A tease, maybe this will tide you all over until I can finish, this is the opening scene of the totally rewritten "Twisted Destiny" that I started in 2001. Why green, do you ask? I'm a purist, and green was the colour of the text in the first SFC Forum, where, more or less, the Hyperion Universe was born.
TWISTED DESTINY
Sitting was the worst, followed by the waiting. Ceremonies over, friends and families all gone, even the normal patrol fleet was reduced to nothing more than a Tholian destroyer. Hyperion Station, the focal point of Unity, the start of the Greatest Peace, was dying. Crewers came on Monday to facilitate the dismantling of the station, removing various pieces and parts, equipping the chunks of history for shipment to recycling centers. And in the control room, quiet, almost alone, sat the station's administrator, Admiral Browntiger, or George as he more commonly referred to himself.
The names that Humans had given themselves always had fascinated him, most times the Human name had absolutely nothing to do with his actions or upbringing, but was an arbitrary assignment from birth, the meaning of which could be lived up to or not, without any side effects; unlike the naming of Kzinti, who most often carried a name that said or implied actions of its owner, such as the famous Cat Who Sleeps With Dogs or to a lesser degree of fame Firemane... Admiral Browntiger was exactly that, a tiger striped cat whose base colour was brown, and stripes of black. The pattern resembled that of a crewmate's tabby on Earth, named George. The admiral, all for blending in with his crew while stationed at Hyperion, quickly adopted the name, and besides, he liked the way that it sounded.
Days had gone by since the last real crews left. Admiral George was not obligated to stay, nor was anyone else on board. The station, officially, was decommissioned, and that was that. Fighter modules, cargo holds, even the entire internal structure of docking bay four had been removed already. In some of the habitat areas, doors to quarters and even lengths of ceiling and wall had been removed. So few remained on board that life support was on minimal, and only functioning in the command core on the top three decks. Hardly the prestige due for such an illustrious station. The crewers from Starfleet would, no doubt, have no trouble at all cutting, blasting and even ripping the station apart. And that is the problem with hiring these underpaid kids, thought the admiral. They just don't care about how important this place was. Blyre, Nicastro, Mohab, Kadh, Brezgonne.... all the greats of the time stood here, breathed here, planned and plotted and eventually conquered from here. This was history. The admiral reached out and gently touched a plaque, a Federation tradition, stamped with the names of those who put forth of themselves to create, in this case the stations' lead work crews of forty-five years ago, This was home.
"Admiral," the voice of Lieutenant Dwayne Whiteside sounded. "We've got a situation forming."
Admiral George sighed, his nostalgic moment shattered forever. He turned to the Human, "What have you got there?"
Czar "The epic cometh" Mohab
P.S. Attached is a picture of the Admiral
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