BondScape: Introduction...
Author: Phil
Disclaimer: Farscape is owned by Henson, O'Bannon,
Network 9, and all their friends, not me. James Bond
was created by Iain Fleming and is owned by it's
copyright holders, and again, not me.
Notes: Thanks to Jigs for the top beta. Please supply
your own own bond music :)
Archiving: Whatever, take it.
Rating: Nothing above PG-13.
Summary: An attempt to weave Farscape into a Bond
Movie, it had to be done...
Stopping his slow patrol, the guard tried to light his
battered looking cigarette. A gust of cold, harsh
wind defeated his first few attempts and he uttered a
few guttural curses into the freezing night. He
sheltered the lighter behind his thick gloves and
managed to get the cigarette lit. He puffed on it
satisfyingly and stamped his heavy boots in the snow
to keep warm.
Boris had always hated sentry duty and the fearsome
Siberian nights chilled him to the bone. The faint
light from inside the installation and from the
powerful searchlights of the corner watch towers were
the only illumination, and they quickly faded into the
pine forest and steep rocky slopes, both coated with
snow and ice.
Still, he was grateful that it wasn't winter and at
least he got regular pay - unlike most of the army
these days - mainly due to the sensitive nature of
this facility. This allowed him to indulge his vices
- vodka, tobacco and women, when he got the chance.
He was roused from his musings by a slight sound from
his right. He cautiously swung his AK-47 from its
shoulder strap into his waiting hands. He turned to
face the potential threat and padded as quietly as he
could towards a large rock a few metres away, the
crisp snow crunching softly underfoot.
As he reached his destination, he cocked the rifle on
his shoulder and jumped out to look behind the rock,
scanning for a target.
There was nothing there.
Boris relaxed slightly, feeling more than a little
silly for jumping at shadows. To add further insult,
his forgotten cigarette burned his lips and he spat it
out, coughing and cursing. As he straightened up, he
caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye.
A leather clad arm caught him a heavy blow on the
side of his head and Boris collapsed like a sack of
spuds onto the soft snow.
The darkly clothed figure relaxed and in a soft
Scottish burr said, "you look tired my friend, take a
nap." He then proceeded to drag the unconscious body
into the trees, away from the scrutiny of the base's
lights.
*
With the guard out of the way, he swiftly cut through
the fence and entered the grounds of the facility,
heading for the main building. He easily evaded
detection and made his way to a side-door. Stopping
his advance he produced a small vial of acid, which he
carefully poured onto the lock, watching it froth as
it ate swiftly through the metal with a quiet hiss.
He slipped inside, moving with noiseless grace over
the grey concrete surface of the floor. The poorly
lit corridors and scant patrols allowed him to quickly
sneak towards the interior of the building and his
target. He took a right, then down a short flight of
metal stairs, being careful to make minimal noise and
avoid attracting unwanted attention.
According to the blueprints of the building he had
carefully memorised, the main laboratory was down the
second left-hand turn and through an airlock - no
doubt guarded.
*
Ivan had another two hours of duty shift left until he
could finally go to bed. He was well and truly bored;
he'd been staring down this corridor for the last six
hours, and for the previous four nights. At least he
was warm though, not like those poor sods that had
drawn sentry duty outside.
Ivan's tedium was rudely interrupted as he spotted a
small black object protruding from the right end of
the corridor ahead. From his station which was ten
metres or so away, he couldn't quite make out what it
was, so he moved forward for a closer look.
There was a small click and Ivan felt a sharp pain in
his neck, like a pinprick. He reached up to touch the
tender spot with his fingerfinding a needlelike metal
object and feeling the warmth of a drop of his own
blood. He suddenly felt faint and the last thing he
saw was the floor rushing up to meet him.
*
The airlock opened with a quiet clunk, and the
intruder moved cautiously through before shutting it
carefully behind him. He edged into the shadows in a
low crouch and surveyed the room. It was well over
one hundred metres long and around fifty metres wide.
Intricate piping covered much of the sidewalls and
ceiling, while large containers, at least four metres
tall, lined the front and rear of the room on raised
platforms. The centre of the room was dominated by
several impressively sized computer consoles and some
advanced looking laboratory equipment.
He counted three scientists standing in a group near
the computers, while four guards were paired on two
raised platforms in diagonal corners. They looked as
bored and undisciplined as the others; Russian
security was not what it used to be in the days of the
USSR he thought.
Taking advantage of the guards' disinterest he snuck
unnoticed the short distance along the wall to stand
next to one of the raised platforms. Tensing and
crouching, he then leapt up to hang from the lip of
the platform. He pulled himself up, slithering
silently on his belly below the rail and into
concealment between two containers.
Reaching into his backpack he produced a small pack of
what looked like putty, but with a small digital
display and a mini-aerial attached. He pushed the
pack firmly onto the bottom of the container and moved
forward stealthily to place the next device.
*
Within ten minutes he'd strategically placed nearly
all of his devices around the room and made his way
back around the perimeter to the airlock where he had
entered. Just as he approached the exit, a heavily
accented Russian voice spoke behind him, "ah Mr
Crichton, leaving so soon?" The saboteur froze before
turning slowly to face his accuser.
The four supposedly inept guards all had their rifles
trained on him from their positions and the two
'scientists' flanked a third who had spoke to him.
"Sergeant Braca, I hadn't realised you survived our
previous encounter," said Crichton in his suave tone.
"Lieutenant Braca now, Crichton," the officer replied,
his facetwisted in a wicked grin. The first lines of
age pressed on his face, but he still looked as fit as
a man ten years his junior.
"Well, congratulations on your promotion." Said
Crichton with a hint of mocking in his voice as he
raised his hand to toast Braca with an imaginary
glass. Braca frowned with his rodent-like face and
ordered the two men accompanying him to search
Crichton and remove any weapons and the detonator.
The two burly men moved forward, one taking the
detonator from Crichton's belt and the other searching
for weapons.
"I hope your Arabic 'friends' are paying you well for
this Braca. You do realise what they plan to do with
what you produce here?" Crichton asked quietly and
accusingly.
"Do you think me a fool, Crichton? Yes I am very well
aware of the main use for the heavy water, however my
freedom fighter friends do pay very well for the
materials they use to make their hydrogen bombs,"
Braca replied coldly.
Crichton paused for a moment, looking down at his feet
before making eye contact, "tell me Braca, is the
rematch ever better than the original fight?" He
asked, looking quizzical. <Start Bond Music> Braca
looked confused for a moment before Crichton pressed a
button on his watch and threw himself to the floor. A
loud explosion rocked the room as one of the rigged
containers blew, taking out a nearby guard, who was
thrown violently through the air and into a wall with
a thud.
Another guard opened fire from across the room, but
only hit one of the burly men who had been next to
Crichton. Braca and the other man were knocked to the
floor by the strength of the blast and lay there
stunned. Crichton rose to a crouch and rolled to his
right, drawing and firing a concealed pistol at the
guard who had shot at him.
The guard was hit squarely in the chest and staggered
before toppling over the railing. The other soldiers
recovered from their temporary shock and their bullets
ricoched noisily off metal of the airlock door as
Crichton escaped.
*
This time there was no time for stealth as the base
alarm sounded and Crichton sprinted through the
corridors towards the exit. Pausing only to dispatch
a pair of guards who got in his way, he was quickly
outside into the cold air of the night.
He ran across the snow covered concrete towards the
hole in the fence, evading the searchlights from the
watch towers. Behind him a squad of five men ran out
of a side building and began firing at him. Bullets
hit the ground behind him, sending small white clouds
of snow dust into the air.
Crichton continued running and dove through the hole
in the fence as another barrage of shells hit the area
around him. He got up and sprinted into the relative
safety of the trees and found an unconscious Boris
along with the equipment he had left behind.
Quickly he grabbed the AK-47 rifle and picked off two
men who were trying to get through the hole in the
fence. The others scattered and took cover before
returning fire wildly into the blackness of the trees.
Crichton buckled on his skis and discarded the rifle
in favour of his poles.
Pushing himself along the flat he could hear the
sounds of pursuit from behind him as the guards ran to
catch up. Crichton reached the edge of a steep slope
just as the soldiers appeared behind him, only to
watch him disappear over the top just as they aimed
their rifles. Behind them, the base blew up in a
massive pyrotechnic explosion that brightly
illuminated the pre-dawn sky.
He skied expertly down the nearly vertical slope, jump
turning in the thick powder and avoiding rocky
outcrops. As he found himself on a gentler slope he
heard the rev of engines and the glare of lights from
behind him. In the distance he could see a large
column of smoke rising from the ruins of the base.
The snowmobiles closed on him despite his efforts to
go faster. Several men on skis carrying pistols were
just behind the machines and he had to weave to avoid
their fire, costing him further speed. One of the
'mobiles was now within a few metres of him, it's
bright headlights reflecting off the snow. The driver
was drawing his pistol while steering with the other
hand.
Crichton was faster though, and threw one of his
poles; it hit the man in the head, causing him to lose
control of the vehicle. It swerved out of control and
careened off a precipice. The machine flipped over
and bounced once, twice, off a rocky outcrop. The
fuel tank ignited and a second, smaller roar erupted
as the burning wreck fell to earth in twisted pieces.
Drawing his Walther-PPK, Crichton expertly shot
another two skiers before it jammed. "Not now
Winona," he said under his breath. There were still
two snowmobiles and four skiers in hot pursuit, and
their aim was improving as they adjusted to the speed.
He threw his second pole at another closing
snowmobile, the driver dodged it though and stepped up
the gas to close on him further. Ahead Crichton could
see a rapidly approaching cliff, there was no escape,
even if he could stop in time.
Instead he moved his skis closer together and ducked
low to maximise his velocity. The pursuing soldiers
had suddenly spotted what lay ahead and panicked,
trying to stop and skidding on the icy surface.
Crichton hit the edge at high speed, flying out
majestically over the one-hundred metre drop below.
The snowmobiles hit the edge just after him, hurtling
over the cliff and dipping in the air as gravity
caught them. The soldiers behind them managed to stop
just in time and watched as Crichton began to descend
- he'd never survive the fall.
As they continued to watch, Crichton tugged hard on
two straps attached to his backpack. Two thin metal
arms expanded telescopically from the pack for three
metres to each side. A thin layer of material
followed in their wake, forming a glider shape.
The soldiers could only look on in awe as Crichton
banked to the left, the first ray of weak morning
light prominently displaying the Union Jack design on
the wings of his glider as he made for the extraction
point...
<Cue Credits>