The sweat trickled past his brow and stung his eyes, the ships temperature was well past critical. I'm going to die here, he thought. The fuel scoop clunked closed and the ship shuddered in response. Max turned, muttering to noone but the empty co-pilots chair , "Right, this is it - I'd best go to dock and see if anyone is willing to pay me. I need food, repairs and weapons upgrades now that things are heating up between the Federation and the Empire nuts."
Browsing the bulleting board, a mission caught his eye. Kill a General, eh? Let's see if I can do that then. With the click of a button, his fate was sealed.
Hours later, in LHS 3447, there was still no sign of the General. Ships buzzed in and out incessantly. There were plenty of criminals and low-lives bursting in and out near the Navigation Beacon but none that were not already friendly. Just goes to show I mix with the wrong sorts... Wait. Here's a couple of likely candidates. Both scanned as wanted and neither showed as friendly.
Pushing the thrust forward, the Maleficent hurtled toward one of the hapless Cobras. "Hardpoints", the lasers clunked into place and the targeting cross-hairs weaved together in a deadly dance on his HUD. Firing repeatedly as he screamed past the first ship his lasers cut through the shields, a blue flare followed by sparks as the enemy hull was scored by the searing heat. He forced his ship in a loop and felt his guts tighten as his Cobra tried to respond to the impossible demand to turn. The cross-hairs danced again. Wait, who the hell is that? Too late. The innocent had got in the way. Alarms sounded as he was flagged as "Wanted" in this sector. It wouldn't be long now before... His blood ran cold, "Preparing for kill run" crackled over the speakers. It was the bloody fuzz.
58% Hull
46% Hull
"Taking damage" the computer announced. "No sh** Sherlock", he breathed as he prayed to any gods that might exist he was a nice guy really and wanted to live. "3.....2.....1", the stars blurred and he passed out.
...
The acrid smell of smoke woke him, dashboard lights winked and a gentle beep threatened to send him back to sleep. He forced himself up and saw the final hull damage reading. One percent? I need to repair and pay off my fines. The "Wanted" sign flashed, reminding him of his ineptitude. Time to make new friends, he thought as he plotted a course to Lawson Outpost.
Browsing the bulleting board, a mission caught his eye. Kill a General, eh? Let's see if I can do that then. With the click of a button, his fate was sealed.
Hours later, in LHS 3447, there was still no sign of the General. Ships buzzed in and out incessantly. There were plenty of criminals and low-lives bursting in and out near the Navigation Beacon but none that were not already friendly. Just goes to show I mix with the wrong sorts... Wait. Here's a couple of likely candidates. Both scanned as wanted and neither showed as friendly.
Pushing the thrust forward, the Maleficent hurtled toward one of the hapless Cobras. "Hardpoints", the lasers clunked into place and the targeting cross-hairs weaved together in a deadly dance on his HUD. Firing repeatedly as he screamed past the first ship his lasers cut through the shields, a blue flare followed by sparks as the enemy hull was scored by the searing heat. He forced his ship in a loop and felt his guts tighten as his Cobra tried to respond to the impossible demand to turn. The cross-hairs danced again. Wait, who the hell is that? Too late. The innocent had got in the way. Alarms sounded as he was flagged as "Wanted" in this sector. It wouldn't be long now before... His blood ran cold, "Preparing for kill run" crackled over the speakers. It was the bloody fuzz.
58% Hull
46% Hull
"Taking damage" the computer announced. "No sh** Sherlock", he breathed as he prayed to any gods that might exist he was a nice guy really and wanted to live. "3.....2.....1", the stars blurred and he passed out.
...
The acrid smell of smoke woke him, dashboard lights winked and a gentle beep threatened to send him back to sleep. He forced himself up and saw the final hull damage reading. One percent? I need to repair and pay off my fines. The "Wanted" sign flashed, reminding him of his ineptitude. Time to make new friends, he thought as he plotted a course to Lawson Outpost.
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