Mark was amusing himself by slaloming his brand new Viper around the boulders lazily spinning in their orbits around HIP 20277 7. His older sister Salome and he had shared an Asp until two days ago. Now they each had a shiny, fast and agile Viper to cruise around the rings near their home of Fabian City.
Of course, this was no joy ride, lives were at stake here and Mark and his sister had come to do the work of angels. They were bounty hunters, who kept vat grown beef steaks on the table and Water flowing from the tap by sending pirates home in their life pods. They bent the very latest and greatest technology of man (that they could afford) to protecting innocent miners from the wicked pirates who would steal their hard earned spoils.
That was what he thought he was doing out there in the Resource Extraction Site anyway when Salome’s voice crackled over the intercom, interrupting his thoughts, “If you scratch the paint on that it’s coming out of your share of the bounties.” He could hear the smile in her voice, but also the concern. Two days ago had marked their last flight as pilot and co-pilot. Now they were each flying solo. and although they were still working as a team he could tell she was nervous about the situation.
“I’m just getting the hang of the new sled, you’re going to wish you had done the same when I bring home all the markers at the end of the cycle.”
“Not likely. I’ve got the guns remember? your little flashlights won’t breach a sidewinder.”
While piloting the asp they had split the credit for each bounty by whoever had pulled the trigger on the railguns when the pirate’s hull finally breached. Now they each had their own viper they had decided to equip his with gimbal mounted pulse lasers in the medium slots and gimbal mounted multicannons in the small slots while she had the medium multi cannons and small pulse lasers. As a team they felt they were ready for anything, but on their own either would be facing a slight handicap in certain situations.
He noticed a new contact and looked at the readout at his left hand to see what it was. It was an asp and a pair of sidewinders. Locking on to one of the sidewinders he swung the prow of his fighter to face them and let the flight assist bring the ship slowly to a stop in the shade of a rock that was nearly stationary. The three ships were on the opposite side of a huge boulder and appeared to be in formation. The readout from his scanner verified that they had registered together as a wing and that this sidewinder had no bounties. He idly scanned the other two to be certain there was no trouble here.
“Marcus Antonio Musca, are you scanning those miners for cargo?”
“You caught me sis, after 16 months of spacing the scum that picks on these guys I’ve decided to give piracy a shot.”
Mark expected an immediate biting retort but the silence, accompanied by a slight hiss of static that let him know she had the mic keyed open, was pregnant.
“Sam?”
The silence dragged on a while longer before she said, “Do you think they are scum?”
“Of course they are Sam, they steal their cargo from these miners to sell at black markets. They could easily outfit themselves with mining lasers and go to work right beside them.”
“I wonder about that. Marcus have you ever seen one of these pirates scooping cargo out here?”
“Of course not Sam, they’re always too busy running for their lives.” Mark’s tone was light and dismissive, but he was beginning to ask certain uncomfortable questions himself. He had often wondered why they found sidewinders and eagles trying to destroy huge T9’s or the far better armed Pythons that sometimes came here to mine. They had to know their ships were ridiculously outmatched.
Salome’s next question cut his thoughts off like a knife. “We’re out here shooting at them for money. We’re not mining. Are we really better? Just because the scan puts a price tag on their head, does that mean killing them is right?”
“Hey, Sam, come on, we’re not killing anyone. Their life pods are just as good as ours. They black out and when the lights come back on they're sitting at their home port. A whole lot safer than we are out here with all the radiation from these Frameshift drives at our ba-”
His display had begun to show telemetry from something Salome had targeted. It was an occupied lifepod whose timer was at 1 year, 111 days, 17 hours, 13 minutes, 41 seconds and counting.
Salome’s voice was calm, but quiet, “I’ve never seen anyone out here picking these up. Not once in over a year. How long can a person live in these things?”
Of course, this was no joy ride, lives were at stake here and Mark and his sister had come to do the work of angels. They were bounty hunters, who kept vat grown beef steaks on the table and Water flowing from the tap by sending pirates home in their life pods. They bent the very latest and greatest technology of man (that they could afford) to protecting innocent miners from the wicked pirates who would steal their hard earned spoils.
That was what he thought he was doing out there in the Resource Extraction Site anyway when Salome’s voice crackled over the intercom, interrupting his thoughts, “If you scratch the paint on that it’s coming out of your share of the bounties.” He could hear the smile in her voice, but also the concern. Two days ago had marked their last flight as pilot and co-pilot. Now they were each flying solo. and although they were still working as a team he could tell she was nervous about the situation.
“I’m just getting the hang of the new sled, you’re going to wish you had done the same when I bring home all the markers at the end of the cycle.”
“Not likely. I’ve got the guns remember? your little flashlights won’t breach a sidewinder.”
While piloting the asp they had split the credit for each bounty by whoever had pulled the trigger on the railguns when the pirate’s hull finally breached. Now they each had their own viper they had decided to equip his with gimbal mounted pulse lasers in the medium slots and gimbal mounted multicannons in the small slots while she had the medium multi cannons and small pulse lasers. As a team they felt they were ready for anything, but on their own either would be facing a slight handicap in certain situations.
He noticed a new contact and looked at the readout at his left hand to see what it was. It was an asp and a pair of sidewinders. Locking on to one of the sidewinders he swung the prow of his fighter to face them and let the flight assist bring the ship slowly to a stop in the shade of a rock that was nearly stationary. The three ships were on the opposite side of a huge boulder and appeared to be in formation. The readout from his scanner verified that they had registered together as a wing and that this sidewinder had no bounties. He idly scanned the other two to be certain there was no trouble here.
“Marcus Antonio Musca, are you scanning those miners for cargo?”
“You caught me sis, after 16 months of spacing the scum that picks on these guys I’ve decided to give piracy a shot.”
Mark expected an immediate biting retort but the silence, accompanied by a slight hiss of static that let him know she had the mic keyed open, was pregnant.
“Sam?”
The silence dragged on a while longer before she said, “Do you think they are scum?”
“Of course they are Sam, they steal their cargo from these miners to sell at black markets. They could easily outfit themselves with mining lasers and go to work right beside them.”
“I wonder about that. Marcus have you ever seen one of these pirates scooping cargo out here?”
“Of course not Sam, they’re always too busy running for their lives.” Mark’s tone was light and dismissive, but he was beginning to ask certain uncomfortable questions himself. He had often wondered why they found sidewinders and eagles trying to destroy huge T9’s or the far better armed Pythons that sometimes came here to mine. They had to know their ships were ridiculously outmatched.
Salome’s next question cut his thoughts off like a knife. “We’re out here shooting at them for money. We’re not mining. Are we really better? Just because the scan puts a price tag on their head, does that mean killing them is right?”
“Hey, Sam, come on, we’re not killing anyone. Their life pods are just as good as ours. They black out and when the lights come back on they're sitting at their home port. A whole lot safer than we are out here with all the radiation from these Frameshift drives at our ba-”
His display had begun to show telemetry from something Salome had targeted. It was an occupied lifepod whose timer was at 1 year, 111 days, 17 hours, 13 minutes, 41 seconds and counting.
Salome’s voice was calm, but quiet, “I’ve never seen anyone out here picking these up. Not once in over a year. How long can a person live in these things?”
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