About 12 months after I got my pilot's license, I bought my first Cobra. I called her the Cunning Fox after an old canal boat I'd been on back on Earth. She was a good ship, but she also had expensive tastes. Seems like every bounty that I bring in gets eaten up in repair bills, munitions and fuel. What little I have left at the end of it all gets put away for the next upgrade. There's always a new hardpoint, a new shield generator, a new interdictor. It's hard to stay competitive when the bounties are worth so little. Too many other Commanders do what I do, so every day the Kill Warrant Scanner shows me smaller price tags. Whatever pirates are still flying in Federation space aren't worth enough to pay the insurance if my ship goes down.
Last time I went out with her, I got blindsided by a Python. A damn Python! How in the hell am I supposed to chase down an eagle when it's flying in the shadow of a ship like that? Before I could even shift pips to engines and get out of there, my shields were offline and my hull started to look like a beehive. Multiple breaches at the end of a multi cannon had alarms blaring despite my best efforts to evade. Damned turrets. Even with reduced velocity, the size of the Python's hardpoints meant I was outclassed. And I was out of chaff to confuse his sensors - my own fault. Too busy trying to save credits to stop by a station and stock up. Just one more contract.
Well, the contract was about to send me to oblivion. The feds were about to fly in, but not in time to save the Fox. I ejected out the top of the cracked canopy and watched her ignite around the same time I blacked out. I came to in Hartlib Plant, facing a medical bill and the cost of a new ship. That's what I get for skimping out on insurance. Replacing the Fox wouldn't be easy, and I'd be starting from scratch with my career, fighting for scraps on the bounty boards. I had a couple of other ships I could sell, maybe give me a head start - remnants of my other get rich quick schemes. You see, it turns out that I'm no good as either a trader or a miner. About the only thing I was ever any good at that wasn't hunting down pirates was talking. Which is how I ended up agreeing to a 50 thousand light year round trip to the core. But I get ahead of myself.
After selling off my old ships, I made enough to buy me back into the bounty business, but with fresh wounds still tender from my last scrape, a Cobra just didn't feel big enough. I wanted a few more layers of titanium between me and the void, not to mention a few more hardpoints. Maybe it was time for a temporary change of career, at least until my bruises healed and my nerves settled a little.
I was mulling this over at Sharky's when negotiations over money caught my ears like music.
"Thirty million, up front. Shouldn't take more than three weeks."
"Thirty? But we agreed twenty four!"
That second voice was shrill and unyielding, but apparently wealthy.
"I'll do it." I heard myself say, now standing over their table. I didn't remember getting up, but that happens sometimes when money is involved.
"You will?" the lady asked. The pilot did not seem impressed. Like he hadn't smiled a day in his life.
"And who are you?" he asked me. I could smell his breath from here, like the exhaust from a mining skiff. Very unpleasant.
"James McKinley, my good sir." I turned to the lady, ignoring him. "And what's more I'll do it in a week."
He laughed without mirth, spitting his drink. She looked uncertain, but I knew I had her. I just needed to tip her over the edge. And I needed to do it quick. The ox at the table realised what was about to happen and I needed to hook her before his cogs started turning.
"What's more, you can pay me when we get back to Hartlib Plant." I said. No need to spend the money until the job was done anyway.
"We have a deal," she said, standing up and extending her hand. "My name is Dr. Kassandra Nichols. My companions are down in the passenger lounge on deck 6. Shall we go and inform them of the good news?"
As we left Sharky's I couldn't help myself. She asked about the ship, and I told her I had one of those new Dolphins from Saud Kruger. "Smaller than the Orca, but much more comfortable. No other ship like it." All lies, of course, but I had enough to kit something out if I skimped on a few parts. "Which system was it you were going to, again?"
"Dryaa Pri XA-D D13-470," she replied, matter-of-factly, "we are conducting a scientific survey of a trio of worlds in that system. It's very important that we do so with utmost secrecy. I don't wish my plans to be known until my return. It's for my next book, you see."
"I see," I aagreed, absentmindedly trying to find the system on my data pad. "Dryaa Pri…"
"XA-D D13-470. Draw a straight line from here to the core and you pass right through it. In the Empyrean Straits."
I swallowed a lump in my throat, plotting a course as we stepped into the elevator down to deck 6. Universal Cartographics was refusing to plot a route. Maximum distance exceeded. I checked again, and sure enough, it was about 22,000 light years from Ralu. . I considered coming clean there and then. I'd never even been outside the bubble before. I thought this was going to be just another sightseeing mission. But 24 million credits was hard to come by this honestly.
"Mr McKinley, are you coming?"
I tuned back in to see Dr. Nichols holding the elevator door.
"Actually, I'd better go and pick up the ship. She's just being outfitted with new luxury cabins." I cursed myself for adding more credits to the bill. "We leave the day after tomorrow. Look me up on the station manifest."
"And the name of your ship is…?"
I didn't even have the ship yet, let alone the name.
"Heaven's Fire." I replied. She smiled, turned and left.
I ended up in Wright City, just a hop, skip and jump away from Ralu. It was the nearest place that I could lay my hands on a Dolphin, and with limited funds, I had limited choices on what I equipped her with. But some things were non negotiable. For a trip that long, I needed the best jump drive I could find, and a top class fuel scoop so that I wouldn't spend every one of my 2,000 plus jumps waiting for the green light before I could move on. I was aiming for fly-by scooping, especially if I was going to make the whole trip in a week. No sleep for me, I guess. And I'd promised those luxury cabins, idiot that I am.
The final bill left my coffers a lot emptier than I was comfortable with, and to maximise the pitiful jump range I had to strip out everything that wasn't absolutely essential. Making money selling the data on a trip like this would normally be easy, but I was going to have to cut out the planetary scanner, and with it, a large portion of my income. But I had neither the time to scan every planet nor the money to equip more than the basic FSS. Not to mention that every ounce I took with me would reduce my jump range.
In the end I was looking at just over a thousand jumps to reach our destination. Figuring on a day of exploration at the site, I was looking at only 3 days there and 3 days back if I wanted to live up to my promise. That said, once we were in deep space, Dr. Nichols could hardly jump ship. Still, I was going to be pushing the ship to its limit - jumping into a system, scooping from its star as I circled round for the next jump, then charging up the FSD the moment the safety cooldown was finished. Why the hell had I chosen a Dolphin? Couldn't I have told her I had an ASP Explorer instead?
Two days later, as we flew out from the hangar in Hartlib Plant, an incoming ship scanned us. I was on autopilot, busy plotting the first half of our journey. Dr. Nichols was furious, and promised to take it out of my pay at the end of this. Seeing my payment slipping away, and with my remaining credits invested in this ship, I made our first jump before she could demand we turn around.
The toll on the ship was frightening. At the end of the first day, only 150 jumps in, I nearly turned back. The FSD was struggling with the pace I'd set, and we were already a long way behind schedule. I spent time checking the galaxy map, looking for stations, and realised that the Colonia Highway didn't even head in this direction. I was already far enough from the nearest station that I'd end up delivering late if I made a detour. Dr. Nichols was still fuming about the ship that scanned us, and I didn't want to risk my income. So I got my hands dirty with the tools I had available and made a few off-spec customisations to the coolant system. The next day, with a little wishful thinking and no sleep, we managed to make 400 jumps.
Once the enormity of the task hit me, I thought about the money I'd make from selling the data I'd already collected. I'd already discovered three new Earth-like planets, not to mention countless systems that were uncharted by any commander. I figured that getting it back to a station was probably more important than getting myself stranded in deep space. Twice I woke up to sirens as the FSD emergency shutdown stopped me crashing into a sun. But I didn't want to pass up on the credits. And I started to feel like this would be the most significant thing I ever did. It was no Beagle Point, but the way I felt right now, I was never going to leave the Bubble again. Might as well complete my journey before I retire.
We reached our destination on day 4. We were behind schedule, but in a rare moment of charity, Dr. Nichols chose to ignore this fact, instead throwing herself into her study of the planets we'd come to see. I put us into orbit and got some rest while she took readings, made notes and conferred with her two assistants. Whatever had them excited was uninteresting to me, and I was just looking forward to the trip home. Or the far end of it, at least.
I contemplated extending the trip. Dr. Nichols didn't seem to mind when we returned, so focused was she on whatever she'd learned out there. We were only a couple of hundred jumps from Sagittarius A*. I could even get to Explorer's Anchorage and sell what data I'd gathered. Maybe take the scenic route back home, via the Colonia Highway and the stations along the way that might afford me the chance to stretch my legs and not feel like the void would swallow me up.
But Dr. Nichols was adamant that she did not want to lift the veil of secrecy. Whatever she was studying, she did not want her academic rivals getting wind of it. The chances of avoiding notice at any station on the way home were slim, and the risk of pirates at Explorer's Anchorage was significant enough to warrant caution. In the name of fuel efficiency and jump range, I'd sacrificed the ship's shields, although I didn't have the heart to rob her of the two pulse lasers she came with on purchase. But they would be no good in a fight, so caution won the day. We turned around and set out for home, over a thousand jumps away.
My arms started shaking from constantly fighting the throttle while I was fuel scooping my way along the edge of exclusion zones. My eyes felt burned out from staring at so many stars up close, in spite of the layer of protective coating the salesman "threw in for free" on the canopy. Wish I'd taken him up on the upgraded flight controls, though. About 100 jumps into our return trip, when I was about to power down for the night, I decided to strip down the jump controls. Damn FSD trigger was sticking, and I wanted something simple to take my mind off of the monotony.
A couple of hours later, stranded as far from human civilization as I had ever been, I was stuck with a malfunctioning control stick and an angry passenger. Every time I reassembled the damn thing, something else was broken. First I couldn't scan anything with the FSS. Next I was pitching right whenever I let go of the controls. And to top it off, the FSD trigger was still sticking from overuse! I guess the designers hadn't expected a luxury yacht to be making a trip halfway across the galaxy and back.
As I contemplate sleep now, 716 jumps from home, all I can think of is "one more jump". I swear to god, if any ship so much as smells like they are about to idly scan us as we pass through the final leg of our journey, I will lean out of the window and throw these crappy pulse cannons at them.
Time to retire for the night. Got another long day of flying ahead of me tomorrow.
Last time I went out with her, I got blindsided by a Python. A damn Python! How in the hell am I supposed to chase down an eagle when it's flying in the shadow of a ship like that? Before I could even shift pips to engines and get out of there, my shields were offline and my hull started to look like a beehive. Multiple breaches at the end of a multi cannon had alarms blaring despite my best efforts to evade. Damned turrets. Even with reduced velocity, the size of the Python's hardpoints meant I was outclassed. And I was out of chaff to confuse his sensors - my own fault. Too busy trying to save credits to stop by a station and stock up. Just one more contract.
Well, the contract was about to send me to oblivion. The feds were about to fly in, but not in time to save the Fox. I ejected out the top of the cracked canopy and watched her ignite around the same time I blacked out. I came to in Hartlib Plant, facing a medical bill and the cost of a new ship. That's what I get for skimping out on insurance. Replacing the Fox wouldn't be easy, and I'd be starting from scratch with my career, fighting for scraps on the bounty boards. I had a couple of other ships I could sell, maybe give me a head start - remnants of my other get rich quick schemes. You see, it turns out that I'm no good as either a trader or a miner. About the only thing I was ever any good at that wasn't hunting down pirates was talking. Which is how I ended up agreeing to a 50 thousand light year round trip to the core. But I get ahead of myself.
After selling off my old ships, I made enough to buy me back into the bounty business, but with fresh wounds still tender from my last scrape, a Cobra just didn't feel big enough. I wanted a few more layers of titanium between me and the void, not to mention a few more hardpoints. Maybe it was time for a temporary change of career, at least until my bruises healed and my nerves settled a little.
I was mulling this over at Sharky's when negotiations over money caught my ears like music.
"Thirty million, up front. Shouldn't take more than three weeks."
"Thirty? But we agreed twenty four!"
That second voice was shrill and unyielding, but apparently wealthy.
"I'll do it." I heard myself say, now standing over their table. I didn't remember getting up, but that happens sometimes when money is involved.
"You will?" the lady asked. The pilot did not seem impressed. Like he hadn't smiled a day in his life.
"And who are you?" he asked me. I could smell his breath from here, like the exhaust from a mining skiff. Very unpleasant.
"James McKinley, my good sir." I turned to the lady, ignoring him. "And what's more I'll do it in a week."
He laughed without mirth, spitting his drink. She looked uncertain, but I knew I had her. I just needed to tip her over the edge. And I needed to do it quick. The ox at the table realised what was about to happen and I needed to hook her before his cogs started turning.
"What's more, you can pay me when we get back to Hartlib Plant." I said. No need to spend the money until the job was done anyway.
"We have a deal," she said, standing up and extending her hand. "My name is Dr. Kassandra Nichols. My companions are down in the passenger lounge on deck 6. Shall we go and inform them of the good news?"
As we left Sharky's I couldn't help myself. She asked about the ship, and I told her I had one of those new Dolphins from Saud Kruger. "Smaller than the Orca, but much more comfortable. No other ship like it." All lies, of course, but I had enough to kit something out if I skimped on a few parts. "Which system was it you were going to, again?"
"Dryaa Pri XA-D D13-470," she replied, matter-of-factly, "we are conducting a scientific survey of a trio of worlds in that system. It's very important that we do so with utmost secrecy. I don't wish my plans to be known until my return. It's for my next book, you see."
"I see," I aagreed, absentmindedly trying to find the system on my data pad. "Dryaa Pri…"
"XA-D D13-470. Draw a straight line from here to the core and you pass right through it. In the Empyrean Straits."
I swallowed a lump in my throat, plotting a course as we stepped into the elevator down to deck 6. Universal Cartographics was refusing to plot a route. Maximum distance exceeded. I checked again, and sure enough, it was about 22,000 light years from Ralu. . I considered coming clean there and then. I'd never even been outside the bubble before. I thought this was going to be just another sightseeing mission. But 24 million credits was hard to come by this honestly.
"Mr McKinley, are you coming?"
I tuned back in to see Dr. Nichols holding the elevator door.
"Actually, I'd better go and pick up the ship. She's just being outfitted with new luxury cabins." I cursed myself for adding more credits to the bill. "We leave the day after tomorrow. Look me up on the station manifest."
"And the name of your ship is…?"
I didn't even have the ship yet, let alone the name.
"Heaven's Fire." I replied. She smiled, turned and left.
I ended up in Wright City, just a hop, skip and jump away from Ralu. It was the nearest place that I could lay my hands on a Dolphin, and with limited funds, I had limited choices on what I equipped her with. But some things were non negotiable. For a trip that long, I needed the best jump drive I could find, and a top class fuel scoop so that I wouldn't spend every one of my 2,000 plus jumps waiting for the green light before I could move on. I was aiming for fly-by scooping, especially if I was going to make the whole trip in a week. No sleep for me, I guess. And I'd promised those luxury cabins, idiot that I am.
The final bill left my coffers a lot emptier than I was comfortable with, and to maximise the pitiful jump range I had to strip out everything that wasn't absolutely essential. Making money selling the data on a trip like this would normally be easy, but I was going to have to cut out the planetary scanner, and with it, a large portion of my income. But I had neither the time to scan every planet nor the money to equip more than the basic FSS. Not to mention that every ounce I took with me would reduce my jump range.
In the end I was looking at just over a thousand jumps to reach our destination. Figuring on a day of exploration at the site, I was looking at only 3 days there and 3 days back if I wanted to live up to my promise. That said, once we were in deep space, Dr. Nichols could hardly jump ship. Still, I was going to be pushing the ship to its limit - jumping into a system, scooping from its star as I circled round for the next jump, then charging up the FSD the moment the safety cooldown was finished. Why the hell had I chosen a Dolphin? Couldn't I have told her I had an ASP Explorer instead?
Two days later, as we flew out from the hangar in Hartlib Plant, an incoming ship scanned us. I was on autopilot, busy plotting the first half of our journey. Dr. Nichols was furious, and promised to take it out of my pay at the end of this. Seeing my payment slipping away, and with my remaining credits invested in this ship, I made our first jump before she could demand we turn around.
The toll on the ship was frightening. At the end of the first day, only 150 jumps in, I nearly turned back. The FSD was struggling with the pace I'd set, and we were already a long way behind schedule. I spent time checking the galaxy map, looking for stations, and realised that the Colonia Highway didn't even head in this direction. I was already far enough from the nearest station that I'd end up delivering late if I made a detour. Dr. Nichols was still fuming about the ship that scanned us, and I didn't want to risk my income. So I got my hands dirty with the tools I had available and made a few off-spec customisations to the coolant system. The next day, with a little wishful thinking and no sleep, we managed to make 400 jumps.
Once the enormity of the task hit me, I thought about the money I'd make from selling the data I'd already collected. I'd already discovered three new Earth-like planets, not to mention countless systems that were uncharted by any commander. I figured that getting it back to a station was probably more important than getting myself stranded in deep space. Twice I woke up to sirens as the FSD emergency shutdown stopped me crashing into a sun. But I didn't want to pass up on the credits. And I started to feel like this would be the most significant thing I ever did. It was no Beagle Point, but the way I felt right now, I was never going to leave the Bubble again. Might as well complete my journey before I retire.
We reached our destination on day 4. We were behind schedule, but in a rare moment of charity, Dr. Nichols chose to ignore this fact, instead throwing herself into her study of the planets we'd come to see. I put us into orbit and got some rest while she took readings, made notes and conferred with her two assistants. Whatever had them excited was uninteresting to me, and I was just looking forward to the trip home. Or the far end of it, at least.
I contemplated extending the trip. Dr. Nichols didn't seem to mind when we returned, so focused was she on whatever she'd learned out there. We were only a couple of hundred jumps from Sagittarius A*. I could even get to Explorer's Anchorage and sell what data I'd gathered. Maybe take the scenic route back home, via the Colonia Highway and the stations along the way that might afford me the chance to stretch my legs and not feel like the void would swallow me up.
But Dr. Nichols was adamant that she did not want to lift the veil of secrecy. Whatever she was studying, she did not want her academic rivals getting wind of it. The chances of avoiding notice at any station on the way home were slim, and the risk of pirates at Explorer's Anchorage was significant enough to warrant caution. In the name of fuel efficiency and jump range, I'd sacrificed the ship's shields, although I didn't have the heart to rob her of the two pulse lasers she came with on purchase. But they would be no good in a fight, so caution won the day. We turned around and set out for home, over a thousand jumps away.
My arms started shaking from constantly fighting the throttle while I was fuel scooping my way along the edge of exclusion zones. My eyes felt burned out from staring at so many stars up close, in spite of the layer of protective coating the salesman "threw in for free" on the canopy. Wish I'd taken him up on the upgraded flight controls, though. About 100 jumps into our return trip, when I was about to power down for the night, I decided to strip down the jump controls. Damn FSD trigger was sticking, and I wanted something simple to take my mind off of the monotony.
A couple of hours later, stranded as far from human civilization as I had ever been, I was stuck with a malfunctioning control stick and an angry passenger. Every time I reassembled the damn thing, something else was broken. First I couldn't scan anything with the FSS. Next I was pitching right whenever I let go of the controls. And to top it off, the FSD trigger was still sticking from overuse! I guess the designers hadn't expected a luxury yacht to be making a trip halfway across the galaxy and back.
As I contemplate sleep now, 716 jumps from home, all I can think of is "one more jump". I swear to god, if any ship so much as smells like they are about to idly scan us as we pass through the final leg of our journey, I will lean out of the window and throw these crappy pulse cannons at them.
Time to retire for the night. Got another long day of flying ahead of me tomorrow.
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