I felt like a fictional (i.e. non-game) SEIV story, so here goes
Will be using several mods/universes in one, including stock, Capship, Proportions and the upcoming HWM. In short, a rag-tag collection of sci-fi all related to SEIV in some way. I have no idea how the story will turn out, but I named it "The Demise" as I think (as of this moment) that I'll write about the decline and end of an ancient galactic council or republic or something, or the demise of an ancient race that have been in our galaxy for millenia or longer. Heck, I don't even know if I'll stick with one main character
!
edit: Slight change, going to make it a "freestyle" SEIV story. It'll be tied into the SEIV universe, but will also feature other things. For example, destroyed capital ships leave wreckage which you can salvage like in HW2.
Anyway, here goes.
---------------PART ONE: SECRETS AND PERILS---------------
-----CHAPTER ONE: THE ROOKIE-----
Commander Elsee Tamarillho was very proud to assume command of the new, top-of-the-line scrap hauler. "Geez," she thought to herself, "what have I done to deserve this? Insult a fleet CO or something? The least they could have done was give me a few administrative shuttles, or a light defense battery....." The ship, the NKCS Star Asteroid, or the Scrap Vulture as the crew had nicknamed it, had just been completed when Commander Tamarillho had been assigned to its command. Her first orders were simple - "Go to the site of the latest skirmish in the Tangey System, collect as much scrap as you can - preferably from capital ships - then head back to Port Royale." There, at the frontier space port on the colony named "Port Royale" by its inhabitants, the scrap would be unloaded and processed into usable construction materials. The materials thus acquired would be transferred to the nearby Tortuga Yard, where the construction workers needed it to complete the latest patrol/defense warship to be designed by the R&D people.
The Vulture was ready to leave the orbital construction yard for the first time. Tamarillho felt uncomfortable. Sure, she had been on civilian missions before. Sure, she had seen some combat action. She even experienced the terrible sensation of knowing you're about to lose a ship under your command, but this was different. What caused her greatest concern was the fact that her new crew consisted solely of fresh rookies, rejects from the Commonwealth Naval Academies. They had been trained in handling small, fast-maneuvering fighters which reacted virtually instantly. Yes, they had also received some training in the control of slower-maneuvering capital warships, like the Light Dreadnoughts patrolling the Commonwealth-Union border, but flying an old crap hauler like the Vulture would be vastly different. Being about the size of a Light Frigate, it maneuvered like a crippled Assault Dreadnought. On top of that, all of these old ships had their own unique quirks, which could cause a young helmsman like Ensign Durryn to panic at his station.
"Ensign Durryn, take her out," she ordered the fresh young cadet - he seemed to be 18 years old, 19 at best - manning the helm controls.
"Aye aye ma'am, ahead one quarter, point five m-clicks to free space, structural supports holding," the rookie replied.
"Ensign, she's got a slight deviation to the upper right quarter, compensate."
"Yes ma'am, one P extra thrust to lower left."
"Ensign, you're giving it too much power. Cut by one-quarter P."
"Cutting lower left,one quarter P."
As the Vulture left the construction bay, Tamarillho felt nothing but relief. Her helmsman had guided them out without colliding with one of the BSY's structural supports, even though she guided him the whole time, alerting him to deviations and over-thrusting he should have noticed himself. He had performed far beyond her expectations.
"Well, it looks like the life boats'll have to stay moored for a little longer, then," she mumbled to herself.
"Ma'am?" her tactical officer inquired.
"Oh, no, it's nothing." she replied.
Tamarillho had served on many civilian transports, all equipped with light defense batteries. On all ships her comms officer also controlled the batteries, making him Tactical Officer. Even though the unarmed Vulture only had a comms officer, she still called him her Tactical Officer out of force of habit.
***************
As the Vulture approached her first ever warp point, Tamarillho felt she would need to guide her helmsman through the warp procedure as he got their approach angle slightly off. It wasn�t much, but he should have noticed it. If they tried to enter the warp point on this course, their engines would blow up, their cargo hold would rupture and the life support generators would have been sent flying into space. Tamarillho didn't want to die that way. If she died, she didn't want it to be the result of a young recruit's incompetence.
"Ensign, one-Q lower central."
"I'm sorry ma'am?"
"Oh, of course. Divert course one-quarter CC regarding ship's central axis."
"Aye ma'am."
"His "Aye, ma'am," is starting to get on my nerves," she thought to herself as she observed the approaching warp point in the bridge viewscreen. Even though he was a rookie, and needed to learn the more intricate phrases of space maneuvering, he did do his best. Indeed, she saw him correcting for the ship's deviation to the upper right as the event horizon approached.
Then, a bluish blankness enveloped Tamarillho.
***************
Emerging on the other side of the warp point, she needed a second to get back to her senses. Her crew, however, needed more time, as they had not experienced warping as often as she had.
When he regained his senses, which took about ten seconds, her TO reported on the ship's status.
"She's looking good, ma'am. No damage reports. Warp succesful. Transponder bouy indicates Devonshire. We made it."
-----END OF CHAPTER ONE-----
edit: posted revised version
The Demise
Threaded Mode