04-18-2018, 01:40 PM
Ratione had three pairs of hands on him when everything finally began to settle. A short zip sound and his hands were bound by plastic. Around him lay the aftermath of his own resistance, three or five unconcious or injured guards along with around a dozen or so inmates with broken bones, bashed in noses, and cradled groins. Nothing had been off limits to the Novan.
The old man was dragged forward to a squad leader in full riot gear, who inspected the alien inquisitively. "Hell kinda alien are you? Never seen your species around here."
"Neither have I. I feel I am the first of my kind to represent our race in this 'Omniverse'."
"Ooohhh-ho-ho-ho.... The doc's gonna love you!" The squad leader loomed over the old man. He barked at his subbordinates, "Get prisoner 9232A back to his cell unharmed!" He extended a stiff arm and pointer finger at them. "Knock his ass out though."
Ratione gave a bloody grin, tooth missing. A guard stepped behind him, raising their stun baton over his head.
***
"Prrr....ssssuhhhh.....rrrrrr...." Ratione was swimming in blackness, black tides and black waves. An endless black ocean that he was just starting to surface on. He rose from the depths, kicking and paddling his limbs as hard as he could, face blue, coughing out bubbles of air. When his eyes, nose, and mouth hit the moving glass ceiling, his perspective came back to reality.
He was slouched forward, seeing both his hands bound by metal cuffs on the arms of a metal chair that dug into his buttocks and thighs. Slowly he lifted his head to see an older human with a clean-shaven face, green eyes, a lab coat, and the sickliest smirk the Novan had ever laid eyes on.
"Hello, Prisoner 9232A. I am Doctor Walters."
"Hello homin Walters." Ratione's voice was slow, gravelly, exhausted.
"Oooooh-hoo-hoo!" The wiry, thin man kept his wrists glued together in as he rapidly slapped his palms.
The Novan simply grinned, dark bags under his eyes. The old man leaned back in his seat, spine and joints popping as he did so, twisting his own neck to each side to relieve even more knots.
"Tell me," the Docotor slapped down a pen and pad of paper, as well as a small black box with buttons and small screen. "Do you know what this is?" A finger was erected to the device.
"No clue."
"This is a digital voice recorder!"
"Funny, ours use tapes."
"Ooohhh, I see!" This fact was scribbled down, led scratching against paper. "Tell me, from what few intel we have on the 'Avengers', we have noticed that you prefer swords..."
There was a loud clacking and sliding sound as a deadbolt was released and moved, and the door whined as it raised into the sealing. Ratione raised an eyebrow. A guard with thick riot armor stepped inside with a Novan greatsword, and the door slid shut behind.
"Could you elaborate?"
"We don't have boomsticks."
The doctor paused. He took a moment to sigh and ask, "Boomstick?"
"Rifle. Gun. Firearm. As you call them. More recently I've heard 'blaster' used a lot."
"You... don't have guns?" Walters flipped through some memos on a holographic tablet and arranged them in front of the Novan's face. Reports of a power-armored soldier in Camelot, the Nexus, and at the entrance of the Vasty Deeps. Several photographs of pieces of Furtumin armor laying in the sand came up. "Yet you have advanced power armor that can send you over thirty feet into the air and tear straight through a moving vehicle."
"We do not possess many, if at all the same technological wonders your people do, apparently." The old man sighed, "It seems that my people have a run for their money. It's inferior tech, I would just get rid of-"
"Do not think me a fool, Ratione." The doctor's gaze went cold and neutral, and he put his finger tips together as he leaned back. "We found your 'battery'."
A bead of sweat rolled down the Novan's temple.
"We found no advanced circuitry, only stuff you'd see in a 1950s radio, pipes, pneumatics, hydraulics, basic switches, basic voice communications, a basic computer in your helm with yet a surprisingly advanced AI." The doctor leaned forward, "When we finally managed to power it all on, what do you think we had to use?"
The Furtumin's mouth hung open a little, his eyelids beginning to stretch back.
"Raw, pure, magical energy." Walters grinned. Ratione found himself expressionless.
"Ex...cuse me?"
"Though, I can tell your primitive race never made the connection." Walters slouched into his seat, throwing one leg over the other and leaning his cheek on his fist. "A raw, plentiful, bountiful energy source that was not only powerful but allowed you to basically skip quite a few stages in your civilization's history." He swiped his hand to the left to reveal video footage of some kind of laboratory, with men in robes putting their hands on Ratione's energy battery. After a few minutes of silence, the device suddenly whirred to life, and the men fell back exhausted. "A magnetic field to contain the raw magical energy inside thick glass. The glass can handle the corrosive nature better than metal, but the field-" he pointed to two rapidly spinning magnets on either end of the battery's interior, "is what really keeps it all inside. Highly volatile, but extremely effecient. I wager this explains how you got into orbit in the first place, just opening up one of these with a controlled aperature could rocket you anywhere you needed to go."
Ratione was silent, eyes wider than a full moon, teeth grinding. No...nonononononono....
"All we need is a few wizards with a bit more endurance to keep them going perpetually, minus of course mantainence and all that,-" Walters chuckled, "No wonder we have struggled for so long with space travel. We were looking in the complete wrong direction! By reverse-engineering this, we could develop energy resources thrice as effecient, clean, and long-lasting as any currently available technology."
The Novan suddenly sat up, jerking forward and being caught by his chains, arms stretching backward as his muscles spasmed to push as far forward into the damned man's face. His eyes bulged and his teeth barred, his voice choking.
"Thank you, Ratione,
For giving the Empire victory."
The old man was dragged forward to a squad leader in full riot gear, who inspected the alien inquisitively. "Hell kinda alien are you? Never seen your species around here."
"Neither have I. I feel I am the first of my kind to represent our race in this 'Omniverse'."
"Ooohhh-ho-ho-ho.... The doc's gonna love you!" The squad leader loomed over the old man. He barked at his subbordinates, "Get prisoner 9232A back to his cell unharmed!" He extended a stiff arm and pointer finger at them. "Knock his ass out though."
Ratione gave a bloody grin, tooth missing. A guard stepped behind him, raising their stun baton over his head.
***
"Prrr....ssssuhhhh.....rrrrrr...." Ratione was swimming in blackness, black tides and black waves. An endless black ocean that he was just starting to surface on. He rose from the depths, kicking and paddling his limbs as hard as he could, face blue, coughing out bubbles of air. When his eyes, nose, and mouth hit the moving glass ceiling, his perspective came back to reality.
He was slouched forward, seeing both his hands bound by metal cuffs on the arms of a metal chair that dug into his buttocks and thighs. Slowly he lifted his head to see an older human with a clean-shaven face, green eyes, a lab coat, and the sickliest smirk the Novan had ever laid eyes on.
"Hello, Prisoner 9232A. I am Doctor Walters."
"Hello homin Walters." Ratione's voice was slow, gravelly, exhausted.
"Oooooh-hoo-hoo!" The wiry, thin man kept his wrists glued together in as he rapidly slapped his palms.
The Novan simply grinned, dark bags under his eyes. The old man leaned back in his seat, spine and joints popping as he did so, twisting his own neck to each side to relieve even more knots.
"Tell me," the Docotor slapped down a pen and pad of paper, as well as a small black box with buttons and small screen. "Do you know what this is?" A finger was erected to the device.
"No clue."
"This is a digital voice recorder!"
"Funny, ours use tapes."
"Ooohhh, I see!" This fact was scribbled down, led scratching against paper. "Tell me, from what few intel we have on the 'Avengers', we have noticed that you prefer swords..."
There was a loud clacking and sliding sound as a deadbolt was released and moved, and the door whined as it raised into the sealing. Ratione raised an eyebrow. A guard with thick riot armor stepped inside with a Novan greatsword, and the door slid shut behind.
"Could you elaborate?"
"We don't have boomsticks."
The doctor paused. He took a moment to sigh and ask, "Boomstick?"
"Rifle. Gun. Firearm. As you call them. More recently I've heard 'blaster' used a lot."
"You... don't have guns?" Walters flipped through some memos on a holographic tablet and arranged them in front of the Novan's face. Reports of a power-armored soldier in Camelot, the Nexus, and at the entrance of the Vasty Deeps. Several photographs of pieces of Furtumin armor laying in the sand came up. "Yet you have advanced power armor that can send you over thirty feet into the air and tear straight through a moving vehicle."
"We do not possess many, if at all the same technological wonders your people do, apparently." The old man sighed, "It seems that my people have a run for their money. It's inferior tech, I would just get rid of-"
"Do not think me a fool, Ratione." The doctor's gaze went cold and neutral, and he put his finger tips together as he leaned back. "We found your 'battery'."
A bead of sweat rolled down the Novan's temple.
"We found no advanced circuitry, only stuff you'd see in a 1950s radio, pipes, pneumatics, hydraulics, basic switches, basic voice communications, a basic computer in your helm with yet a surprisingly advanced AI." The doctor leaned forward, "When we finally managed to power it all on, what do you think we had to use?"
The Furtumin's mouth hung open a little, his eyelids beginning to stretch back.
"Raw, pure, magical energy." Walters grinned. Ratione found himself expressionless.
"Ex...cuse me?"
"Though, I can tell your primitive race never made the connection." Walters slouched into his seat, throwing one leg over the other and leaning his cheek on his fist. "A raw, plentiful, bountiful energy source that was not only powerful but allowed you to basically skip quite a few stages in your civilization's history." He swiped his hand to the left to reveal video footage of some kind of laboratory, with men in robes putting their hands on Ratione's energy battery. After a few minutes of silence, the device suddenly whirred to life, and the men fell back exhausted. "A magnetic field to contain the raw magical energy inside thick glass. The glass can handle the corrosive nature better than metal, but the field-" he pointed to two rapidly spinning magnets on either end of the battery's interior, "is what really keeps it all inside. Highly volatile, but extremely effecient. I wager this explains how you got into orbit in the first place, just opening up one of these with a controlled aperature could rocket you anywhere you needed to go."
Ratione was silent, eyes wider than a full moon, teeth grinding. No...nonononononono....
"All we need is a few wizards with a bit more endurance to keep them going perpetually, minus of course mantainence and all that,-" Walters chuckled, "No wonder we have struggled for so long with space travel. We were looking in the complete wrong direction! By reverse-engineering this, we could develop energy resources thrice as effecient, clean, and long-lasting as any currently available technology."
The Novan suddenly sat up, jerking forward and being caught by his chains, arms stretching backward as his muscles spasmed to push as far forward into the damned man's face. His eyes bulged and his teeth barred, his voice choking.
"Thank you, Ratione,
For giving the Empire victory."
"Our fear is our weapon."