one word:

karma 

Chapter 6, part 3
Fire

The Trader Emergency Coalition

8 years ago, phase space, headed towards galactic position 305, 835

    "What's our ETA?" The Jackal demanded.
    "Thirty minutes, sir!" An officer called out.
    "Wake me in twenty. I'll be in my cabin." The Jackal was about to leave the room, then paused and turned back.
    "You there, Sergeant, come here."
    The officer approached. "Yes, sir?"
    The Jackal took a sheet of paper from a nearby desk and scribbled on it furiously. "Take this message. Tell the ships to broadcast it repeatedly over open channels."
    The sergeant looked down at the sheet, confused. "Sir?"
    "Propaganda, idiot," the Jackal snarled, "to let them know we will not be pushed so easily around. Now send it out!"
    The sergeant saluted and marched back to his desk, where he began speaking over the 'tween-ships radio. The Jackal left the command bridge, crossed down the hallway, and fell onto the bunk in his private room. It was always wise to come into battle with a sharp, well-rested mind. The Jackal fell asleep and dreamed......
    He looked down at the cheering multitudes and back up to the perfectly blue sky, cloudless yet the day was at a perfectly comfortable temperature. Everything was perfect today. He watched the hysterical crowds of people crying his name, screaming praise at him. Him, the Jackal, the hero of the Trader Emergency Coalition, not some monster locked up in the deepest depths of Trader prison. The savior of the Coalition who had wiped out the encroaching alien menace. He looked over his shoulder where Dumois was being dragged off to a military tribunal on the charge of altering the Jackal's ship design. His ship design. The Jackal looked across at the shining buildings reflecting the sun's heat. Something in his reflection caught his eye, and he frowned. There was something...wrong...with his skin. The Jackal looked down at his hand. The skin was charred and blackened, burned to a crisp.
    The Jackal started up as the siren in his room gave three shrill beeps. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and looked down at his watch. It had been twenty minutes. Ten minutes to battle. He crossed his room, shoved open the door, and headed down the hallway towards the command bridge. What had that dream meant? It had seemed so real...the Jackal shook his head. Only fools listened to their dreams. And found only what they wanted to find, often enough. The Jackal entered the command bridge and barked for an update. His aid hurried up and saluted.
    "Sir, the fleet is less than ten minutes away, and have been broadcasting your message the whole time, as you ordered."
    He put a question on the last part, as if asking if he had really ordered the sergeant to deal such an unusual order. The Jackal ignored it.
    "Put the ETA up on the big screen. I'll be at my desk."

The Vasari

8 years ago, galactic position 305, 835, planet code named VASAR

    "How much longer?" Num'pol rasped out.
    "Less than 4 clicks, Elite Subjugator!" A Senior Eliminator called out.
    Num'pol studied his gravity well. He had positioned his ships as best as he could. There was nothing left he could do. His scanners had identified three skirvanas leading a host of smaller ships, while he had just his Platinum. It was suicide to remain, yet that was what Num'pol intended to do.
    And the skies shall split asunder, while all the Vasari call, yea, here is the time of our dominion! And falling from the skies shall be the bright Darkness, and it shall consume us, thought Num'pol, quoting from the Prophecies of Darkness. He shook his head and called out. "Prepare weapon systems! Rouse the grunts and tell them to rouse the slaves! Our Great Battle is upon us! Fight, or die as cowards!"
    The entire ship roared its approval.

The Trader Emergency Coalition

8 years ago, phase space, approaching galactic position 305, 835

    "Beat to quarters!" The Jackal roared out. The time-honored tradition of beating drums into battle had been with the Traders since the great pirate wars thousands of years ago. In this day and age, however, the sound of the ancient war drums was blasted over the speakers instead of having real men drum them on board. The drum beats reverberated up the Jackal's spine, and he fairly cackled in delight. It was time. The hunt was over. The kill was imminent.
    Then the ships gave a rumble, and they left phase space.
    The Jackal saw the enemy's ships and fairly laughed aloud. They had less than half his own number! But he also saw the formations they had been divided into, and called out orders over the 'tween-ships radio. His own ships formed up, came into range, and fired. The Jackal actually did cackle out loud as he saw the enemy ships retreat under the heavy fire. Then something out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. The enemy capital ship, so large it could be nothing else, was bearing directly for his Provians, and the Jackal could see the weapons charging up.
    "All fire onto the capital ship!" He called out, directing the fleet's attention by placing a marker on the capital ship in his bird's eye holographic display of the battle. He saw the other two capital ships wheel around, slowly, ever so slowly, and crawl towards them. But it was too late.
    "Fire all guns!" The Jackal commanded as a shock wave reverberated over the ship. "Damage report!"
    "We were hit, sir, but the shields took most of the blast!" An officer called out. "But some of those missiles, sir, some of them slipped through the shield and impacted us! We have a fire on 6 deck, but it's not large. Permission to assemble a fire team?"
    "Permission be damned, I'll lead it myself!" The Jackal roared. Adrenaline raced through his bloodstream. He had to do something, if he just stayed in the command bridge he would go crazy. He grabbed a headset from the rack beside the command bridge's heavy double doors, and pulled aside an officer.
    "You're in charge of the bridge now, Major Judman. See that the ship stays in one piece!"
    Approaching the doors, the Jackal called out, "Commodore Jackal retires the watch, Major S. Judman has the watch!"
    Judman looked worried. "Are you sure, Commodore? Think about this!"
    The Jackal roared at him. "I RETIRE THE WATCH! YOU HAVE THE WATCH, MAJOR JUDMAN!"
    Judman repeated, "I have the watch!" in a resigned sort of tone, and the Jackal was off. Using his headset to call a few crewmen over to the fire, he opened a utility cache set into the wall and grabbed an instant hose. The little nozzle set over the not-so-large canister was able to deal out 20 gallons of water before needing to recharge. He then hurried over to the fire zone and met up with the other crewmen. They each had one of the small water canisters with them. The Jackal waved his arm as an affirmative, and they all opened fired, as the saying goes, on the fire. The flames were not so large, but the heat was intense. Several minutes went by as the ship took more hits and shook. The Jackal took his hand from the nozzle and wiped his brow as he let the crewmen finish up the last few flickers of flame. He stepped to the side and called up the command bridge on his headset.
    "How's the situation?" He barked.
    There was a crackle of static and Major Judman responded. "Our shields have taken a heavy pounding sir, and a few missiles slip by it and strike our hull on every wave. Other fires have sprung up, but I've already sent out crews to put them out. The enemy's ship has not been damaged yet, as far as I can see, sir, but that just means we have not penetrated their shields yet, sir."
    "What about the other capitals, are they firing?"
    "Aye, sir, they've joined us. One on the enemy's ship stern and another across its bow. There's only one way the ship could go if it tried to flee, and the bulk of our forces are over there dealing with the rest of the enemy's ships. He won't escape."
    "Very good, Major, well done. I am heading back to the bridge now. Let me know if there are any more major developments!"
    Just then the ship gave a tremendous heave and the lights flickered. The Jackal caught himself on the wall as the ship tilted and then righted itself.
    "Report!" The Jackal shouted. "What happened!"
    "Our shields are down, sir!" Judman shouted back. " He impacted our hull, and the metal can't take the direct hits! We have fires between 4 and 5 deck, and another on the end of 6 deck!"
    "I'll take my fire team and put out the one on 6 deck!" The Jackal called back. He turned behind him and motioned for the other men to catch up. They came running, and he sprinted along the hallway towards the fire. He could see a red glow on the walls now.
    "No, sir! Do not approach the fire site! The hull is too weakened there, it could collapse on you!"
    "Concentrate on reaching the enemy ship's hull!" The Jackal cried out, "I'll take care of the fire!"
"Sir-" The Jackal switched off his headset. He motioned for the crewmen to run faster.
    They reached the fire. Flames roared at them from floor to ceiling, and the Jackal got the tell-tale headache of space-air, as it was called, which meant oxygen was being released from the ship and the nothingness of space was replacing it. He flipped a switch on the nozzle and aimed it at the wall where he judged the hole to be. He couldn't see the wall through all of the thick, heavy smoke. This time when he sprayed a white foam spewed out along the wall. The sealant would be useless against enemy fire, but would prevent more oxygen from escaping into space. Almost immediately his headache started to dim, and the Jackal focused his attention on the fire. The other crewmen were already hard on it, spraying their pressurized water, but they could have been firing plastic water guns kids used to play with before the war for all the good it did. But they would have to try, damn it. The Jackal ran up and squirted his own canister. Damn, he had forgotten to switch the nozzle back to water. He fumbled with the nozzle for a moment, and then an arc of water spewed from his own canister, and he directed it at the flames.
    Then there was a loud crash, an enormous bang, and the Jackal's world was consumed by flame.

Epic PWNFULNESS!!

Great story. Keep it up.

Chapter 7, part 1
Identity

The Trader Emergency Coalition

8 years ago, galactic position 344, 798, sun christened "Hiske"

    The man groaned. Pain lanced through his skull like a hammer striking rock. The man gasped for breath, the pain on his upper chest constricting his oxygen intake. Someone placed something over the man's mouth and fresh air flowed through his lungs. The man tried to open his eyes, but the energy required for even that small of a task had deserted him, and he soon slunk back into unconsciousness.
    When the man next woke up and opened his eyes, it was dark. That is to say, the overhead lights were dimmed almost to nothing, and the windows had been tinted to block out the nearby sun's brightness. All this went through the man's mind in a flash, yet he did not know what it meant, or where he had learned such information. All he knew was that he needed a drink. He stood up, swayed a bit, stumbled forward, and almost fell over a solid object lying along the floor. In the dim light the man half felt, half saw the form and the dark covered sheet across it. A body bag, filled with a corpse. Suddenly dizziness came again, and the man grabbed an edge of the body bag to steady himself, tearing off a sheet of fabric as he fell once more to the floor.
------------------------
    "You're saying you don't know who this man is?"
    "He has no identification on him, no references, and the online computers are offline, and they're gonna be like that for a while. Some of there hardware was damaged in the battle. For know, we can't identify him, and his skin has been so badly burned we can't find a match. He's no one."
    "But the medics matched up the rest of the bodies, correct? Who's not accounted for?"
    "...Here's where it gets complicated, sir. There were two men unaccounted for according to the computers. One was an officer, the other a crewman."
    "Well, who were they? What's the problem?"
    "Sir...the officer was the Jackal. The Commodore."
    "Holy sons of the stars....so you're telling me this burned-up husk of skin could be..."
    "Exactly, sir. But it still could be the crewman. A Crewman Kol, sir. There's one other unidentified body, one in a body bag. The name's been ripped off the bag, however, sir, and the body's too far gone for our medics to make a match."
    "So you're telling me our Commodore could be the comatose shell next to me, or the burned up body in the bag across from me?"
    "...Yes, sir."
    "Sons of the stars..."
    The man slowly opened one eye. Then the other. Pain shot across his brow, but he managed to keep one eye open long enough to read the scrap of cloth in his hand.

Crewman Alexander J. Kol, blood type O
Time of Death: 4:22 P.M.
Cause of Death: multiple first-degree burn wounds

    The man could no longer hold his eyes open. Darkness closed around him as the scrap of material fell from his hand. Later that night an Apprentice scooped it into his mechanized vacuum as he cleaned his assigned area of the Trader Defense Network's capital ship, Provians.
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    "You say he's coming around?"
    "Yes, sir. The medical scanners indicate he will be fully conscious for the first time since the battle around noon today."
    "Very good. Call up the rest of the officers. If this is the Jackal, we better have his staff ready to receive him!"
------------------------
    The man groaned. Pain spread through his body like wildfire, but it was much reduced and the man found he could open his eyes. So he opened them. At first everything was fuzzy and he almost fainted again, but then his vision began to sharpen and the man found a slew of men standing around his bed. Once they saw him open his eyes, they started calling out hurriedly for someone, and another man quickly stepped up beside his bedpost.
    "Lie still, you're still gravely injured. But tell us, if you can, what your name is. We could not identify you while you...slept."
    "My...name..." The man's voice sounded grated and raspy, even to himself. It hurt to talk, but the man sensed some urgency behind the other man's voice, and felt obliged to respond.
    "Yes...soldier." The other man hesitated here, as if unsure what to call him. "Can you tell us your name?"
    "My name...my name is..." The man racked his brain, striving for the one set of letters every man knew by heart. Hopelessly he looked up at the official-looking man standing over him.
    "I don't know..." He mumbled, tears coming to his eyes, "I don't know...my name...I don't know..."
    "Stars of heaven!" He heard one man exclaim.
    The man above him looked down with saddened eyes. "That's ok, soldier, that's perfectly ok. You're just tired, confused after your ordeal. You'll feel better after your rest. Don't worry, everything will be all right. Major, can you get this man some water? Don't worry, son, it'll be all right, you'll see. My names Judman, Major Judman, and if you ever need anything, tell anyone to call for me and I'll be here, all right?"
    The man nodded dumbly, tears still streaming down his face. "My name...my name..." He mumbled hoarsely. Major Judman patted him on his arm, then turned around, addressing the other men.
    "Gentleman, I'd like to have a word with you outside."
    Major Judman and the others filed out of the room, leaving one man behind. A young man, dressed in medical white, he introduced himself as Petty Officer Francis and told the man that if there was anything he desired, just name it out loud and he would go get it, within reason. The man hardly heard him. He just sat there, mumbling to himself, over and over again, "Name...my name...no name...my name..."
    Then out of the man's head came a series of letters, a name. The man sat up and shouted out. "Kol! Alexander Kol! Blood type O! Crewman Alexander J. Kol!"
    The petty officer jumped up and ran out of the room. In a few moments he returned with Judman hard on his heels.
    Judman crouched by the side of the bed and looked hard at the man. "Francis here told me you shouted out a name. Can you remember it? Is that your name?"
    The man nodded happily, streams of tears, for happiness this time, running down his face. "My name! Kol! Alexander J. Kol!"
    Judman stood up and clapped the man on his shoulder. "Well, Kol, welcome back. We're all so happy for you."
    He went on in a long speech of probably no importance, but the man wasn't listening anyway. The man's brain hurt. Who was he? The man feared that would be a question he would never be able to fully answer. Who he was, what he was...that would all have to be redone. Redefined by the next few weeks of the man's life. He would have to reestablish his hold on his own sanity. For some unknown reason, poised on the brink of death, the man had never felt more alive.

he's still not famous, he's only a lowly crewman (third lowest rank) that had the unfortunate luck to be in a fire accident. idn if i made it clear enough, let me no, but that man isnt kol. he's the jackal. he teared the body bag, which contained kol, and the slip of material had kol's name and rank on it. so wen the jackal tried to remember his name, what he had read came up. so the real kol is actually just a number, nothing special, but the jackal, who was already special, has now become kol, making kol a hero (soon). let me no if u didnt catch this, cause i wasnt sure i made it obvious enough. i will change it to make it more obvious if people missed that connection.

ok i changed the end a bit, hopefully making it more obvious. i dont want to come right out and say it, you know, crank that dramatic irony, but you should be able to pick up on it. i hope.

EDIT: o right, i should probably tell you where i changed it. the paragraph at the end that starts with Judman going into a speech, thats where I started making changes.

could they not do DNA testing to prove who was who?

hav u read the change i made? can u catch it this time?

if your tissue is still alive, theres not enough damage for a dna test to come up inconclusive.  I'd buy that their dna testing equipment was damaged in the battle, but all you need is a blood sample for testing, which wouldnt be subject to burn damage.

also, i don't understand why the commodore of the fleet left his command of the battle to do damage control.  that doesnt make any sense.  i know he designed the ship or something, but the crew the ship came with would've been trained and capable of putting out the fires.

Did you ever get your movie idea going?

Yeah ive having that same problem.LOL, Ive got enough vidoes and such to make a movie but with out a green screen or anything making a story is proving to be too hard.