This Torval discussion reminded me of this old thing I wrote two years ago that seems oddly prescient given the recent addition of Glaives.
In a grungy old bar in a distant corner of the Bubble, two men watched the broadcast with fixed eyes. Massive Thargoid Incursion!!! scrolled by constantly at the bottom of the screen, while above it showed the distant flashes of light that were the fleet battle.
They'd been watching for a few days now; it wasn't new news, but it still wasn't pleasant news. The Thargoids had suddenly invaded from beyond the Witch Head with tens of thousands of ships, smashing the local garrisons and destroying every station in their path. And they hadn't stopped; with each passing day, they pressed deeper into the bubble, leaving a glaring bubble of red on the map in their wake.
As if that wasn't bad enough, they'd attacked with the addition of an entirely new class of ship, what they were calling "HS-Class". Technically 'Heavy Scout', but in reality...well...
"Holy ****," the younger man muttered, taking a sip of his beer. "Hope they're doing okay out there."
The older man grunted.
The new ships were small and fast, but their rocky exteriors were almost impossibly durable. It took over thirty seconds of full capital ship fire to take one down, and they were so fast even getting them in your sights was nigh impossible.
"I've made up my mind," he rumbled. "I'm heading out there."
The younger man's head whipped around. "What...are you insane? This is the job for the big navy types, not us miners! We've just gotta stay out of the way, keep our heads down."
The old man grunted, "That's right...for you. You've still got a long life ahead of you. But if this goes on, there won't be much galaxy left to keep our heads down in. I've been out here mining for fourty years, galaxy won't lose much if I go. And if I can take just one of them with me? Well, all the better. "
The younger man stared at him. "I've seen that old rig of yours. You haven't got any weapons!"
The old man grinned under his beard. "Actually...I dragged these old things out of storage just for the occasion."
He passed over a data pad, which the younger man gave an incredulous look, blinked, and then double-took. "Wait...Mining Lances? How the hell? Those are exclusive tech! How'd you get your hands on those?"
"You might not believe it, but I was pretty high up in the Torval ranks, once. Fourth-tier!" he guffawed. "Ancient history, now." He stuck his tongue in his cheek thoughtfully. "Actually...well, I might not make it back. If I don't, I've got another half dozen of them tucked away in storage. Consider them yours. Might not want to use them, but they'll at least look pretty on your wall." Finishing off his drink, he rose. "Anyways, keep an eye out for me on the feed. And it was nice knowing you."
Two days later, the younger man sat alone in the bar. His eyes were fixed on the feed, hand clenched tightly around his beer. The feed never stopped; kill/death ratios displayed, mostly in glaring red, as the line was steadily pushed back.
"What's eating you, kid?" the Bartender said.
The young man just shook his head, only to freeze, mid-shake. He'd spotted the familiar name, and... "That's impossible," he muttered, brow furrowed incredulously.
The bartender glanced up at the feed, eyebrow raised. Then he smiled. "Oh hey! I know that name! So that's what you're so stressed about." he peered closer. "Wow. Three kills? Never knew he was such a dogfighter."
The young man shook his head slowly. "It has to be a glitch," he muttered, as the number ticked up from three to four. "It has to be."
The bartender shot him a surprised look. "So he's getting a few kills, so what?"
The young man shook his head, more sharply this time. "You don't get it! These new Thargoids are deadly. Anacondas are only getting a 1.5 k/d ratio against the damn things. The old man is in a keelback with - " he froze. "...mining...lances..."
His head whipped up to the feed once again, eyes wide. "Of course!" he whispered. "Why didn't we see it before!? But then...nobody would be stupid enough to try it."
His eyes flickered around, mind blazing. "They'll never believe me; they'll need proof. Which means..." His eyes widened, and he exploded to his feet and towards the door.
"Hey!" the Bartender yelled, "What about your tab!"
"I'll pay for it when I get back!" he called as he ran, "I have to go now!"
Sirens blared uselessly unto the empty vacuum of his blown cockpit as the old man stared up at the approaching Thargoids. He'd taken out dozens of the s, but eventually they'd outnumbered him, and the weary shields of his old keelback couldn't handle the ongoing assault. He snorted. Still...not a bad way to go, all things considered. He closed his eyes and waited for the end, as death slowly approached.
A blinding flash shone through his eyelids, and he opened his eyes just in time to see the approaching alien explode into shards of stone and flesh, just before a Krait Mk2 blew through the wreckage, bright blue lasers firing.
"Hey there old man!" the familiar voice called over the coms.
"The hell!? I told you to stay out of this!" The old man said gruffly, his voice catching as he watched the ship obliterate the remaining damaged thargoid ships with ease.
"I know, I know. But you've got a flight recorder that the top brass need to see." The Krait ship slowed to a halt above him. "You and your damn mining lances," the young man said, voice cracking. "Only as big an idiot as you would actually try it."
The old man's brow furrowed. "Mining lances? But...oh!" his eyes widened.
"Exactly! The damn things are shielded with a few feet of rock! Only mining lasers are gonna get through that, but who the hell is gonna bring mining lasers into a war zone?"
The Krait slowly lowered until it latched onto the disabled keelback. "Come on, old man. Lets save the bloody universe."
