This is for those Commanders who posted on my previous thread ...
https://forums.frontier.co.uk/showthread.php?t=185314
... and expressed an enthusiasm for fan fiction, and of course anyone else who is interested.
So I hope you enjoy this story. I don't know where it's leading, perhaps you have your own ideas. Please feel free to post them in your responses. Also, I thought you may like to bring your own character to the plot. I was further informed on this subject by Cmdr Mossfoot...
An excellent suggestion by Cmdr Mossfoot. If you have a Cmdr profile in there and want to point me at it, or if you don't have one, surely that's the place to write one and share it on this thread along with your thoughts.
Have a safe flight, and happy reading.
-----------
Geterix : Yesterday and Tomorrow (Chapter 1)
“Could you take your feet off my coffee table please Zarbo. That’s an Antarian goat polish finish on there and is quite expensive you know.” Zarbo remained slouched in his seat for a moment as he eyed me contemptuously. Finally he removed some of his feet from my table, leaving two more in place and then defiantly moved them around on the expensive goat polish surface. That table had special meaning for me. It’d lain for many years in my old Cobra’s passenger compartment. Back in the old Elite galaxy you could buy a passenger compartment and that opened up a whole new income stream. A passenger could pay big money. The Antarian ambassador in this case. She gave me that table and 35k for getting her home in one piece. It’s a relic of the old Galaxy. Not unlike myself. I managed to recycle the passenger compartment too, and with a good deal of metal bending, succeeded in fitting it into my new Cobra. It comes in handy sometimes. No one in this new galaxy expects a Cobra to have room for a passenger and so the Feds never look for one.
“I’m forgettin' Geterix. Remind me one time more why I don’t killed you by now.” Zarbo said after thinking about it for a moment.
“Haven’t killed me by now” I corrected. We may be many light years from Earth but that’s no reason to let our grammar lapse. Although with Zarbo, it’s an uphill struggle. “Because I married your sister?… perhaps?” I did marry Zarbo’s sister Zereena, but before you ask - she only has two legs and is in fact - human. Zarbo is a Legmenian and not a very good looking one at that. His parents adopted Zereena when she was abandoned all those years ago and left to die as a baby at Gagarin Camp outpost in Uchagan. I haven’t seen her in months, and no one is quite sure where she is. I remain hopeful though.
‘Legmenian’ is the human name for Zarbo’s race. No one knows what the Legmenian’s call themselves because their language is not reproducible by the human larynx nor is it audible to the human ear. They can however produce sounds that humans can hear, and some of them, like Zarbo, have taken the trouble to learn human languages, usually English. Which represents bad news for English speaking people because if a Legmenian learns your language it usually means he wants you to do something for him, and it won’t be something nice.
I’ve long suspected that the term ‘Legmenian’ is a somewhat derogatory and racist term. But I’ve known Zarbo since the time of the old Elite galaxy, when he was a pirate, and he’s never seemed to mind it being used when being introduced to others. Although with him it’s hard to tell what he takes offence to and what he considers acceptable, since he does seem to kill most of the people he meets, and they are therefore not normally available for any subsequent discussion regarding their conversations with him.
“No Geterix. I don’t kill you cos you is best at moving sly goods… an I like that. It makes me feel happy places.” A smile rippled across his leathery face. Then he became serious and unfriendly again. “So you gonna move cargo for me?” His spiny fingers closed tight around the glass he was holding as he gazed first at his drink, and then at me expectantly. I looked towards the window as the hushed reverb of a shuttle engine announced the arrival of a station maintenance crew near the superstructure outside my apartment. I watched as its pilot expertly spun the craft into position prior to its decent between the massive tube frames that support the advertising boards. He did it without all the usual thruster bursts one normally sees from these chaps. ‘Hmm. flight-assist off merchant no doubt’ I thought to myself. Not bad.
“Why don’t you get your usual bloke to do it?” I said, not knowing who his usual bloke was, but I was sure he must have one. Zarbo was quick to reply.
“He dead!”
“Dead! Oh - well what about your own team then?”
“They dead!”
“They dead!… I - I mean… they’re dead too? All of them?”
“Mmm… Some dead. Some nearly dead. Some not dead yet but will be dead when after I seed my eyes on ‘em.” He said through that leathery smile of his.
“Such grief is touching Zarbo. What’s the cargo? and is it sly?”
“Yeah it sly. I ‘aint tradin animal meat here Geterix. Fact it real sly. Can’t say on what is in them crates. Best you don’t make ‘em open G. Come on G… I pay you good.” He paused for a moment while he thoughtfully considered my options, then: ”You ‘aint Elite no more G. That was back in old times. You just low pilot now who gotta earn his cash some ways he can. …Or if you like, I kill you and get some human else. Huh?” I never understood why the Federation never seized upon Zarbo’s talents as a negotiator. He always manages to clarify one’s misgivings about any deal, by raising the prospect of sure and certain death. At which point, one’s decision becomes very much easier to make.
“Ok. I could use the cash. I owe Lamb for that A4 thruster module he got me. I gave him my A3 and promised him 200k in cash.” I’m not complaining. It would have been five times that if I’d have bought it at the regular outfitting yard. But Jon Lamb and I go back a long way. He was an assistant station controller back when stations were really primitive, pixelated, harsh places to trade. In his station - not every ship that went in came out again. He had a deal with the Feds. They got their man, and he got their man’s ship. Now he owns a hidden outfitting yard at Fiennes Vision that doesn’t show up on the station services menu for good reason. It’s full of, let’s just say, items removed from ships no one will ever find again. These upgraded thrusters are going to give me the edge moving sly, or rather illicit, goods. You have to know the right people these days. Back in the old Elite Galaxy, you could easily tell the good guys from the bad ones. These days it’s just not very clear at all who you can really trust. The enigmatic Zarbo is especially untrustworthy, and although we’ve known each other for years, I’m sure he would have trouble recalling my name 30 minutes after I get killed moving his sly crates.
“175k you get. Dahm Platform in Nangpo. My human be there waiting you two days.” Zarbo had risen to all his feet and moved effortlessly and swiftly across the room towards me. He came up close and took hold of my arm. His breath was surprisingly more awful than it usually is, and his stare was unequivocal in its meaning. “Make me happy places Geterix.” he said solemnly, and then he was gone.
—-
In the hanger that same night, the cavernous void was filled with the sounds of hydraulic rams fetching ships down from the landing pads of Rodgers Hub in HIP 105391. This made it all the more difficult to hear Jon’s voice over the com-link I was holding in one hand, while stuffing the various fingers of my other hand into my ear to block out the distant noise.
“I can’t get the Cobra to integrate this A4 thruster unit Jon. What am I doing wrong?” I shouted as the noise faded. Which promptly made my shouting seem unnecessary.
“That was a special unit Verson. It came from a pirate. Err … Bartell I think was his name.” Jon’s face on the com-link screen was in and out of focus and sometimes froze completely, making him look rather comical.
“Didn’t he tell you how it went together?” I quizzed.
“No. He couldn't say.” Jon’s head was shaking, and then froze again.
I suddenly recalled the name. “Bartell. Err… Matthew Bartell. He took on five Fed ships outside a station in your system. They blew him apart.”
“Yep.” Jon nodded. “That’s why he couldn’t say.” There was a pause, and another face freeze, and then… “I’ll send you the wiring chart Verson. wait… there you go. It’s in your inbox. Maybe you can get someone at your place to decipher what goes where. It’ll need a good mechanic I reckon.”
“I know one. Thanks Jon. I need to ask you something else. I’ve got some crates in my hold. They’re sealed so I can’t open them. But they have a rather strange marking on the outside. I wondered if you’d recognise it.” I went around to the cargo hatch, opened it, and pointed the camera on the com-link at the markings on one of the crates. A green spider with a skull for a body.
It seems my camera was working better than Jon’s. “Oh hell Verson. You have to lose those crates boy. Really quick.” Jon’s voice crackled through with an alarming degree of seriousness.
“I can’t lose them. They belong to Zarbo. Our conversation was only short but I don’t recall him being agreeable to my losing them. In fact I’m fairly sure it’s the reverse situation he’s expecting. Delivery to Nangpo.” I turned Jon’s frozen face toward me.
“Listen Verson. Those crates belong to Archon Delaine by the looks of those markings, and you’re in Aisling Duval space right? You don’t want to get in the middle of these people. Better to deal with a small-time pirate like Zarbo than deal with huge powers like Delaine and Duval. I’ve got to go. They’re scanning the lower decks here. I have to shut the bay down cold so it looks like a junk yard. Don’t mess about Verson. Drop those crates and get out of there.”
—-
The next day I was just about ready to tackle the decidedly risky task of leaving the station with an illegal and, from what Jon had said, catastrophically dangerous cargo on board. Not finishing the job, as Jon had suggested, was not really an option. If you drop a cargo you’re supposed to be smuggling, then at best you don’t get another cargo. At worst you don’t get to keep breathing. And I really like breathing.
I’d managed to get the A4 thrusters hooked up and partially working. I’m not a mechanic. They’ll thrust, but not like A4s. My attention was diverted from the task by the rather chilling sight of an Eagle being ferried into a hanger not far from mine. The markings on it’s side matched the markings on the crates in my hold. The percussive sound of hydraulic rams hitting their buffers felt like a prelude to the gun shots I was probably going hear when they find whomever they think they're looking for. Which I’m now guessing - is me.
“Commander Geterix?”
“Ah Oh! What!” I hit my head on the compartment hatch as I swung round at speed. “NO! Absolutely not.… Who? That’s not me… Who want’s to know?”. I’d said too much, and already convinced the figure now facing me that I was indeed Verson Geterix. He looked very young. Still I supposed there’s no lower age limit to employment as an assassin. But was I to die like this? At the hands of this young gun-toting villain. After all the pirates I’d faced in the blackness of space. To be gunned down whilst changing the oil on my Cobra? He reached into his pocket, and my hands shot into the air in surrender. He viewed my action with a concerned glance as he pulled out an Apple commPad and activated its holographic display.
“Jon Lamb sent me. He said you needed a mechanic. He gave me the charts for your ship and thrusters. Said you needed help .” He continued to look bemused as he issued his explanation.
“OoooKaaaay… Errrm. Let’s talk while we fly. Get in kid. Under the canopy on this side.” I pushed him toward the canopy whilst casting a glance toward the Eagle.
“Get in? What do you mean? This is a Cobra. No room for a passenger.” He protested.
“It’s a long story kid.” And I pushed him up the ladder and over the pilot’s seat. I was close behind him and as we scrambled in I pointed at a discreet hatch in the floor. He opened it to reveal a tiny room with a bunk and some other home comforts. He looked back at me with an amazed expression. But I was looking at the men from the Eagle who were now looking with interest in our direction. There was no time for explanations. I pointed to the hatch in the back of the compartment. An internal access way to the thruster compartment. Upon which he expressed the desire not to work on the ship while it was powered up and definitely not while it was flying. Upon which I expressed the desire to avoid death during the next few minutes, and alerted him to the rather unfortunate fact that we were almost certain to die unless he could get the thrusters working properly. I glanced up into the canopy glass and saw a reflection of the men, now running this way, with what looked like weapons in hand. I was guessing they were not those non-lethal kind. My suspicions were confirmed as a muted laser blast hit the Cobra’s hull. I slammed the canopy shut and hit the launch button. The hydraulics took us forward and then started toward the deck level. The men reached the end of the apron just in time to see me glancing back at them through the side window. One of the men took aim, but another stopped him from firing. The third, possibly a pilot, pulled at them both and they ran back toward the Eagle. From my new vantage point I saw they had a transport ship too, and two men guarding it. ‘Oh good.’ - I thought - ‘I’m going to have to fight an Eagle with thrusters slightly more powerful than that of a garbage disposal drone.’
We arrived on the deck and the grabs released the ship all too slowly for my liking.
“Ship released. Engines engaged. Landing gear retracted.” Came the soothing voice of the Cobra’s on board computer.
“Engage silent running” I thrust upwards without pausing to wonder if the thrusters would work. They did.
“Silent running engaged. Shields off-line.” Came the voice.
I thrust forward trying not to go so fast as to draw attention to us, yet hoping to get ahead of the Eagle now emerging on to the pad below and to our right.
“Deploy heat sink.” I paused as I thought about my as yet un-named passenger and what the sudden temperature drop might do to him.
“Hang on kid, it’s going to get really cold in there in about ten seconds. Hold your breath so your lungs don’t freeze.”
“Ok, but why?” Came the reply. Why do people always need to know details in times of dire emergency?
“Heat sink deployed.” The ship announced.
“Oh well that’s the other thing. Errm… we have illegal cargo on board. We have to dump heat from the ship to avoid being picked up by the scanners. Just do it…. but keep working… don’t stop working… are you working?” I looked behind and down through the hatch. My companion had inflated cheeks and was nodding. So maybe we were going to be Ok. Just the station to get out of, the two security vessels I could see outside the entrance to avoid, and the deadly Eagle with a side order of deadly assassins to deal with. As I calculated the chances of our survival, a head popped out of the now freezing hatch and into the slightly warmer pilot’s cabin. Presumably he needed a new lung full of air.
“I’m guessing this isn’t a normal sort of day.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but instead took a deep breath and vanished back into the dimness.
“No, errr… this is a pretty normal day… to be honest. Oh except the men with guns. Don’t usually get that very often.”
We exited the station and past the two security ships, which by good fortune, were both facing away from each other. We past between their two sterns, but our urgency had alerted their pilots. The choice was whether to keep the shields off to evade the the auto-lock on their scanners and risk being caught by the Eagle who must by now be exiting the station at a fair old rate of knots and warming up his lasers. Or whether to turn on the shields knowing the Eagle will be on us soon, and risk the scanners. I hurriedly set our destination into the nav computer, but we were still mass locked and not even half way across the ‘no fire’ zone.
“We need that power now kid…. quicker if you can manage it.”
“Almost done.” Came the muffled voice. I swerved a few degrees and checked our six o’clock. The Eagle was closer than expected, his hard points were out and the inducers around his lasers were spinning up and beginning to glow. With no shields we’d be taking hull damage in the next 3 seconds.
This was a good time to get a sit rep. “Don’t want to rush you. Take your time. No hurry. It looks like no family funeral for us by-the-way — we’re going to be cremated I think. Hope that suits you.”
There was no answer, and now there was no time. I pitched the Cobra over and the Eagle pitched over with me. His first laser blast missed us by a whisker as I turned into the path of the security vessel. As I turned I saw the Eagle lurch as its pilot switched all pips to weapons. I spun the Cobra onto her back and dived across the front shield of the Fed ship and then into an arch to fall below him on his other side. The next laser blasts were about to leave my pursuer’s barrels. I glimpsed the Fed pilot’s stunned expression as I fell away inverted, across his field of view and then below him on his right. Then came the the shock wave of my assailant’s twin lasers. One of the blasts hitting me, the other hitting the Fed ship by mistake but was meant for me. Suddenly all hell broke loose behind us as the Feds gathered momentum and brought weapons to bear on the Eagle. There were now three Fed ships, and all but one of them had forgotten about me. That one, the one I’d buzzed, turned my way and accelerated toward me while the other two engaged the Eagle.
“Scan detected.” The ship announced with annoying enthusiasm.
It’s not over yet. They have to complete the scan for it to register. I pointed us at the jump gate and engaged the FSD.
“Frame shift drive charging.” The ship said with note of firm assurance. I turned to my left in time to see the Fed ship coming right at me and deploying its hard points. I turned to my right to find my new companion right next to me. He reached across me and hit the throttle hard forward.
“4.. 3.. 2.. 1.. Engage”.
https://forums.frontier.co.uk/showthread.php?t=185314
... and expressed an enthusiasm for fan fiction, and of course anyone else who is interested.
So I hope you enjoy this story. I don't know where it's leading, perhaps you have your own ideas. Please feel free to post them in your responses. Also, I thought you may like to bring your own character to the plot. I was further informed on this subject by Cmdr Mossfoot...
An excellent suggestion by Cmdr Mossfoot. If you have a Cmdr profile in there and want to point me at it, or if you don't have one, surely that's the place to write one and share it on this thread along with your thoughts.
Have a safe flight, and happy reading.
-----------
Geterix : Yesterday and Tomorrow (Chapter 1)
“Could you take your feet off my coffee table please Zarbo. That’s an Antarian goat polish finish on there and is quite expensive you know.” Zarbo remained slouched in his seat for a moment as he eyed me contemptuously. Finally he removed some of his feet from my table, leaving two more in place and then defiantly moved them around on the expensive goat polish surface. That table had special meaning for me. It’d lain for many years in my old Cobra’s passenger compartment. Back in the old Elite galaxy you could buy a passenger compartment and that opened up a whole new income stream. A passenger could pay big money. The Antarian ambassador in this case. She gave me that table and 35k for getting her home in one piece. It’s a relic of the old Galaxy. Not unlike myself. I managed to recycle the passenger compartment too, and with a good deal of metal bending, succeeded in fitting it into my new Cobra. It comes in handy sometimes. No one in this new galaxy expects a Cobra to have room for a passenger and so the Feds never look for one.
“I’m forgettin' Geterix. Remind me one time more why I don’t killed you by now.” Zarbo said after thinking about it for a moment.
“Haven’t killed me by now” I corrected. We may be many light years from Earth but that’s no reason to let our grammar lapse. Although with Zarbo, it’s an uphill struggle. “Because I married your sister?… perhaps?” I did marry Zarbo’s sister Zereena, but before you ask - she only has two legs and is in fact - human. Zarbo is a Legmenian and not a very good looking one at that. His parents adopted Zereena when she was abandoned all those years ago and left to die as a baby at Gagarin Camp outpost in Uchagan. I haven’t seen her in months, and no one is quite sure where she is. I remain hopeful though.
‘Legmenian’ is the human name for Zarbo’s race. No one knows what the Legmenian’s call themselves because their language is not reproducible by the human larynx nor is it audible to the human ear. They can however produce sounds that humans can hear, and some of them, like Zarbo, have taken the trouble to learn human languages, usually English. Which represents bad news for English speaking people because if a Legmenian learns your language it usually means he wants you to do something for him, and it won’t be something nice.
I’ve long suspected that the term ‘Legmenian’ is a somewhat derogatory and racist term. But I’ve known Zarbo since the time of the old Elite galaxy, when he was a pirate, and he’s never seemed to mind it being used when being introduced to others. Although with him it’s hard to tell what he takes offence to and what he considers acceptable, since he does seem to kill most of the people he meets, and they are therefore not normally available for any subsequent discussion regarding their conversations with him.
“No Geterix. I don’t kill you cos you is best at moving sly goods… an I like that. It makes me feel happy places.” A smile rippled across his leathery face. Then he became serious and unfriendly again. “So you gonna move cargo for me?” His spiny fingers closed tight around the glass he was holding as he gazed first at his drink, and then at me expectantly. I looked towards the window as the hushed reverb of a shuttle engine announced the arrival of a station maintenance crew near the superstructure outside my apartment. I watched as its pilot expertly spun the craft into position prior to its decent between the massive tube frames that support the advertising boards. He did it without all the usual thruster bursts one normally sees from these chaps. ‘Hmm. flight-assist off merchant no doubt’ I thought to myself. Not bad.
“Why don’t you get your usual bloke to do it?” I said, not knowing who his usual bloke was, but I was sure he must have one. Zarbo was quick to reply.
“He dead!”
“Dead! Oh - well what about your own team then?”
“They dead!”
“They dead!… I - I mean… they’re dead too? All of them?”
“Mmm… Some dead. Some nearly dead. Some not dead yet but will be dead when after I seed my eyes on ‘em.” He said through that leathery smile of his.
“Such grief is touching Zarbo. What’s the cargo? and is it sly?”
“Yeah it sly. I ‘aint tradin animal meat here Geterix. Fact it real sly. Can’t say on what is in them crates. Best you don’t make ‘em open G. Come on G… I pay you good.” He paused for a moment while he thoughtfully considered my options, then: ”You ‘aint Elite no more G. That was back in old times. You just low pilot now who gotta earn his cash some ways he can. …Or if you like, I kill you and get some human else. Huh?” I never understood why the Federation never seized upon Zarbo’s talents as a negotiator. He always manages to clarify one’s misgivings about any deal, by raising the prospect of sure and certain death. At which point, one’s decision becomes very much easier to make.
“Ok. I could use the cash. I owe Lamb for that A4 thruster module he got me. I gave him my A3 and promised him 200k in cash.” I’m not complaining. It would have been five times that if I’d have bought it at the regular outfitting yard. But Jon Lamb and I go back a long way. He was an assistant station controller back when stations were really primitive, pixelated, harsh places to trade. In his station - not every ship that went in came out again. He had a deal with the Feds. They got their man, and he got their man’s ship. Now he owns a hidden outfitting yard at Fiennes Vision that doesn’t show up on the station services menu for good reason. It’s full of, let’s just say, items removed from ships no one will ever find again. These upgraded thrusters are going to give me the edge moving sly, or rather illicit, goods. You have to know the right people these days. Back in the old Elite Galaxy, you could easily tell the good guys from the bad ones. These days it’s just not very clear at all who you can really trust. The enigmatic Zarbo is especially untrustworthy, and although we’ve known each other for years, I’m sure he would have trouble recalling my name 30 minutes after I get killed moving his sly crates.
“175k you get. Dahm Platform in Nangpo. My human be there waiting you two days.” Zarbo had risen to all his feet and moved effortlessly and swiftly across the room towards me. He came up close and took hold of my arm. His breath was surprisingly more awful than it usually is, and his stare was unequivocal in its meaning. “Make me happy places Geterix.” he said solemnly, and then he was gone.
—-
In the hanger that same night, the cavernous void was filled with the sounds of hydraulic rams fetching ships down from the landing pads of Rodgers Hub in HIP 105391. This made it all the more difficult to hear Jon’s voice over the com-link I was holding in one hand, while stuffing the various fingers of my other hand into my ear to block out the distant noise.
“I can’t get the Cobra to integrate this A4 thruster unit Jon. What am I doing wrong?” I shouted as the noise faded. Which promptly made my shouting seem unnecessary.
“That was a special unit Verson. It came from a pirate. Err … Bartell I think was his name.” Jon’s face on the com-link screen was in and out of focus and sometimes froze completely, making him look rather comical.
“Didn’t he tell you how it went together?” I quizzed.
“No. He couldn't say.” Jon’s head was shaking, and then froze again.
I suddenly recalled the name. “Bartell. Err… Matthew Bartell. He took on five Fed ships outside a station in your system. They blew him apart.”
“Yep.” Jon nodded. “That’s why he couldn’t say.” There was a pause, and another face freeze, and then… “I’ll send you the wiring chart Verson. wait… there you go. It’s in your inbox. Maybe you can get someone at your place to decipher what goes where. It’ll need a good mechanic I reckon.”
“I know one. Thanks Jon. I need to ask you something else. I’ve got some crates in my hold. They’re sealed so I can’t open them. But they have a rather strange marking on the outside. I wondered if you’d recognise it.” I went around to the cargo hatch, opened it, and pointed the camera on the com-link at the markings on one of the crates. A green spider with a skull for a body.
It seems my camera was working better than Jon’s. “Oh hell Verson. You have to lose those crates boy. Really quick.” Jon’s voice crackled through with an alarming degree of seriousness.
“I can’t lose them. They belong to Zarbo. Our conversation was only short but I don’t recall him being agreeable to my losing them. In fact I’m fairly sure it’s the reverse situation he’s expecting. Delivery to Nangpo.” I turned Jon’s frozen face toward me.
“Listen Verson. Those crates belong to Archon Delaine by the looks of those markings, and you’re in Aisling Duval space right? You don’t want to get in the middle of these people. Better to deal with a small-time pirate like Zarbo than deal with huge powers like Delaine and Duval. I’ve got to go. They’re scanning the lower decks here. I have to shut the bay down cold so it looks like a junk yard. Don’t mess about Verson. Drop those crates and get out of there.”
—-
The next day I was just about ready to tackle the decidedly risky task of leaving the station with an illegal and, from what Jon had said, catastrophically dangerous cargo on board. Not finishing the job, as Jon had suggested, was not really an option. If you drop a cargo you’re supposed to be smuggling, then at best you don’t get another cargo. At worst you don’t get to keep breathing. And I really like breathing.
I’d managed to get the A4 thrusters hooked up and partially working. I’m not a mechanic. They’ll thrust, but not like A4s. My attention was diverted from the task by the rather chilling sight of an Eagle being ferried into a hanger not far from mine. The markings on it’s side matched the markings on the crates in my hold. The percussive sound of hydraulic rams hitting their buffers felt like a prelude to the gun shots I was probably going hear when they find whomever they think they're looking for. Which I’m now guessing - is me.
“Commander Geterix?”
“Ah Oh! What!” I hit my head on the compartment hatch as I swung round at speed. “NO! Absolutely not.… Who? That’s not me… Who want’s to know?”. I’d said too much, and already convinced the figure now facing me that I was indeed Verson Geterix. He looked very young. Still I supposed there’s no lower age limit to employment as an assassin. But was I to die like this? At the hands of this young gun-toting villain. After all the pirates I’d faced in the blackness of space. To be gunned down whilst changing the oil on my Cobra? He reached into his pocket, and my hands shot into the air in surrender. He viewed my action with a concerned glance as he pulled out an Apple commPad and activated its holographic display.
“Jon Lamb sent me. He said you needed a mechanic. He gave me the charts for your ship and thrusters. Said you needed help .” He continued to look bemused as he issued his explanation.
“OoooKaaaay… Errrm. Let’s talk while we fly. Get in kid. Under the canopy on this side.” I pushed him toward the canopy whilst casting a glance toward the Eagle.
“Get in? What do you mean? This is a Cobra. No room for a passenger.” He protested.
“It’s a long story kid.” And I pushed him up the ladder and over the pilot’s seat. I was close behind him and as we scrambled in I pointed at a discreet hatch in the floor. He opened it to reveal a tiny room with a bunk and some other home comforts. He looked back at me with an amazed expression. But I was looking at the men from the Eagle who were now looking with interest in our direction. There was no time for explanations. I pointed to the hatch in the back of the compartment. An internal access way to the thruster compartment. Upon which he expressed the desire not to work on the ship while it was powered up and definitely not while it was flying. Upon which I expressed the desire to avoid death during the next few minutes, and alerted him to the rather unfortunate fact that we were almost certain to die unless he could get the thrusters working properly. I glanced up into the canopy glass and saw a reflection of the men, now running this way, with what looked like weapons in hand. I was guessing they were not those non-lethal kind. My suspicions were confirmed as a muted laser blast hit the Cobra’s hull. I slammed the canopy shut and hit the launch button. The hydraulics took us forward and then started toward the deck level. The men reached the end of the apron just in time to see me glancing back at them through the side window. One of the men took aim, but another stopped him from firing. The third, possibly a pilot, pulled at them both and they ran back toward the Eagle. From my new vantage point I saw they had a transport ship too, and two men guarding it. ‘Oh good.’ - I thought - ‘I’m going to have to fight an Eagle with thrusters slightly more powerful than that of a garbage disposal drone.’
We arrived on the deck and the grabs released the ship all too slowly for my liking.
“Ship released. Engines engaged. Landing gear retracted.” Came the soothing voice of the Cobra’s on board computer.
“Engage silent running” I thrust upwards without pausing to wonder if the thrusters would work. They did.
“Silent running engaged. Shields off-line.” Came the voice.
I thrust forward trying not to go so fast as to draw attention to us, yet hoping to get ahead of the Eagle now emerging on to the pad below and to our right.
“Deploy heat sink.” I paused as I thought about my as yet un-named passenger and what the sudden temperature drop might do to him.
“Hang on kid, it’s going to get really cold in there in about ten seconds. Hold your breath so your lungs don’t freeze.”
“Ok, but why?” Came the reply. Why do people always need to know details in times of dire emergency?
“Heat sink deployed.” The ship announced.
“Oh well that’s the other thing. Errm… we have illegal cargo on board. We have to dump heat from the ship to avoid being picked up by the scanners. Just do it…. but keep working… don’t stop working… are you working?” I looked behind and down through the hatch. My companion had inflated cheeks and was nodding. So maybe we were going to be Ok. Just the station to get out of, the two security vessels I could see outside the entrance to avoid, and the deadly Eagle with a side order of deadly assassins to deal with. As I calculated the chances of our survival, a head popped out of the now freezing hatch and into the slightly warmer pilot’s cabin. Presumably he needed a new lung full of air.
“I’m guessing this isn’t a normal sort of day.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but instead took a deep breath and vanished back into the dimness.
“No, errr… this is a pretty normal day… to be honest. Oh except the men with guns. Don’t usually get that very often.”
We exited the station and past the two security ships, which by good fortune, were both facing away from each other. We past between their two sterns, but our urgency had alerted their pilots. The choice was whether to keep the shields off to evade the the auto-lock on their scanners and risk being caught by the Eagle who must by now be exiting the station at a fair old rate of knots and warming up his lasers. Or whether to turn on the shields knowing the Eagle will be on us soon, and risk the scanners. I hurriedly set our destination into the nav computer, but we were still mass locked and not even half way across the ‘no fire’ zone.
“We need that power now kid…. quicker if you can manage it.”
“Almost done.” Came the muffled voice. I swerved a few degrees and checked our six o’clock. The Eagle was closer than expected, his hard points were out and the inducers around his lasers were spinning up and beginning to glow. With no shields we’d be taking hull damage in the next 3 seconds.
This was a good time to get a sit rep. “Don’t want to rush you. Take your time. No hurry. It looks like no family funeral for us by-the-way — we’re going to be cremated I think. Hope that suits you.”
There was no answer, and now there was no time. I pitched the Cobra over and the Eagle pitched over with me. His first laser blast missed us by a whisker as I turned into the path of the security vessel. As I turned I saw the Eagle lurch as its pilot switched all pips to weapons. I spun the Cobra onto her back and dived across the front shield of the Fed ship and then into an arch to fall below him on his other side. The next laser blasts were about to leave my pursuer’s barrels. I glimpsed the Fed pilot’s stunned expression as I fell away inverted, across his field of view and then below him on his right. Then came the the shock wave of my assailant’s twin lasers. One of the blasts hitting me, the other hitting the Fed ship by mistake but was meant for me. Suddenly all hell broke loose behind us as the Feds gathered momentum and brought weapons to bear on the Eagle. There were now three Fed ships, and all but one of them had forgotten about me. That one, the one I’d buzzed, turned my way and accelerated toward me while the other two engaged the Eagle.
“Scan detected.” The ship announced with annoying enthusiasm.
It’s not over yet. They have to complete the scan for it to register. I pointed us at the jump gate and engaged the FSD.
“Frame shift drive charging.” The ship said with note of firm assurance. I turned to my left in time to see the Fed ship coming right at me and deploying its hard points. I turned to my right to find my new companion right next to me. He reached across me and hit the throttle hard forward.
“4.. 3.. 2.. 1.. Engage”.
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