Sirens wailed throughout the corridors of the Ronald Reagan, a squad of Marines charging up the metal stairwell. They swarmed out onto the deck, the din of chaos and battle rising in thunderous tempo. Dozens of armed soldiers were barking orders, weapons blazing at their attackers. A twin crack of thunder and force roared with the heaving of the deck, a few of the men struggling to find their footing. Through the thick, columnous billows of black smoke pouring up from the sides of the ship, the tip-end of ivory masts could be seen sticking up. More of the soldiers ran over to the edge of the portside, opening fire. There, down below, the Argolas remained steady in its matching speeds with the Nimitz-class vessel.
Easily dwarfed by the massive size of the supercarrier, the frigate nevertheless seemed undaunted by its prey's might. Cannons once again thundered towards the carrier. And, much to the continued shock of the naval personnel, the cannonballs tore straight through the hull. Sparkles of light glittered and danced in an aura around the Argolas, the Reagan's 20 mm Phalanx gun mounts having no seeming effect on the smaller vessel.
For the Argolas was no ordinary frigate. Having traversed the oceans of time on many occassions, the daring, cutthroat crew had returned to the safe harbors of the 16th century with a wonderous bounty. Translucent domes of light that would deflect the mightiest of guns kept their ship safe from aggressors. Weapons that fired cannonballs capable of piercing the hardest of metals meant that every battle was to their advantage. Guns that rarely needed loading, that fired farther, faster, and much more accurate than anything they had ever held in their hands. Blades made of fire and light. And, of course, the small talismans each wore about his neck. Like their ship, each crew member was protected should any would-be attacker aim their fire personally towards them.
They were unstoppable. And this made them proud. The proudest of them all, however, was their own Captain Norrin Frasier. A man of passion and intellect who lead a life of piracy and adventure. None had ever been told the tale of his origins, or, even how he came to call any ship his own....much less one as special as the Argolas. For, he was a young man, barely in his thirties (or so they guessed). A forminable fighter with the blade, as well as the firearm, Norrin Frasier was at his best, however, when faced with impossible tasks and unbeatable foes. It was his cleverness and guile that seperated him from those of his ilk. Where they were nominally driven by personal vendettas, and greed, Frasier was driven by a desire unknown. He was a man searching. For what, no one knew. And, perhaps, not even he could say.
Still, on this bright, terrible morning, he was searching for something specific: Knowledge.
"I will ask you once more...", his words rasped through clenched teeth, "...what of this powers your ship?"
A small trickle of blood lined the engineer's temple, the other half of his face held tightly against the cold, hard metal wall.
"ALL OF IT!!" the furious man yelled. "THIS IS THE ENTIRE ENGINE!!"
Frasier cocked an eye, his mouth wrinkling in a growing unease. He continued to hold the engineer hostage, his .45 nestled tightly against the back of the man's skull. His other hand held the man's head still against the iron frame. Glancing behind him, Micah was observing the enormous, loud machinery that rose two-decks high. The loud hiss and whine of the nuclear-powered engines drowned out most of the battle far above, the vibration of cannon fire their only reminder.
"I...I think he speaks the truth, Captain..." Micah said, staring out over the impossibly complex engine before them.
Frasier sawed his teeth back and forth in irritation. Finally, acknowledging their miscalculation, he quickly rammed the engineer's skull with the butt of his pistol, the man crumpling to the floor.
"Damnation..." Norrin hissed, looking out over the engine room. "...I dare say there's no way we're getting this beast onto our ship..."
"We should go...now..." Micah nodded.
"Yes, old friend...." Frasier admitted. "...I think you're right..."
The two turned to make their escape, Micah following his Captain.
"This was a fool's errand..." Micah said very plainly.
"Do not start with me, Micah." Norrin replied over his shoulder, as they neared the hatch.
Suddenly, Micah reached out, yanking the small chain around Norrin's neck. The talisman broke off, clattering to the floor. There was a brief sparkle, as Frasier's protective force shield disappeared, even as he spun around.
"Micah! What are y--"
His words were cut off by a crack of gunfire. Norrin was thrown to the hard, metal plating of the floor, the impact of the gunshot to his chest forcing the breath from his lungs.
"...we've had enough..." Micah replied coldly.
Norrin fumbled for his .45, even as his first mate kicked it across the floor. Spurts of blood coughed from his mouth, as Frasier tried valiantly to make sense of the moment.
"You take us into the heart of these dark days..." Micah continued, reaching down and yanking off Norrin's left glove. "...you risk all of our lives in the yawning chasm of hell itself..."
He pulled the ruby ring off the captain's finger.
"...and for WHAT?!!" Micah suddenly yelled, staring down at the man with disgust. "To 'better ourselves'? To learn?!"
He placed the ring on his own hand, staring at it for a moment.
"You may think you're better than the rest of us, Norrin." the man spat with contempt. "But, you're not. Our greed may be for worldly pleasures. But yours...yours is a selfish greed. Under your command, we lived to serve your whims, with you telling us that this dangerous life is our reward. But...with me in charge....I shall reward them with all the treasures you denied us."
He stepped over the dazed, coughing man, opening the hatch door.
"These men have followed you....I have followed you...for the last time." he said, stepping through. "We shall ride into infamous legends. And you.....you shall die here...alone..."
The hatch slammed closed, leaving Norrin with nothing but the echo.
Twenty-minutes later, Micah ordered a retreat, informing the crew of their Captain's 'unfortunate' demise. And using the ruby ring, the ship disappeared into the mists of time.
An hour later, Norrin was found by security personnel, who determined the kevlar vest under his tunic had saved him from what appeared to be a gunshot to the chest...
