The Blue Cobra Flies At Midnight
Chapt 1 : Lucy
The Cobra, it was a modern Mk III, had been painted a lurid bright blue. Caught under the rays of a K class star it turned an equally unpleasing purple-ish colour. It's pilot was Lucy Willis, a space trader with a profitable sideline in illicit goods. In space, people recognise the ship more than the pilot, and the bright blue cobra was certainly recognisable.
The fuel-scoop spluttered and retracted. The cobra peeled away from the star, twisting as it lined up on it's destination, an Imperial spaceport.
Lucy's trade route wove back and forth across the borders between the Empire and Federation and visited various independantly run settlements that existed in the no-mans-space that separated the powers. Such places survived either by being self-suffient or by producing goods that citizens on both sides of the borders wanted, that their governments didn't want them to have. Not all the stops on her route were as easy as this, the home run. It takes skill to deliver illicit cargo without being scanned by the authority ships that patrol the station approaches, and there are certains tricks of flying that can help the smuggler outwit the customsmen.
"SLOW DOWN" flashed red across Lucy's screen, and she eased back the throttle into the blue, but, too late. The blue Cobra shot past the station too fast to safely drop down. Lucy turned her ship into a tight turn, the "loop of shame", and lined up on the station again. Now, the moon the station was orbiting was at her rear. This time Lucy hit the drop down perfectly, and a Coriolis station leapt out of the bloom of scintillating light, the mail slot positioned almost directly ahead. Lucy flicked her fingers restively. There was no need to make a run into the station this time, her cargo was all legal in this system. So instead of boosting up to maximum speed, Lucy slowed to just below the speed limit and turned up the volume of the radio chatter.
A Viper took an interest, sizzleing past the cobra in a needlessly aggressive flyby, then snapped a sharp turn and flew backwards right in front of the cobra, matching speed. Lucy glared at it, it was no threat, just an authority ship with a bored pilot carrying out a routine scan.
Fingers flickered at the comms panal, requesting docking. With a clean scan, there was no delay, and Lucy followed the direction to land on pad 19.
Once set down, Lucy selected the option to enter the hanger, and left the pilots chair. A carryall, blue like the ship and Lucy's matching flight suit was waiting for her in a locker beside the ladder. This Lucy took, lifting the strap over her head. Jabbing at a button on the bulkhead opened the hatch, the ladder sliding out automatically. If you've been travelling for long enough to gain your space-legs, a space stations artifical gravity can take you by surprise. Lucy took the steps carefully, giving her muscles a chance to adapt. A button mounted on the ladders support strut closed the hatch. This would be a short stop, just a couple of days to catch up on sleep, and eat a few meals in enough gravity to keep the food on the plate. Lucy crossed the hanger floor to the exit hatch, which opened onto a short corridor with an elevator at the end. This took Lucy up to the entry booth. It was automated, Lucy placed the carryall on a convayor belt that trundled through a scanner, held up her left wrist presenting her biometric id bracelet to the reader, stared into the retinal scanner, and was allowed to step into a small cubicle that filled with disinfectant steam. Thus purified and approved, Lucy entered the starport.
Another corridor led to another elevator, which lead to a train station, and after twenty minutes travel, got Lucy to yet another corridor. This was in an accomodation sector of the station, economical one roomed apartments hiding behind security doors, the corridor and public areas kept clean but cramped and a little dingy. A lot of these belonged to men and women who worked in space, most were crew on larger vessels living "on the job", and these apartments were more places to store belongings and crash down between jobs than homes. This gave the sector an abandond feel, since so many of the residents were away working for months at a time. Lucy stopped outside apartment 4497delta5 and glanced up and down the deserted corridor before presenting her ID to the scanner mounted on the wall beside the door. It bleeped twice and opened the door for Lucy, who stepped quickly inside, closing and locking the door behind her.
The apartment was small enough not to have many places an intruder caught in the act could hide. A glance around the living area showed it barren, Lucy checked the bathroom, and behind the kitchen counter, the place was empty - as it should be. The blue flightsuit was shed and placed in the laundry unit, the ID bracelet was removed and placed in the top drawer of the bedside table. The pilot stripped down to her skin and took a washbag out of the carryall. A shower, real hot water, was very welcome after the trip. The shampoo that had been in the washbag had an alarmingly chemical smell when the pilot flipped the containers lid open. As the pilot washed her blonde hair the water running into the plughole became cloudy and yellowish. The pilot presevered rinsing her hair untill the water ran clear again, and her hair was back to it's usual grey streaked dark brown. The carryall held a clean set of underthings and a plain charcoal grey flightsuit, these the pilot put on. Dirty underwear, used towel and washbag went into the carryall, which contained nothing else, unless the two sealed and scan-proof pockets were known of. The pilot removed one of these pockets and broke the seal. A biometric ID bracelet, not coded for Lucy Willis, was within. The pilot put it on.
Chapt 1 : Lucy
The Cobra, it was a modern Mk III, had been painted a lurid bright blue. Caught under the rays of a K class star it turned an equally unpleasing purple-ish colour. It's pilot was Lucy Willis, a space trader with a profitable sideline in illicit goods. In space, people recognise the ship more than the pilot, and the bright blue cobra was certainly recognisable.
The fuel-scoop spluttered and retracted. The cobra peeled away from the star, twisting as it lined up on it's destination, an Imperial spaceport.
Lucy's trade route wove back and forth across the borders between the Empire and Federation and visited various independantly run settlements that existed in the no-mans-space that separated the powers. Such places survived either by being self-suffient or by producing goods that citizens on both sides of the borders wanted, that their governments didn't want them to have. Not all the stops on her route were as easy as this, the home run. It takes skill to deliver illicit cargo without being scanned by the authority ships that patrol the station approaches, and there are certains tricks of flying that can help the smuggler outwit the customsmen.
"SLOW DOWN" flashed red across Lucy's screen, and she eased back the throttle into the blue, but, too late. The blue Cobra shot past the station too fast to safely drop down. Lucy turned her ship into a tight turn, the "loop of shame", and lined up on the station again. Now, the moon the station was orbiting was at her rear. This time Lucy hit the drop down perfectly, and a Coriolis station leapt out of the bloom of scintillating light, the mail slot positioned almost directly ahead. Lucy flicked her fingers restively. There was no need to make a run into the station this time, her cargo was all legal in this system. So instead of boosting up to maximum speed, Lucy slowed to just below the speed limit and turned up the volume of the radio chatter.
A Viper took an interest, sizzleing past the cobra in a needlessly aggressive flyby, then snapped a sharp turn and flew backwards right in front of the cobra, matching speed. Lucy glared at it, it was no threat, just an authority ship with a bored pilot carrying out a routine scan.
Fingers flickered at the comms panal, requesting docking. With a clean scan, there was no delay, and Lucy followed the direction to land on pad 19.
Once set down, Lucy selected the option to enter the hanger, and left the pilots chair. A carryall, blue like the ship and Lucy's matching flight suit was waiting for her in a locker beside the ladder. This Lucy took, lifting the strap over her head. Jabbing at a button on the bulkhead opened the hatch, the ladder sliding out automatically. If you've been travelling for long enough to gain your space-legs, a space stations artifical gravity can take you by surprise. Lucy took the steps carefully, giving her muscles a chance to adapt. A button mounted on the ladders support strut closed the hatch. This would be a short stop, just a couple of days to catch up on sleep, and eat a few meals in enough gravity to keep the food on the plate. Lucy crossed the hanger floor to the exit hatch, which opened onto a short corridor with an elevator at the end. This took Lucy up to the entry booth. It was automated, Lucy placed the carryall on a convayor belt that trundled through a scanner, held up her left wrist presenting her biometric id bracelet to the reader, stared into the retinal scanner, and was allowed to step into a small cubicle that filled with disinfectant steam. Thus purified and approved, Lucy entered the starport.
Another corridor led to another elevator, which lead to a train station, and after twenty minutes travel, got Lucy to yet another corridor. This was in an accomodation sector of the station, economical one roomed apartments hiding behind security doors, the corridor and public areas kept clean but cramped and a little dingy. A lot of these belonged to men and women who worked in space, most were crew on larger vessels living "on the job", and these apartments were more places to store belongings and crash down between jobs than homes. This gave the sector an abandond feel, since so many of the residents were away working for months at a time. Lucy stopped outside apartment 4497delta5 and glanced up and down the deserted corridor before presenting her ID to the scanner mounted on the wall beside the door. It bleeped twice and opened the door for Lucy, who stepped quickly inside, closing and locking the door behind her.
The apartment was small enough not to have many places an intruder caught in the act could hide. A glance around the living area showed it barren, Lucy checked the bathroom, and behind the kitchen counter, the place was empty - as it should be. The blue flightsuit was shed and placed in the laundry unit, the ID bracelet was removed and placed in the top drawer of the bedside table. The pilot stripped down to her skin and took a washbag out of the carryall. A shower, real hot water, was very welcome after the trip. The shampoo that had been in the washbag had an alarmingly chemical smell when the pilot flipped the containers lid open. As the pilot washed her blonde hair the water running into the plughole became cloudy and yellowish. The pilot presevered rinsing her hair untill the water ran clear again, and her hair was back to it's usual grey streaked dark brown. The carryall held a clean set of underthings and a plain charcoal grey flightsuit, these the pilot put on. Dirty underwear, used towel and washbag went into the carryall, which contained nothing else, unless the two sealed and scan-proof pockets were known of. The pilot removed one of these pockets and broke the seal. A biometric ID bracelet, not coded for Lucy Willis, was within. The pilot put it on.
