Here you go
Singh's thing inspired me to write more
Hope you all like.
SCENE EIGHTY-FOUR. EXT. SPACE – DAY.
We open to an asteroid field. Hundreds of colossal rocks, some kilometers in diameter, hurl past us, spinning wildly amidst each other. The star filled sky hangs placidly above, oblivious to the turmoil just within it’s reach. Eventually, a smaller rock rises into our view. We watch it for a few seconds, realizing that it is something different. As it slowly rotates over, an anomaly manifests itself on it’s pockmarked and uneven sides. The shadow slowly pulls away, revealing a small metallic object. We zoom in closer, and soon the object’s identity is confirmed as a small spaceship. As the ship fully manifests itself in our view, we cut to:
SCENE EIGHTY-FIVE. INT. KRACKERS87’S COCKPIT – DAY.
Inside the small vessel is an even smaller cockpit, bristling with equipment. Outside is the rocky landscape of the asteroid, the sky hurling about above it. KRACKERS87 sits firmly inside, strapped down by a seven point harness. He struggles to move around the tiny area. He glances up out of the cockpit, then looks down at his instrument panel. Flipping a few switches, he puts a hand to the side of his head. We cut to:
SCENE EIGHTY-SIX. INT. GRANDEUR BRIDGE – DAY.
The once-filled bridge is now almost deserted, save for a few emergency personnel manning the mission-critical stations. We pan over to the communications area, where a CREWMEMBER is sitting, reading a magazine. Except for the omnipresent hum of the ship’s machinery, all is silent, until a loud crackle breaks through the silence, as KRACKERS87 radios in. However, his transmission is so garbled his nigh-impossible to comprehend.
KRACKERS87: Thi….out…..n…..er….
The CREWMEMBER, not looking up from his magazine, leans forward, extending an arm, and depresses a button on the panel.
CREWMEMBER: This is the Grandeur to unknown transmitter. Please adjust your frequency, you’re too garbled, over.
A few seconds pass. KRACKERS87 comes through again, still distorted, but at least understandable now.
KRACKERS87: This is Lookout Five. Can you hear me now? Over.
CREWMEMBER: Affirmative, over.
KRACKERS87: Good! No activity to –
He is suddenly cut off by another voice, whom we recognize as KARAJORMA.
KARAJORMA: This is Lookout Two, no activity to report, over.
KRACKERS87: Hey! I was using this channel!
KARAJORMA: You weren’t saying anything important, so I figured I should cut in.
KRACKERS87: I was about to report in, thank you very much!
KARAJORMA: Like I was saying.
KRACKERS87: *******.
KARAJORMA: Cocksucker.
There is a small pause. The CREWMEMBER, who had finally removed his gaze from the magazine, was now staring at the console with a puzzled expression. He leans forward again to speak, but is suddenly cut off by KRACKERS87.
KRACKERS87: So how’s the girlfriend?
KARAJORMA: Oh, she’s ok. Wants to move to Game Warden, of all places.
KRACKERS87: (Laughs) Why?
KARAJORMA: “For the view,” she says. Yea, like I’d like to spend all day staring at some stupid planet. I’m telling you, deep space is where it’s at. You can’t beat the stars.
KRACKERS87: Yea, I hear that. By the way, have you heard anything from Gortef? I need to ask him something when I get back.
KARAJORMA: Well, I –
He is suddenly cut off by the CREWMEMBER, who had been staring at his console this entire time, his mouth open in disbelief. He suddenly regains his composure and depresses the button once again.
CREWMEMBER: (Vehemently) Excuse me, gentlemen, but this frequency is for Defense Force transmissions only. If you want to have a personal conversation, please have it another frequency, over.
KARAJORMA: Sorry sir. Over.
KRACKERS87: Sorry sir, we got a li –
He suddenly stops. The CREWMEMBER raises an eyebrow.
CREWMEMBER: Lookout Five, are you there? Over.
KRACKERS87: We have a problem.
Cut to:
SCENE EIGHTY-SEVEN. INT. KRACKERS87’S COCKPIT – DAY.
KRACKERS87 is staring wide-eyed out of the cockpit. Above his tiny asteroid, a colossal ship is moving slowly into view over the horizon. KRACKRES87 is frantically throwing switches, and as his cockpit dims, all that is left lit is the emergency consoles and his face, wide eyed with both fear and surprise.
KRACKERS87: We have movement, I repeat, we have movement. We’ve got a ship, large, destroyer, no, battlecruiser class, moving in fast, over!
CREWMEMBER: Acknowledged Lookout Two. Can anyone else confirm?
KARAJORMA: Negative on that battlecruiser, but I have multiple ship movements, ranging from cruiser to carrier class, over!
CREWMEMBER: Lookouts One, Three and Four, can you confirm?
Lookout One: Negative, no movement on this side, over.
Lookout Three: Affirmative, I have movement, over.
Lookout Four: No movement here, over.
CREWMEMBER: Affirmative, we are alerting Hard Light. Stand by Lookouts, and stay hidden, Grandeur out.
Cut to:
SCENE EIGHTY-EIGHT. INT. FORUM HEADQUARTERS – DAY.
All of the admins, which include GOOBER5000, SHRIKE, STYXX, WINDRUNNER, MAEGLAMOR, COBALTSTARR, and ADMINISTRATOR, are now seated around the table. In the middle is a large holographic display, showing each of the ships of the opposing fleet moving. GOOBER5000 is narrating.
GOOBER5000: We have confirmed reports of at least half of the enemy fleet moving, and we have – switch to infrared…
The holographic display shifts to the familiar red/yellow/blue colors of infrared vision.
GOOBER5000: Reactor blooms in seventy five percent of the remaining ships.
SHRIKE: Where are they heading?
GOOBER5000: Well, it looks like about twenty five percent of the ships that are moving have jumped into subspace, and we have lost them from sensors. However, the other seventy five percent – that’s about three hundred ships – have begun moving towards Hard Light.
MAEGLAMOR: My God…
GOOBER5000: It doesn’t end there. News of this has spread through leaks, and we have had several incidents throughout the past five days. About three threads have been locked, and we have a political topic that’s bordering on a full-fledged flame war right now.
SHRIKE: Our options?
GOOBER5000: We must, of course, deploy our own fleet to strategic positions around the station. As for the flame wars…
He gestures towards ADMINISTRATOR.
GOOBER5000: Administrator assures me that his Defense Force is well on hand to keep them under control.
SHRIKE: (Nods) Deploy the fleet. Windrunner.
WINDRUNNER: Yes sir?
SHRIKE: Start laying some quilts on this fire, get out on all the channels you can.
WINDRUNNER: Will do.
SHRIKE: Cobaltstarr. I want you to start training as many pilots as you can. Styxx, get down on the forum floor and start showing the administration as a force to be reckoned with. Gobber5000, I want you to continue monitoring the situation. Everyone clear?
As a chorus of acknowledgements go up, SHRIKE dismisses the meeting, and we fade to:
