"Submit to interdiction." The ship's throttle dropped to zero. The interdiction tether took hold, and the computer redirected power to engines and shields. As Goodbye Blue Sky burst into normal space, I punched the engines to maximum, and hit the afterburner. The targeting computer began scanning, and my comms crackled, "Stand-to and prepare to be scanned. Failure to comply is an offence punishable by imprisonment and confiscation of your vessel."
I boosted again, and the viper receded behind me.
"I am authorised by the Na Chem Silver Clan government to inspect your ship. Set your throttle to neutral and prepare to be scanned!"
I opened a channel, broadcasting to local space instead of using a private signal beam. "I don't recognise that authority." I boosted again; FSD cooldown was nearly complete. My tactical board lit up – the viper had deployed its hard points and locked on.
"You are in violation. This is your final warning."
Imprisonment and confiscation, there's been a lot of that since the Silver Clan were installed in a midnight coup. Has it even been a month? I woke up at the Inkblot Hotel, the public house in Rorschach Horizons where I keep a room. I went down to the bar to soothe my hangover with a cold beer and a greasy breakfast. Instead of the usual morning crowd, the bar was nearly deserted, populated by a only few other commanders I knew by face, who also crashed at the Inkblot when they were in system.
"Kitchen's closed," said the lone bartender. "Is the beer still cold?" She nodded. "Gimme," I said. She returned a moment later, "Bottles only."
I sipped my beer and looked around. the telly screens were all tuned to the same system-net channel. Someone on the news panel actually said "our new Silver Clan overlords," while the others laughed nervously. Admittedly, last night was pretty blurry, but when I went to sleep, I was living in a democracy. Somehow by morning, my home system had been turned into a pirate's cove. The holo-posters advertising work were gone, replaced with wanted posters. I watched them cycle from face to face, name to name, looking for my own. Yesterday, I was a government contractor, allied with Radio Sidewinder Crew. Today, who knew?
I considered un-docking and jumping away to a nearby system, but I had other ships in Rorschach's drydock. And if Radio Sidewinder Crewmembers were being watched, I might just as well expect some Silver Clan thugs to be waiting for me in the hangar. Besides, I have friends in Rorschach, I wasn't about to leave them behind.
In the end, it had to lead to this. There are only so many times one can accidentally-on-purpose screw up data deliveries before someone notices. Most of those data packets went straight to /dev/null, but a select few changed hands more than once, though never ending up with the Silver Clan's intended recipients. There had been talk in the Crew about fighting back more openly. I don't know who was responsible for that explosion on the promenade, but we certainly got the blame. Death and dying are the way of life for a freelancer, but I've never locked weapons on anyone who didn't have it coming — or anyone I wasn't paid to kill. By this point, it must have been obvious to my Silver Clan handler that something was amiss. Even that idiot wouldn't believe a commander could miss 19 out of 20 deadlines. The jobs which did keep trickling through were obvious plants to try and catch me out. My reputation was in the toilet, and my use as an inside man had run out.
The time had come for direct action.
"Rig ship for combat." Distributor pips jumped on the panel as Goodbye Blue Sky's weapons extended and charged. The overtaxed powerplant disabled non-critical systems, and my breath momentarily fogged my faceplate as the life-support ticked over. I eased the throttle to manoeuvring speed and boosted through a broad loop. The HUD reticles lit up as the viper closed to engagement range.
"Fire."
I boosted again, and the viper receded behind me.
"I am authorised by the Na Chem Silver Clan government to inspect your ship. Set your throttle to neutral and prepare to be scanned!"
I opened a channel, broadcasting to local space instead of using a private signal beam. "I don't recognise that authority." I boosted again; FSD cooldown was nearly complete. My tactical board lit up – the viper had deployed its hard points and locked on.
"You are in violation. This is your final warning."
§
Imprisonment and confiscation, there's been a lot of that since the Silver Clan were installed in a midnight coup. Has it even been a month? I woke up at the Inkblot Hotel, the public house in Rorschach Horizons where I keep a room. I went down to the bar to soothe my hangover with a cold beer and a greasy breakfast. Instead of the usual morning crowd, the bar was nearly deserted, populated by a only few other commanders I knew by face, who also crashed at the Inkblot when they were in system.
"Kitchen's closed," said the lone bartender. "Is the beer still cold?" She nodded. "Gimme," I said. She returned a moment later, "Bottles only."
I sipped my beer and looked around. the telly screens were all tuned to the same system-net channel. Someone on the news panel actually said "our new Silver Clan overlords," while the others laughed nervously. Admittedly, last night was pretty blurry, but when I went to sleep, I was living in a democracy. Somehow by morning, my home system had been turned into a pirate's cove. The holo-posters advertising work were gone, replaced with wanted posters. I watched them cycle from face to face, name to name, looking for my own. Yesterday, I was a government contractor, allied with Radio Sidewinder Crew. Today, who knew?
I considered un-docking and jumping away to a nearby system, but I had other ships in Rorschach's drydock. And if Radio Sidewinder Crewmembers were being watched, I might just as well expect some Silver Clan thugs to be waiting for me in the hangar. Besides, I have friends in Rorschach, I wasn't about to leave them behind.
§
In the end, it had to lead to this. There are only so many times one can accidentally-on-purpose screw up data deliveries before someone notices. Most of those data packets went straight to /dev/null, but a select few changed hands more than once, though never ending up with the Silver Clan's intended recipients. There had been talk in the Crew about fighting back more openly. I don't know who was responsible for that explosion on the promenade, but we certainly got the blame. Death and dying are the way of life for a freelancer, but I've never locked weapons on anyone who didn't have it coming — or anyone I wasn't paid to kill. By this point, it must have been obvious to my Silver Clan handler that something was amiss. Even that idiot wouldn't believe a commander could miss 19 out of 20 deadlines. The jobs which did keep trickling through were obvious plants to try and catch me out. My reputation was in the toilet, and my use as an inside man had run out.
The time had come for direct action.
§
"Rig ship for combat." Distributor pips jumped on the panel as Goodbye Blue Sky's weapons extended and charged. The overtaxed powerplant disabled non-critical systems, and my breath momentarily fogged my faceplate as the life-support ticked over. I eased the throttle to manoeuvring speed and boosted through a broad loop. The HUD reticles lit up as the viper closed to engagement range.
"Fire."