"Where excellence is mediocre, and anything less isn't even worth talking about."
This story is dedicated to NOBODY, because I am a sad and unwed no-life who absolutely hates memorials.
PROLOGUE
As soon as the pilot's graduation ceremony was over, held in orbit not too far from the star Matet, it had been a matter of minutes before the first kill.
The newly minted Freedom's Beginning, a Cobra piloted by one Jason Blaze, callsign "CMDR Golden-Knight" to honor ancient history that meant nothing in this modernized galaxy, had been outfitted with the basic hunting gear: a rudimentary fuel scoop, two small laser guns, shield generator, and an empty cargo hold. Additions not stock included shield reinforcement and a scanner for finding kill warrants. The beginning of an exciting adventure of combat was about to begin.
A dynasty filled with Kellys, Blazkowitz, and the oft-mispronounced-as "Geese" among other no-names would crop up on the "trace my roots" apps (Jason was a popular name as a running gag meaning "Son of Jay", referencing the ORIGINAL "Golden Knight" from the start of the 21st Century), but again, none of that meant anything when bearing the humiliating rank of "Harmless". One way or another, this ship would be the only home for Golden-Knight, where he'll eat, sleep, live, and defecate all from one particular chair. Skinny and lanky, his physique in that chair looked like a gangly fair-skinned chimpanzee, as if nutty scientists wanted evidence that humans were biologically related to apes and monkeys. Maybe all the "Power Blood" had watered down over the centuries, or maybe the stories were always nothing more than Myth.
All the expanse of the stars stretched out in a sphere of lights, with all colors of the rainbow. Red stars, white stars, yellow stars, purple stars (what were optly called "brown dwarfs" were actually purple when you got up close with them), but no rainbow stars.
Information could be bought and sold for a great price, even though the primary source for free information would be the "nav beacons" littering any civilized star system, just a few seconds away from the enter point into that system. This had been the first stop for Golden-Knight.
Once there, many different ships puttered around, from the larger Crusaders and Couriers as well as fellow Cobras. Some drifted by themselves, others stayed in formation with as many as 3 other ships to make a full wing. All of them registered clean, except thanks to that elected warrant scanner, one particular Ophidian did ping positive - just wanted in a system about 100 lightyears away.
Combat would seem to be the most exciting field, but when the credit costs mounted up for ship repairs (or the odd insurance claim during the inevitably forced ejection procedure - who ever REALLY DIES these days?!), it's a surprise for anyone to make a living off of it. rading was too hum-drum for someone with the hot-shot attitude that came as a-dime-a-dozen in this culture, and while there was easy money to be had with exploring, it was absolutely mind-numbing even at the best of times.
"Frame Shift Charge detected," the automated computer announced, notifying the Cobra pilot that his quarry was about to slip out. And, without the guns big enough to disable or outright blow up the ship before the 20 seconds needed for it to make the jump, the only other course for chasing this first prize down was to stalk it through Witchspace.
He kept track of it through the disc in front of him, that was used to simulate relative spacing of other objects in a 3D environment. All the squares, triangles, and the circles of planets and stars kept a gold color, until he got close enough that the ship he was following turned "red," indicating a good proximity.
The obvious long-term goal was to become "Elite", among the best-of-the-best, and to enter historical significance just like the rest of his bloodline did. But before a pilot can be "Elite", that pilot must first be proven "Dangerous", and that was a long way to go from "Harmless", or even "Competent". Even still, joining the "Elite" was just the beginning; merely entering "The Cool Kids Club" wasn't going to make your name the talk of the news media. Thing is, every journey starts with a single step. And after seeing the Ophidian zip off, that first step started counting down:
"4,"
"3,"
"2,"
"1,"
"Engage."
FWOOSH!
And inside had a tunnel of stars and nebulae - one which Golden-Knight would SWEAR looked like a face. Dead-ahead, at the epicenter of the ship's nose, a tiny glowing dot could be seen far off...that was the specific star we were heading towards, barrelling at such a velocity that even the speedometer couldn't figure out how fast things were going. What would've taken several real hours at full speed in Supercruise had only needed about 18 seconds in the so-called "Witchspace". Why not just use the cliche term "Hyperspace"? That's what the onboard computer does! But perhaps it gets this term from superstitious monikers relating to the old proverb: "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic; take that logic extreme enough, and the technology becomes indistinguishable from Witchcraft!"
The coolest exploration would be a "deep-dive" of this so-called "Witchspace"; only problem is, no ship has been reported capable of going at a standstill in this void within voids; old legends exist of few who tried, and all of them ending up stuck or banished to a weird state of perpetual limbo. The ship computers were not designed to stop inside "Witchspace", but merely pass through like a tunnel - in one end and out the other.
All power put into engines, CMDR Golden-Knight had made it a point to catch up to the target up ahead, and this would be the only time two ships came so close to one another in Witchspace, they could see each others hulls using only Grade-A God-Given Eyeballs.
And POOF, out to the other side, both ships were rocketing towards the glowing yellow star, until the Frame Shift Drive abruptly slowed them down to about 30 kilometers per second - which on the scale of Terameters, was microscopic and practically at a standstill.
At that moment, the current Golden-Knight clenched down his teeth, tightening his grip on the joystick, all with a serious and focused scowl on his face. This would be the time to "get in the zone".
Only thing missing was an Interdictor, that was at the time out of the new pilot's budget range, so all he could do was stalk the vessel to a point where it'd exit supercruise, and then drop out himself and pounce!
Skip past one real hour of waiting, and combat started. CMDR Golden-Knight was granted the courtesy of taking the first shots on this low-profile pirate escapee. Hiding from the law will do nothing when wannabe heroes roam "The Bubble" en masse. The lasers flew out through space with a rhythm, gimballed to stay on target within reason. The target, weighed down by unknown cargo, barely tried to shake Golden-Knight's Cobra, even though it spun up three turrets to lock on and retaliate. And THIS is what shields were for.
Balancing power to weapons and shields seemed like a good idea at this time: shields were getting hit, so keep recharging them; weapons needed energy to keep firing, so keep them firing; and of course the boat being hunted was hardly attempting to swerve, so minimal engine power was needed...that could go towards cushioning the shields and maintaining steady laser flow.
The duel dragged on, until lasers started searing small holes into the transport's hull, slowly making those holes bigger. That said, even his Cobra lost its shields, at which point there was no sense to trying and get shields online. With trusting his impulses, the fight would be over before the shield system could reboot, so full power to weapons it was then. His onboard computer warned of the hull damage, as his canopy rocked and the glass windows cracked. Those turrets were relentless, even as he fixated on the health countdowns between his ship and the enemy's.
And because theirs was lower than his, Math said the battle would be won with time and determination.
Red lights flashed and alarm bells rang from inside the Freedom's Beginning, tensing up Golden-Knight's chest, as he held his breath and squeezed the trigger as hard as his fury and willpower could. With his Cobra brought down to 10% hull, the enemy turrets stopped. And as he spun around to get a good view of the Ophidian through his almost shattered canopy, he saw it puffing out small balls of white fire.
POP!
The ship burst like a naughty kid stabbed a pin into a filled balloon. Golden-Knight breathed heavily, taking a minute of pause just to reflect on the hard won duel. After catching his breath, he checked his pilot rating:
"Harmless + 1%"
He yelled out aloud to himself, "SERIOUSLY?!"
This story is dedicated to NOBODY, because I am a sad and unwed no-life who absolutely hates memorials.
PROLOGUE
As soon as the pilot's graduation ceremony was over, held in orbit not too far from the star Matet, it had been a matter of minutes before the first kill.
The newly minted Freedom's Beginning, a Cobra piloted by one Jason Blaze, callsign "CMDR Golden-Knight" to honor ancient history that meant nothing in this modernized galaxy, had been outfitted with the basic hunting gear: a rudimentary fuel scoop, two small laser guns, shield generator, and an empty cargo hold. Additions not stock included shield reinforcement and a scanner for finding kill warrants. The beginning of an exciting adventure of combat was about to begin.
A dynasty filled with Kellys, Blazkowitz, and the oft-mispronounced-as "Geese" among other no-names would crop up on the "trace my roots" apps (Jason was a popular name as a running gag meaning "Son of Jay", referencing the ORIGINAL "Golden Knight" from the start of the 21st Century), but again, none of that meant anything when bearing the humiliating rank of "Harmless". One way or another, this ship would be the only home for Golden-Knight, where he'll eat, sleep, live, and defecate all from one particular chair. Skinny and lanky, his physique in that chair looked like a gangly fair-skinned chimpanzee, as if nutty scientists wanted evidence that humans were biologically related to apes and monkeys. Maybe all the "Power Blood" had watered down over the centuries, or maybe the stories were always nothing more than Myth.
All the expanse of the stars stretched out in a sphere of lights, with all colors of the rainbow. Red stars, white stars, yellow stars, purple stars (what were optly called "brown dwarfs" were actually purple when you got up close with them), but no rainbow stars.
Information could be bought and sold for a great price, even though the primary source for free information would be the "nav beacons" littering any civilized star system, just a few seconds away from the enter point into that system. This had been the first stop for Golden-Knight.
Once there, many different ships puttered around, from the larger Crusaders and Couriers as well as fellow Cobras. Some drifted by themselves, others stayed in formation with as many as 3 other ships to make a full wing. All of them registered clean, except thanks to that elected warrant scanner, one particular Ophidian did ping positive - just wanted in a system about 100 lightyears away.
Combat would seem to be the most exciting field, but when the credit costs mounted up for ship repairs (or the odd insurance claim during the inevitably forced ejection procedure - who ever REALLY DIES these days?!), it's a surprise for anyone to make a living off of it. rading was too hum-drum for someone with the hot-shot attitude that came as a-dime-a-dozen in this culture, and while there was easy money to be had with exploring, it was absolutely mind-numbing even at the best of times.
"Frame Shift Charge detected," the automated computer announced, notifying the Cobra pilot that his quarry was about to slip out. And, without the guns big enough to disable or outright blow up the ship before the 20 seconds needed for it to make the jump, the only other course for chasing this first prize down was to stalk it through Witchspace.
He kept track of it through the disc in front of him, that was used to simulate relative spacing of other objects in a 3D environment. All the squares, triangles, and the circles of planets and stars kept a gold color, until he got close enough that the ship he was following turned "red," indicating a good proximity.
The obvious long-term goal was to become "Elite", among the best-of-the-best, and to enter historical significance just like the rest of his bloodline did. But before a pilot can be "Elite", that pilot must first be proven "Dangerous", and that was a long way to go from "Harmless", or even "Competent". Even still, joining the "Elite" was just the beginning; merely entering "The Cool Kids Club" wasn't going to make your name the talk of the news media. Thing is, every journey starts with a single step. And after seeing the Ophidian zip off, that first step started counting down:
"4,"
"3,"
"2,"
"1,"
"Engage."
FWOOSH!
And inside had a tunnel of stars and nebulae - one which Golden-Knight would SWEAR looked like a face. Dead-ahead, at the epicenter of the ship's nose, a tiny glowing dot could be seen far off...that was the specific star we were heading towards, barrelling at such a velocity that even the speedometer couldn't figure out how fast things were going. What would've taken several real hours at full speed in Supercruise had only needed about 18 seconds in the so-called "Witchspace". Why not just use the cliche term "Hyperspace"? That's what the onboard computer does! But perhaps it gets this term from superstitious monikers relating to the old proverb: "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic; take that logic extreme enough, and the technology becomes indistinguishable from Witchcraft!"
The coolest exploration would be a "deep-dive" of this so-called "Witchspace"; only problem is, no ship has been reported capable of going at a standstill in this void within voids; old legends exist of few who tried, and all of them ending up stuck or banished to a weird state of perpetual limbo. The ship computers were not designed to stop inside "Witchspace", but merely pass through like a tunnel - in one end and out the other.
All power put into engines, CMDR Golden-Knight had made it a point to catch up to the target up ahead, and this would be the only time two ships came so close to one another in Witchspace, they could see each others hulls using only Grade-A God-Given Eyeballs.
And POOF, out to the other side, both ships were rocketing towards the glowing yellow star, until the Frame Shift Drive abruptly slowed them down to about 30 kilometers per second - which on the scale of Terameters, was microscopic and practically at a standstill.
At that moment, the current Golden-Knight clenched down his teeth, tightening his grip on the joystick, all with a serious and focused scowl on his face. This would be the time to "get in the zone".
Only thing missing was an Interdictor, that was at the time out of the new pilot's budget range, so all he could do was stalk the vessel to a point where it'd exit supercruise, and then drop out himself and pounce!
Skip past one real hour of waiting, and combat started. CMDR Golden-Knight was granted the courtesy of taking the first shots on this low-profile pirate escapee. Hiding from the law will do nothing when wannabe heroes roam "The Bubble" en masse. The lasers flew out through space with a rhythm, gimballed to stay on target within reason. The target, weighed down by unknown cargo, barely tried to shake Golden-Knight's Cobra, even though it spun up three turrets to lock on and retaliate. And THIS is what shields were for.
Balancing power to weapons and shields seemed like a good idea at this time: shields were getting hit, so keep recharging them; weapons needed energy to keep firing, so keep them firing; and of course the boat being hunted was hardly attempting to swerve, so minimal engine power was needed...that could go towards cushioning the shields and maintaining steady laser flow.
The duel dragged on, until lasers started searing small holes into the transport's hull, slowly making those holes bigger. That said, even his Cobra lost its shields, at which point there was no sense to trying and get shields online. With trusting his impulses, the fight would be over before the shield system could reboot, so full power to weapons it was then. His onboard computer warned of the hull damage, as his canopy rocked and the glass windows cracked. Those turrets were relentless, even as he fixated on the health countdowns between his ship and the enemy's.
And because theirs was lower than his, Math said the battle would be won with time and determination.
Red lights flashed and alarm bells rang from inside the Freedom's Beginning, tensing up Golden-Knight's chest, as he held his breath and squeezed the trigger as hard as his fury and willpower could. With his Cobra brought down to 10% hull, the enemy turrets stopped. And as he spun around to get a good view of the Ophidian through his almost shattered canopy, he saw it puffing out small balls of white fire.
POP!
The ship burst like a naughty kid stabbed a pin into a filled balloon. Golden-Knight breathed heavily, taking a minute of pause just to reflect on the hard won duel. After catching his breath, he checked his pilot rating:
"Harmless + 1%"
He yelled out aloud to himself, "SERIOUSLY?!"
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