
Saturday night. I should be out at the bar, but the profits are booming and it won't last forever. I've got my T-9 fitted for maximum profit, 532t...no shields. The extra 32t is pulling 275k an hour and I haven't had an accident in weeks.
Cargo holds fully loaded. Pre-flight check...checked. Cleared for launch. The ol' girl creaks off the pad and floats toward the mail slot.
Time to get to work, throttle to 100%, I've got this. The seat sucks me in as we gain momentum and cross the halo. My eyes adjust from the glare see a cobra headed dead center. <Expletive deleted>! I tilt the left wing down as the cobra panics and thrusters himself into the cage above. He's scraped up, but my girl's a peach without a scratch. I chuckle. Floyd's Shine on You Crazy Diamond starts out of the ship's speakers as the stars come into view.
Cue the approach...
I drop her out of super cruise almost dead center. After so many runs, I can lead this dance blindfolded.
I clear landing with station control and immediately receiving an incoming hail. A buddy of mine sees I'm in range and wants to know what local dive to meet at. While arguing the finer points of avoiding social niceties in times of great economic opportunity, I let my attention slip from the approach.
Proximity Alert, eyes up! Asp dead ahead, apparently unaware he's staring down a flying mountain...a shieldless mountain. <expletive deleted>, full-reverse! I can almost see the credits bleeding into space. I mash buttons and sadly the ship's computer breaks it to me, "Boost." <Expletive deleted>... No time to think, I nose down to the only clear space between Asp and Halo and hope for the best. Squeezing past the blue light, my T-9 scraps her belly on the mail slot and a gleaming white cloud right behind the Asp comes into view...Clipper.
No time to evade. I bounce off her hull and slide down toward the station wall, completely unaware I also killed flight assist in my previous Momentary Lapse of Reason. After a few more bounces, I get her back under control and settled on the landing pad. One hell of a ride. Damage report...hulls at 79%. It could be worse, much worse, but still...time to reset the counter.
Guess I need a drink. Cheers to workplace safety and crazy profits!