I have no idea that the frakk I'm doing.
Those are the words I've repeated day in and day out as I showed up for my shift as a mechanic working on hydraulics for whatever spaceship happens to dock here at 'exciting' Wohler Station out in Kremainn. I don't know how my family found the means to move up here but when I was old enough I cut loose and....within weeks was broke and out of a place to sleep. Typical teenage stuff, right? Yeah. We'll go with that. Anyways, I ended up finding work and with that came a paycheck and a place to sleep. It wasn't much. Things were looking up. I got good at handling a wrench, started with engines and ended up with hydraulics. I'm not sure why I'm so good at it, probably because it's simple stuff really when you think about it. Now, I'm not sure who built these stations, or how much real maintenance gets done on them. I've always heard it was 'a lot' and 'Not nearly enough'. Well, my parents lived by the docks, Best views o the ships they always said. Must have been a fantastic view when that Type-9 and it's drunk pilot plowed into the station and fused itself to their apartment. Well, ok there were other people who lost friends, family and such but my parents were really all I ever had, you see? I know, this is a horrible tone to set my story off.
My boss gave me a few weeks off, advanced me some pay, funeral services were short and sweet, they were, really. I received a lump sum of insurance. And that promptly vanished. How? Pretty damned easily actually. After the taxes, the funeral services and everything? I think I had a hundred credits left. Whoo. So you can imagine when I showed up for work and some suit is standing there with my boss, who promptly singled me out and dragged me and Mr. Suit to his office. That wasn't weird, I did tend to sho up sloppily drunk pretty often. If I wasn't so good at my job he'd probably have fired me about the third time.
I think that pretty much sums up my backstory a bit. Does it? No? Well, alright. So. There I am, standing out in the docking ring, hung over and staring at a clipboard the head mechanic (My former boss) is handing me. Yep, that's my name on the ownership papers, That's my signature at the bottom stating I fully accept responsibility of said ship. And thats my bank account. One thousand credits. It said one hundred thousand that morning when Mr. Suit showed me the numbers. That was before docking fee's, Maintenance fee's, Insurance fees, Estate holding Fees, Oh..and Paying off my parents debt fees. And my parents debt. Thanks Ma'n'Pa. Love you guys too.
Ok where was I? Oh right. My Sidewinder. I own one, an I gotta tell you, it's probably seen better days. When I cracked it open I could swear the dust was thick enough to fill a kiddie pool. After working harder than I think I've ever worked before I cleaned house, got the place looking good again, and managed to do it all on a hundred credits. Even overhauled the reactor, and apparently ironed out the wonky hydraulics. Dad must've parked it and went cold turkey, he never said anything about owning a ship. Mum never said anything either, My childhood could have been way better. If I'd known. Oh how I wish I had known the strings that came attached to this thing. See, My dad was Federation Navy apparently. Not a bigshot, A pilot. Whoo, My dad was a pilot and when he left the Navy he had enough to buy the sidewinder I'm sitting in right now. He didn't do much, he ran short haul cargo and If the secret compartment I found is any indication, less than legal cargo every so often as well. I say found, what I really mean is that I'm staring at a black box and getting awfully worried about why the hell it's hidden here. I was trying to see if there was any way to expand the cargo bays a bit, mebbe even fit a small refinery in here. I could pull a decent haul of ore out of the nearby belts.
My dad had plenty of time to sell this thing off, and he never did. That worried me a bit to be honest. It didn't take me long to come across someone who could look into it for me.
In hindsight? I should have just left it alone.
Those are the words I've repeated day in and day out as I showed up for my shift as a mechanic working on hydraulics for whatever spaceship happens to dock here at 'exciting' Wohler Station out in Kremainn. I don't know how my family found the means to move up here but when I was old enough I cut loose and....within weeks was broke and out of a place to sleep. Typical teenage stuff, right? Yeah. We'll go with that. Anyways, I ended up finding work and with that came a paycheck and a place to sleep. It wasn't much. Things were looking up. I got good at handling a wrench, started with engines and ended up with hydraulics. I'm not sure why I'm so good at it, probably because it's simple stuff really when you think about it. Now, I'm not sure who built these stations, or how much real maintenance gets done on them. I've always heard it was 'a lot' and 'Not nearly enough'. Well, my parents lived by the docks, Best views o the ships they always said. Must have been a fantastic view when that Type-9 and it's drunk pilot plowed into the station and fused itself to their apartment. Well, ok there were other people who lost friends, family and such but my parents were really all I ever had, you see? I know, this is a horrible tone to set my story off.
My boss gave me a few weeks off, advanced me some pay, funeral services were short and sweet, they were, really. I received a lump sum of insurance. And that promptly vanished. How? Pretty damned easily actually. After the taxes, the funeral services and everything? I think I had a hundred credits left. Whoo. So you can imagine when I showed up for work and some suit is standing there with my boss, who promptly singled me out and dragged me and Mr. Suit to his office. That wasn't weird, I did tend to sho up sloppily drunk pretty often. If I wasn't so good at my job he'd probably have fired me about the third time.
I think that pretty much sums up my backstory a bit. Does it? No? Well, alright. So. There I am, standing out in the docking ring, hung over and staring at a clipboard the head mechanic (My former boss) is handing me. Yep, that's my name on the ownership papers, That's my signature at the bottom stating I fully accept responsibility of said ship. And thats my bank account. One thousand credits. It said one hundred thousand that morning when Mr. Suit showed me the numbers. That was before docking fee's, Maintenance fee's, Insurance fees, Estate holding Fees, Oh..and Paying off my parents debt fees. And my parents debt. Thanks Ma'n'Pa. Love you guys too.
Ok where was I? Oh right. My Sidewinder. I own one, an I gotta tell you, it's probably seen better days. When I cracked it open I could swear the dust was thick enough to fill a kiddie pool. After working harder than I think I've ever worked before I cleaned house, got the place looking good again, and managed to do it all on a hundred credits. Even overhauled the reactor, and apparently ironed out the wonky hydraulics. Dad must've parked it and went cold turkey, he never said anything about owning a ship. Mum never said anything either, My childhood could have been way better. If I'd known. Oh how I wish I had known the strings that came attached to this thing. See, My dad was Federation Navy apparently. Not a bigshot, A pilot. Whoo, My dad was a pilot and when he left the Navy he had enough to buy the sidewinder I'm sitting in right now. He didn't do much, he ran short haul cargo and If the secret compartment I found is any indication, less than legal cargo every so often as well. I say found, what I really mean is that I'm staring at a black box and getting awfully worried about why the hell it's hidden here. I was trying to see if there was any way to expand the cargo bays a bit, mebbe even fit a small refinery in here. I could pull a decent haul of ore out of the nearby belts.
My dad had plenty of time to sell this thing off, and he never did. That worried me a bit to be honest. It didn't take me long to come across someone who could look into it for me.
In hindsight? I should have just left it alone.
