GAME EVENT: Stargate Activation
Who: Corporal Roger Fitzgerald
When: 2:14 a.m. on Wednsday, May 15
Where: The Stargate
Invited: All Play
Status: Incomplete
Rogers' digital watch switched from 2:12 to 2:13 as he watched. It was the middle of the night--and the middle of his goddamned shift. The sky was clear, the sky filled with stars in unfamiliar constellations. Crickets (or their local equivalent) buzzed all around him. The night was chill too and Roger was glad he'd worn a jacket.
But--god, he was bored! And more than a little pissed off. Corporal Young had contrived to come down with food poisoning or some such. He was in Gamma General, pissing and moaning--when he wasn't spewing from both ends. Someone had to take his place on guard duty and Roger was next on the roster. So it was that Private Benrubi had tracked Roger down at Moe's, where he was lounging with his arm around Maureen Deas.
He'd been drinking and flirting with Maureen all evening. They both knew that before the night was out he'd be sharing her bed. He was really looking forward to it. He'd heard good things about her bed. Maureen was a real smooth ride by all accounts. They were just about ready to head off to her place when Benrubi appeared at his elbow to tell Roger he was on gate duty from midnight to four a.m. Which meant that the odds were good that some other lucky bastard was in Maureen's bed by now--quite possibly Benrubi, if his smug grin and promise to "take good care of Maureen" while Roger was gone was anything to go by--
Roger hadn't heard the heavy metallic grating in over a year, but he recognized it instantly. He spun on his heel, his heart in his throat, and saw it: the inner ring of the stargate was moving. As Roger watched it stopped and one of the chevrons locked in place and lit up. The ring began spinning, counterclockwise this time. A second chevron locked down.
Roger shook himself out of his paralysis. He was--there was a protocol for this. What was it!? Oh--right! He fumbled for the microphone clipped to the collar of his uniform shirt. "In--Incoming wormhole!" Roger shouted at the mike. "Unscheduled offworld activation!" Another chevron locked. Then another.
He waited for a moment, but didn't get a response. "Did you hear me?" he demanded. "We've got somebody dialing the fucking gate right now!" Still no response. "Are you bastards asleep in there? Did anyone hear me--"
The blare of a klaxon gave Roger his answer. He relaxed fractionally, reassured by the knowledge that he wouldn't be alone for long. The "welcoming committee" would be out here in less than a minute, bristling with weapons. His radio finally responded. "--your finger off the goddamn transmit button if you want a reply, you motherless idiot!"
The gate activated with a roar. The vortex erupted outward, then settled into the familiar glittering interface. The light spilled across the open field leading to the gate. Roger heard running steps behind him, then he was surrounded by the rest of the guard detail. Roger raised his weapon, flipping off the safety and waiting. The klaxon continued to blaring.
A man stumbled out of the stargate. Backlit as he was by the watery glow of the interface Roger could see few details. He staggered to a halt, looking around wildly. "Oh god," he moaned--in English, no less. "I'm alive! Thank you god!" He peered into the darkness. "You--you people! This is Gamma Site, yes?"
"Put your hands over your head and walk slowly toward us!" Sgt. Harriman commanded the stranger.
The stranger raised his hand. Roger very nearly shot him, thinking he held a weapon. At the last moment, as his finger was tightening on the trigger, Roger held off. The stranger raised the object to his face. "I'm alive!" he said to it--and Roger realized it was a radio. A walkie-talkie. "I made it! It's safe," the stranger said. "There are people here--and they're alive! It's safe!"
"Put your hands over your head and walk slowly toward us!" Harriman demanded again.
This time the stranger complied, trudging slowly toward the guards with his hand raised to shoulder level. His every move indicated utter exhaustion. Behind him, more figures began stepping through the gate--men, women and children....
When: 2:14 a.m. on Wednsday, May 15
Where: The Stargate
Invited: All Play
Status: Incomplete
Rogers' digital watch switched from 2:12 to 2:13 as he watched. It was the middle of the night--and the middle of his goddamned shift. The sky was clear, the sky filled with stars in unfamiliar constellations. Crickets (or their local equivalent) buzzed all around him. The night was chill too and Roger was glad he'd worn a jacket.
But--god, he was bored! And more than a little pissed off. Corporal Young had contrived to come down with food poisoning or some such. He was in Gamma General, pissing and moaning--when he wasn't spewing from both ends. Someone had to take his place on guard duty and Roger was next on the roster. So it was that Private Benrubi had tracked Roger down at Moe's, where he was lounging with his arm around Maureen Deas.
He'd been drinking and flirting with Maureen all evening. They both knew that before the night was out he'd be sharing her bed. He was really looking forward to it. He'd heard good things about her bed. Maureen was a real smooth ride by all accounts. They were just about ready to head off to her place when Benrubi appeared at his elbow to tell Roger he was on gate duty from midnight to four a.m. Which meant that the odds were good that some other lucky bastard was in Maureen's bed by now--quite possibly Benrubi, if his smug grin and promise to "take good care of Maureen" while Roger was gone was anything to go by--
Roger hadn't heard the heavy metallic grating in over a year, but he recognized it instantly. He spun on his heel, his heart in his throat, and saw it: the inner ring of the stargate was moving. As Roger watched it stopped and one of the chevrons locked in place and lit up. The ring began spinning, counterclockwise this time. A second chevron locked down.
Roger shook himself out of his paralysis. He was--there was a protocol for this. What was it!? Oh--right! He fumbled for the microphone clipped to the collar of his uniform shirt. "In--Incoming wormhole!" Roger shouted at the mike. "Unscheduled offworld activation!" Another chevron locked. Then another.
He waited for a moment, but didn't get a response. "Did you hear me?" he demanded. "We've got somebody dialing the fucking gate right now!" Still no response. "Are you bastards asleep in there? Did anyone hear me--"
The blare of a klaxon gave Roger his answer. He relaxed fractionally, reassured by the knowledge that he wouldn't be alone for long. The "welcoming committee" would be out here in less than a minute, bristling with weapons. His radio finally responded. "--your finger off the goddamn transmit button if you want a reply, you motherless idiot!"
The gate activated with a roar. The vortex erupted outward, then settled into the familiar glittering interface. The light spilled across the open field leading to the gate. Roger heard running steps behind him, then he was surrounded by the rest of the guard detail. Roger raised his weapon, flipping off the safety and waiting. The klaxon continued to blaring.
A man stumbled out of the stargate. Backlit as he was by the watery glow of the interface Roger could see few details. He staggered to a halt, looking around wildly. "Oh god," he moaned--in English, no less. "I'm alive! Thank you god!" He peered into the darkness. "You--you people! This is Gamma Site, yes?"
"Put your hands over your head and walk slowly toward us!" Sgt. Harriman commanded the stranger.
The stranger raised his hand. Roger very nearly shot him, thinking he held a weapon. At the last moment, as his finger was tightening on the trigger, Roger held off. The stranger raised the object to his face. "I'm alive!" he said to it--and Roger realized it was a radio. A walkie-talkie. "I made it! It's safe," the stranger said. "There are people here--and they're alive! It's safe!"
"Put your hands over your head and walk slowly toward us!" Harriman demanded again.
This time the stranger complied, trudging slowly toward the guards with his hand raised to shoulder level. His every move indicated utter exhaustion. Behind him, more figures began stepping through the gate--men, women and children....