here. His memories were a haze of voices, sounds, lights... Bright hot lights, or was that the sun. How long had he been out here. He surveyed the horizon. He had no idea where on the planet he was but a column of steam and the the hazy dim outline of towers gave him hope that civilisation wasn’t too far away. He stumbled forward but kept his feet. His legs ached. Looking around the nearby vicinity, he noticed a broken pilot’s chair. I must have been thrown from it when I landed... A hazy memory formed - Space... Fire... Alarms... Voices... Several voices, static. I must have been in a firefight. He surmised, trying to piece together the remnants of what had happened before. It was like trying to remember a dream, only moments ago yet already distant. He checked the wreckage, relieved to find the emergency ration package in tact on the underside. He removed it, clipped the water bottle to his belt, divided the nutrient packs between his suit’s various pockets and started walking. The night was cool but never cold as the sun never quite fully dipped below the wide, flat horizon. He must have been fairly far North or South but he wasn’t sure which. The mild climate allowed him to make good progress and as the Sun began its slow and steady ascent into the proceeding morning, he reached a small settlement. The steam and towers were still in the far distance but he needed to rest. He was exhausted, most of his water was depleted, drank to recover from his waking condition. It would take the bottles condenser several hours to extract enough moisture from the air to refill it. He made it far as a sheltered porch-like area protruding from the nearest building before his legs insisted on not supporting him anymore and he dropped to his hands and knees, rolling onto his back. He closed his eyes... He shouldn’t. Anyone could live here. But he was so tired. And it was starting to get hot again. He closed his eyes. Just for a bit... Just for a bit. He woke in cool air, fresh and clean. He ached all over but he was comfortable, lying on a soft bed. He heard a clatter, the sound of water. Someone appeared and sat over him before dowsing his brow with a wet cloth. “I was wondering when you’d come to.” An old Woman’s voice said. He didn’t recognise it. “How long?” he asked instinctively. “Two days.” the old Woman replied. “Didn’t think there was any of you corporates left.” She added. He didn’t understand the question. He looked down at his clothes - A flight suit, white with a red arm and leg. The old Woman noticed. “We’ll contact the nearest outpost once they all come back.” She said. “Hmpff.” She added. “If they come back.” The old Woman got up and walked off. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a name.” She asked from across the room. The man went to answer but caught himself. He tried to think... It was on the edge of his tongue but he just couldn’t quite get it. He thought for a moment, closed his eyes, cleared his mind. He had said his own name so many times he tried to not think about it and just let his mouth form the sounds. “Vex.” he sounded out. It started to come back to him. The hazy pieces became a little clearer. Not fully formed but... Then he remembered. “My name is Vex Obryn.” He tried to collect his thoughts. What had happened? The Woman’s comment suddenly clicked. “Wait... You said When they come back?” Could they really have abandoned him. He’d been gone around three days, maybe five depending on how long he’d been lying on the ground out there before he came to. They wouldn’t have abandoned the search for him. There were nutrients for a week in the ration pack and the bottle continuously condensed water from the air and filtered it into drinking water. They wouldn’t leave yet... After so little time, from an Octan controlled World. He knew MANTIS had been making a move for the planet but ... The hazy memories became a little clearer. A MANTIS ship... Fire and smoke... I was hit. He had to contact Octan immediately and report his survival. He still didn’t remember much but being alive, he presumed he somehow ejected before his ship was destroyed. “I have to contact Octan... now.” He stated, trying to get himself up before the aches became sharp piercing pains that halted his progress. “I told you, they’re not here.” The old Woman said. Vex heard what she had said but It didn’t make sense. MANTIS couldn’t have forced a withdrawal in five days. Octan were too strong. The corporate newsfeeds had been full of analysts talking about how close they were to victory. “When did they leave?” he asked without realising. “About a month ago.” She replied. Vex froze... “A month?” His mind raced. It didn’t make sense. “It's Janurali.” He said aloud, though it hadn’t been meant as a question. It was received with a short sharp laugh that verged on a cackle. “You’ve been out in the sun too long.” The Woman replied. “But not that long... It’s Maian... Janurali was four months ago.” ...

Built out from a single side-facing Nexagon for New Elementary, the Starglider is a single-occupant speeder/spacecraft. I've always wanted to do one of those 'all wonky angles' builds and the 'chunky aesthetic' so it's nice to cross both off in one build. You can read about the build on New Elementary and see more photos on my Flickr feed. Thanks for looking.

Ha ha! I hope it makes sense (There may be continuity errors).

Previous chapters can be accessed from the Andromeda's Gates player list. Chapter 22: Yseult Brenneaux. The Forwarder stood tense, one hand behind his back, plasma pistol charged and ready. The yard foreman hadn’t warned him they were coming, he hadn’t had a chance, or a choice. The Forwarder had picked them up on his tap into the freight yard’s security system. Fortunately, his own system was better than the yard’s at flagging suspicious activity. Years of input and tweaking had achieved that. He remembered the feeling of dread and inevitability when he spotted this one. Little more than a feint shadow off the quarter of a bigger vessel; traffic control probably wrote it off as an echo and so it slipped by. They’d have been more wary if the signal had been stronger as it could easily have been another vessel but ships don’t give off signals this weak... And so it slipped by. But the Forwarder saw it and the Forwarder knew. The corporations preferred those fancy cloaking devices; heavy, cumbersome and power hungry, they worked but weren’t seen by everyone as a practical way to go unseen, especially those who were here before. Once the ship was within scope a visual scanner, The Forwarder trained every resource he had onto it as it glided gently towards the Freight Port’s cargo terminal... Nothing, just blackness. A glint of light flashed, a shimmer emerged, then disappeared, bad memories returned and the outline of a black ship became apparent. Despite the feeling of dread, he couldn’t help but smile. Of course. He thought. The corporations had recently agreed a unilateral order to leave Andromeda due to some kind of anomalous radiation coming from the Galaxy’s centre. With everybody used to corporate control, who would step in? And who would stop them? The ship put down behind a hangar, tucked away. He did his best to follow the three figures that disembarked but they split up, rejoined and split up again, leaving a silent and unseen trail of bodies behind them. From what he could see, they were working their way across the freight terminal through every line of defence to... Here. Every set of eyes he had in the yard were as good as blind. Even he didn’t see most of them until it was too late. They would be here soon. He swallowed, suddenly finding it something he had to think about doing. He activated a control on his terminal and folded it away, the conference table lowering in its place. He removed his plasma pistol from its holster on the underside of the table and stood, tense, one hand behind his back, plasma pistol charged and ready. They didn’t knock. They didn’t need to. The door to the Forwarder’s container office gently swung open and a figure stepped in, slender, wearing a black flight suit covered in metallic and bright green attachments. He’d never seen the design before but the helmet the figure wore... That, he knew. Black with a luminescent yellow/green visor, the inside of which was a constantly changing display of data and information for the wearer. The Forwarder’s arm tensed. He fought the urge to draw his pistol too early, the figure stood just inside the doorway, analysing him, assessing him, no doubt aware that he was armed. The figure didn’t carry a weapon in their hands. They don’t need to. He reminded himself so as not to foolishly think he had the figure out-gunned. The figure’s hands raised to their helmet, there was a click, a release of pressure and hands raised the helmet off, short pitch-black hair around a pale face with high prominent cheekbones. and sharply-pointed eyes. The tension in his arm disappeared, his brow un-furrowed, but his breathing remained unsteady...it always did around her. Why is she here? After all this time. He thought. “You look the same.” He said. He wasn’t sure what else he could say and certainly didn’t have anything more pertinent. The woman looked at him, her thin eyes thinning just a little more as she assessed his appearance. “You look different.” She replied. “Four years is a long time.” The Forwarder responded, apologetically. “A lot has changed.” “Not so much.” the woman calmly replied with definitive confidence as she took a step towards the Forwarder. His nerves jolted. “I don’t do business with you anymore.” He said in instinctive reaction, a cautious assertiveness in his voice. The woman looked around the confined container that had become his office, that had become his life. “Everyone does business with us.” She responded calmly, her eyes inspecting every corner, every nook, every shadow. “The only difference...” She added, her eyes returning to the Forwarder. “Is whether or not they know.” She placed her helmet on the table and activated a control on her suit. A moment later, two additional figures entered the container behind her. One had already removed his helmet, A man the Forwarder didn’t recognise in a similar suit to the woman. The third wore a different black suit with piping and metal work around it. Its helmet was still on but the visor was opaque black and unlike the other two, it wore respirator tanks on it’s back. The woman sat down in the chair beside her while the man surveyed the container with equal attention to detail. The third figure stood in the entrance, sentinel-like. After a moment, the man nodded to the woman who in turn nodded to the third figure. A variety of quiet gentle electronic whirrs went silent and the figure reached up , activating a control on its helmet. The black visor raised, allowing a thin cloud of super-chilled air to woosh out and curl into a feint mist in front of it. As the mist dissipated in the warm air, the face of the figure became seen, or some of it did, being mostly covered in metallic augments and devices. Sections of exposed facial skin contorted and pulsated as it breathed. It’s still alive under there. The Forwarder thought as he viewed the assemblage of metal plate and technology that now constituted the wearer’s face. He wasn’t sure if it was looking back, it just stood there, watching presumably. The Forwarder knew about cyborgs and AI mechanoids, Kawashita were known to utilise them for their most dangerous missions and assassinations but he’d never seen one integrated like this... He’d heard stories though, about experiments that left the subjects in such pain, only constant supplies of anaesthetics allowed them to function. This one, he noticed, was using a respirator and he wondered what gaseous concoction was within those tanks. “So.” The woman said in a contemplative tone, her gaze fixed upon the Forwarder. “Tell us about the pilot.” The question caught the Forwarder’s attention and brought his gaze back from the augmented cyborg in the corner. He sat down and cautiously replaced his pistol into its holster under the table. “The Galaxy is full of pilots.” The Forwarder replied, trying to be clever. “Unfortunate incident.” The woman said, appearing to change the topic. “Those two Octan ships over New California... What were they doing out there?” The Forwarder opened his palms into a gesture that said ‘I don’t know’. “The minutiae of the corporations is beyond my ears.” He said. “They weren’t lost to a malfunction.” The woman said in a stern tone, her eyes fixated on the Forwarder. “They were pursuing a MANTIS ship... Which was pursuing our consignment.” That caught the Forwarder’s attention. The woman was right, the difference was whether or not you knew. He liked to think that he was the one in the know, that he had more information than whoever was across the table from him. He didn’t like being out manoeuvred, out strategised. Maybe that’s why he stopped doing business with them, or had tried to at least. “The pilot was a red-haired woman.” The woman added. “We’re interested in her.” That’s bad news. Thought the Forwarder. “So.” The woman continued. “Tell us about the pilot... Tell us about Yseult Brenneaux.” “Brenneux.” The Forwarder corrected her. The woman stared at him, silent, considering her next move. Her eyes thinned again. “There is no Yseult Brenneux.” She replied. The Forwarder’s face changed. Following his meeting with Yseult, he’d done his research having been corrected himself. At first, probably like so many would, he just assumed he’d been pronouncing it wrong or spelling it wrong, the name using a French letter combination, a language of which he had only the most rudimentary knowledge. But the Forwarder was suspicious. He didn’t like that he’d got it wrong and rather than just write it off, he checked it out. That one little letter had allowed the red-haired woman to all but eliminate her past when she joined MANTIS less than a year ago, appearing out of nowhere on Marphacia. The woman repositioned herself in her chair. “Yseult Brenneux.” She began. “Appeared in a MANTIS flight training schedule on Aeristus last Junali. She has been connected to MANTIS activity on Donwarr and Freegate but before all of that... She never existed... There isn’t even a record of her arrival in Andromeda... Yseult Brenneaux, on the other hand, was one of your regular freight pilots who captained a ship with a certain... Reputation. Until three years ago, that is... When they both apparently disappeared.” The woman was right, Yseult had just vanished. It wasn’t unusual for that to happen, between accidents and Dust Demons, there were plenty of reasons a ship and its captain could go missing. The captain’s just don’t usually turn up three years later on some classified corporate mission acting like no more than a day has passed. “So.” The Woman said, confidence behind her voice. “Tell us about the rad-haired woman... Tell us about Yseult Brenneaux.”

My first build for the New Elementary Nexagon parts festival. Entry on New Elementary here.

Well said Pombe. I've enjoyed building and writing for AG so much, and enjoyed the entries of so many players. So much fun, and so much story left to tell.

Yseult buys a corporation's mark.

Location: G03 - New California. Tags: Civil, Building. Previous chapters can be accessed through the AG player index here. Chapter 21: Old Times. Yseult looked strangely at home reclined in her seat surveying the unsightly inhabitants of the bar. The establishment wasn’t just ‘not corporate’, it was the kind of place corporates didn’t go. A few patrons had given Ellie a look up and down as they walked past, some smelling the corporate branding, others for other reasons no doubt. One look at Yseult and they had quickly and silently moved on. Her face was stern and not in the mood to tolerate anyone pushing their luck. It was the third night Yseult had come here but the first time Ellie had been allowed to come with her. The first two nights, Yseult had returned to the their room with bruises; Ellie had figured the previous nights had both ended in fighting of some kind and from the looks and whispers between the regulars, she was building the picture that Yseult had actually come out of them the better. She had asked what had happened but Yseult had just told her she was ‘making contacts’. She wanted to believe that it hadn’t just been because she liked it. They were sat in a booth and past the wall against which Yseult leaned was a holoscreen showing some broadcast or other. “In planetary news.” The presenter said. “Faulty gravimetric compensators have been blamed for the recent loss of two Octan Corporation vessels which burned up in the atmosphere recently killing two pilots. The findings are unlikely to quash rife speculation that it was caused by a firefight as tension between Octan and the increasing fleet of MANTIS ships in orbit grows. Both corporations deny that any fighting has occurred...” Yseult noticed that the news had caught Ellie’s attention and leaned round to view it herself, turning back a moment later, less interested than her colleague. She saw the look on Ellie’s face, a look of concern, guilt even. Two pilots had died and Ellie had found it very easy to wonder if they were to blame. Maybe she wouldn’t have worried so if they were on some official MANTIS mission but for some reason, this was different. They had been offered the consignment by The Forwarder: Just like old times - Yseult had thought as she checked the job sheet. To a casual viewer it looked like any other but The Forwarder had his ways of hiding the real details if you knew what to look for. She had wanted to say no at first... A new ship, a clean break. They had collected the container from an orbital holding station around Terrial Major, the problem was going to be the delivery. The growing MANTIS presence on New California had put everyone there on edge, especially the corps so she’d had to rely on her old tricks to get through. I’m not supposed to be that person anymore... It cost me everything, the small mirror in the Speedy Owl’s cabin had tried to tell her... She hadn’t listened; The job paid enough for her to not listen. And so, deactivating her transponder, she descended the Speedy Owl down the tightly monitored corridor between the Octan and MANTIS fleets. When one responded, so did the other. It had been a risk but she new what corporate types were like. Once they were close enough to each other, she became a forgotten blip on the scanners and once she passed through the ionosphere, they were too far behind to track her. Ellie noticed Yseult looking at her and stopped watching the news. She thought for a moment, pensive. “One of them had a family.” She said. “So do many others.” Yseult replied. “Do you think the things you design, you build, have never killed someone with a family?” “That’s different.” Ellie responded. “That’s for the corporation... What was this for?” Yseult sat on the question for a moment... It was clear Ellie had a belief in the corporation that she didn’t, never had and never would. She spent a moment thinking how to phrase her response... When you try to explain it to someone like Ellie, someone who believes, you have to phrase it right. “You believe in your corporation. What does your corporation believe in?... You?... Humanity?... Or the number at the bottom of the quarterly result. These corporations are trying to tear each other apart... What happens when the Galaxy is not profitable enough... eh? When you are not profitable enough. Corporations come and go; water, food, electricity... You will always need these things. You think your corporation will provide them when you are not... profitable? Silence hung in the air between them, the clinks and chatter of the busy bar a muffled dull sound that couldn’t penetrate the bubble of tension around them. Ellie’s breath wavered, her eyes fixed. She wished she had an answer, she wished she could say with confidence that Yseult was wrong. Her eyes turned stern, sharp. The bright innocence she normally showed was gone. “And what do you believe in?’ She asked, her voice short and harsh. “What will bar brawls and risking getting shot down to smuggle someone else’s contraband earn you?... Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité?” “L’eau, La nourriture, l’electricité.” Yseult replied without hesitation, her voice full of a determined realism. “In the corporations, the plates are full and the beds are comfortable; anything to make you forget that tomorrow, maybe they change their mind.” “And if Big Sal is right” Ellie proposed. “And this Upsilon is something we need to find... For all our sakes...” She looked around at the dank, grim collection of strays that had dragged themselves in from wherever they came to spend what little they had earned on forgetting how they earned it. Her gaze returned to Yseult, her eyes - daggers. “Will they help? When the time comes... Where will they be?” They both knew the answer to that... Thanks for reading. All comments welcome as usual. Luc.

This is such a step up from Tropic Thunder, I'm impressed. The WWII influence is there but doesn't dictate the design too much, you've still gone with your own spaceship aesthetic and overall it's got loads of personality. The only thing I would say that detracts from it is it sitting on that long row of inverted double slope pieces instead of being propped up on some retractable landing gear. But still a great job none-the-less: Sounds like a good match for a MANTIS Wraith.

I like this design a lot. The figure looks to be sat upright too which always scores points in my book (not keen on the 'lie flat' approach). The studless finish and colour blocking all work well to really bring this design together. Well executed. (Any chance of a cross-section to show how it's put together structurally?)

Only after I'd commented here.

Congratulations on the Brothers Brick blog. Always nice to see original spacecraft design getting some attention. Well deserved.

You're confusing MANTIS, the military mega corporation trying to dominate Galaxy with Man t'is, a popular men's clothing retailer with fashionable outlets in all major territories... currently advertising vacancies in sales and distribution.

Location: G03 - New California. Tags: Spaceship. Previous chapters can be accessed from the AG player list here. Chapter 20: White Hawk. Racing through neutral territory high above the once secure planet of New California, two ‘White Hawk’ class defenders sped towards the approaching enemy. The MANTIS heavy fighter had been picked up early, dispatched shortly after an unidentified vessel had begun descending through the buffer between Octan and the ominously growing MANTIS presence. There was every chance it was a ruse: sending out an unmarked vessel to justify launching fighters. Without an immediate response, the enemy vessel would be in attack range of essential supply ships before they could do anything about it. Not on my watch. Thought Lynton Bryss, a wing commander in the Orbital Response Unit assigned to New California. His chain of command had launched him as an immediate precaution: MANTIS had overstepped the mark coming here, they were all over The Quarrel but while their advance had reached around to Kaalin, New California and Fractor V had stood as worlds on the edge of the abyss where the pure order of Octan had stood firm... They didn’t come here. Perhaps they didn’t need to, perhaps they didn’t dare... This is our world. “MANTIS vessel.” He said into the A-Comm. “You are in violation of Octan-controlled space. Return to your carrier or you may be fired upon...” Lynton let the threat hang, knowing full well the MANTIS ship wouldn’t back off so easily. He observed the MANTIS ship’s descending trajectory and adjusted his course. “Vex.” He said into his A-Comm on the encoded connection to his wingman. “We’re going to push out high and come down behind him. It’ll be easier to see a black MANTIS ship against the planet.” “Copy that.” Vex Obryn replied. Vashin watched the two Octan ships arc upwards towards space. In his head, he plotted out their likely intentions. Let me follow this decoy while you come up behind me. He wasn’t going to be fooled so easily. Maybe the unidentified ship wasn’t Octan but either way, following it was looking like a bad decision. “Octan vessels.” He announced over the A-Comm. “You are entering MANTIS controlled space. We are conducting protective operations. Return to your fleet and you will not be fired upon. You will not be given a second warning.” With every moment that the Octan ships remained on course his heart beat a little faster than the moment before. There had been battles before and he’d flown in them but things had changed. Fierce battles had given way to uneasy truces. You no longed launched with the clear instruction to engage and destroy. Now it was more like chess, or poker. He was closing on the unidentified ship but it was descending fast, he’d need it to hit atmo and slow in the air for him to get close enough to identify it. Behind him, the two Octan fighters were on a course directly in his trail. He’d be able to keep ahead of them until he hit atmo and then the same would happen, just with him the prey. If he was going to do something it had to be now. Whatever this vessel was, chasing it could cost him his life... He flipped his Wraith Interceptor around and engaged full throttle, arresting his descent. Octan would be on him in moments all the same, but now they’d be in space... and in his sights. “We’re gaining fast.” Vex announced. “Weapons live.” Lynton commanded. They both removed the safety mechanisms on their gunships’ rapid-fire plasma cannons and missile launchers. “Remember, we don’t fire first...” He added, trying to calm the growing tension in the tendons of his hands. “... Unless we have to.” The afterthought was born from fear. How close could you get to a MANTIS craft before they opened fire? Too close and you wouldn’t get a chance to fire back. Could he risk that? His finger lingered gently across the trigger. He breathed deeply and opened the A-Comm one more time. “MANTIS vessel.” He said into it. “This is your final warning...” The Octan ships were in range. The Wraith’s weapon system indicated missile-lock but Vashin knew better that to use them. Missiles were slower than plasma bolts and the distance was still great enough that the Octan ships would have plenty of time to use countermeasures. Just a little longer. He thought, waiting tensely for them to get close enough for a decent plasma shot. He felt sweat form on his brow... This is happening. The hand had been called... Time to show your cards. “MANTIS vessel.” The voice of one of the Octan pilots came over the A-Comm. “This is your final warning...” Now. Green bolts flashed past the canopy of Lynton’s gunship. His finger instinctively squeezed the trigger and both White Hawks were spraying the space before them with a volley of light plasma fire. They both manoeuvred, trying to roll away slightly while keeping a weapons lock. The space between the opposing ships had become a stream of red and green fire. An alarm sounded... Missile alert! All the plasma fire prevented the scanners from clearly seeing exactly where it was or where it was going. Both Octan pilots immediately rolled out of the column of crossfire. Lynton felt his heart pound against the front of his chest as he entered a high-G turn. “I’m hit!” he heard over the A-Comm. Vex! He looked to his scanner. Was his wingman down? The blip was still there and so was the... Behind him. Having hit Vex, the MANTIS ship must have pursued him. His mind raced. He rolled his craft 180 degrees and turned his attempt to pull up into a steep dive. Vashin pursued the undamaged Octan ship with vicious grit, his eyes narrow, waiting for the moment. He had hit one of them as they tried to peel away from the path of his missile, angling his Wraith Interceptor to follow the trajectory of one of them. Once he saw the flames, he spun his ship all the way round and accelerated towards the remaining vessel. He hadn’t destroyed the first one but with an engine ablaze, it was unlikely to trouble him soon and so he pursued the remaining threat. He bore down fast, the interceptor’s engines doing their job. The missile lock indicator beeped; he pushed the thumb button without hesitation. The Octan ship had turned into a dive with a hard barrel roll. Trying to out manoeuvre me. He thought. The missile curved gently down towards the gunship. Vashin took a chance and kept his altitude, turning only towards the inclination of the barrel roll. The Missile alarm blared out and an impact countdown appeared on his H.U.D. He rapidly considered his options, flicked a switch on his left joystick to launch countermeasures. A spray of bright white flares shot from the rear of Lynton’s gunship, spreading across the space behind him. The countdown continued. His navigation screen showed the missile approaching. Damn it! He realised. The barrel roll sent the flares in wide arc too far from the missiles long wide approach. None were close enough to draw it in. Unlike his MANTIS counterpart, the White Hawk wasn’t built to sit and take hits while it returns fire: spinning around to try and shoot the missile would leave him unable to control his trajectory and vulnerable. His ship was designed to be manoeuvrable, evading fire and hunting for an opening of its own. He twisted hi right flight stick the other way, halting the barrel roll. The White Hawk climbing back into space. He saw the first flash of bright green plasma shoot past him; he did not see the second as it hit his starboard engine unit and sent his ship into an uncontrollable tumble. The alarms rang, outside the window, the black of space and bright sandy orange of the planet spun rapidly in constantly changing direction. Heat, smoke... Fire! It was getting hard to breath. Was it smoke? or panic... The controls wouldn’t respond. The atmospheric alarm sounded: I’m entering the atmosphere! Everything started to go bright, he couldn’t see. Can’t eject now. He realised. He stopped fighting the controls and struggled to engage his suit’s emergency air supply. He forgot about the ship he was in, and the planet he was falling towards. He forgot about Vex and the fleet... He thought about home. The Wife that would be sent the automated message, the child that there would be no easy way to explain it to. He thought about the credits the corporation would give them, that sum that was buried somewhere in the terms and conditions... How much was it? He tried to think... It had seemed like such a large amount at the time... But now... He thought of his Wife one last time as the hull of his ship breached and what was left exploded into a rainfall of flame and wreckage. Note to judges: The MANTIS vessel has been judged previously. Thanks for reading. All comments welcome.

Great figurine. The articulation adds so much. Love Artoo as well. Keep telling myself to do backgrounds for mine, and more figurines. Well done.

Please transfer all of my credits to SpacerSteve. Thank you.