Elite roleplay: The docks

THE DOCKS (Dockyards)

The Docks is where all pilots berth their ships. It is the first place that pilots find themselves upon landing their ship. Docking and launching is controlled by the Citi Gateway’s Traffic Controllers while each individual dock is controlled by a dockmaster and a team of orange clad dock crew workers.

The Docks is a sparse and desolate, 0.1G environment, littered with service vehicles, cranes and landing pads. While cool, the air is dry and lightly filled with the smell of burnt metal and ship grease. Public Service Announcements blare across the the docks reminding all pilots of station regulations. The docks contain 45 individual ship docks, several warehouses storing massive tank of hydrogen fuel, and standard shipping containers of cargo, the dock’s traffic control tower and the local pilot’s market which resides in one of the warehouses.

Ship docks
Each specific dock has a landing pad, a ship hangar and adjoining terminal. In each terminal there is a passenger waiting area, the dockmaster’s control tower and several dock crew vehicle bay.

Warehouses
If the docks were already unpopulated, warehouses would be completely vacant of anyone if not for a small handful of security staff. Warehouses are completely automated and highly guarded facilities as they contain massive amounts of valuable and flammable material.
"Loitering is a crime punishable by death" - Station Announcements

Pilot's Market
The pilot’s market is best described as a tourist trap for pilots. Every person who’s not a pilot is trying to guile a pilot to part with their credits.

"The station administrators would like to remind all pilots that transactions in the pilot’s market are not protected by Citi Gateway or The Bank of Zaonce" - station announcements

General Roleplay Etiquette:

1. Control only the actions of your own character(s). (AKA: God Mode)
This doesn't matter how small the action is, even if it is as simple as scratching their nose or a direct reaction to something else that just happened. This applies to everything from casual conversation to full blown fight scenes. If you'd like someone to do something specific, PM that person, however keep in mind they are completely within their rights to say no. Especially if said action is inappropriate to their character and/or circumstance.

2. Don't brute force your way into another persons RP.
Approaching with a conversation starter is fine, or indeed some other small action. However charging in, guns blazing and disrupting the flow of another person/pair/groups conversation/arc is about as rude as doing so in real life. If something is going on that you'd like to participate in, be subtle about it. Put out a gentle hook for someone to take, but again, be aware that said hook may not be taken. If you fear it was simply unnoticed, PM the person or people it concerns. Or even leave a message in the OOC forums.

3. Good grammar and spelling is preferred.
We're not asking you to be perfect, but please at least demonstrate willingness. no1 iz gna tak u srsly usng txt spk. There's a wide variety of people here, many who speak English as a second, or even third language. There are even some with varying degrees of dyslexia and/or likely other issues that affect spelling/grammar. We accept them all here. However, people who aren't accepted, are those unwilling to accept polite correction. Remember that even a small thing like the placement of a comma, or the wrong use of there/their/they're can completely change the definition of an entire sentence.

4. Accept constructive criticism gracefully and politely.
If someone spots an issue with your writings, they may wish to help you improve that writing. They may do this through PM or even publicly air their thoughts on the OOC forum. If they have taken the time to be polite and explain what is wrong with your writing, the best way to behave is to respond in kind, using the same manner they have approached you with. It means they have taken an active interest in what you have written and wish to see more. Basically, you have a fan!

5. Don't take the actions or opinions of things done IN RP, to be directly relevant to the writers thoughts or opinions.
Basically, if some ones character calls your character a jackass, it doesn't mean the writer thinks you are a jackass. It's a ROLE they are PLAYING. Watch a movie. The argument between the characters isn't an argument between the actors involved. The same applies here.

6. It's not a popularity contest.
Your RP might be bustling with participants. You have 3 people off station in a fire fight, while another 2 are infiltrating the darkest areas of the station, meanwhile a group of 4 others are tracking your movements in an effort to stop you. Good for you, I'm sure it will be a thrilling read! But you know what? Sometimes the absolute BEST work, comes from two RP characters having a simple heart to heart. Both are valid, both are great, but NEITHER is categorically better than the other. Period.


Inara RP Etiquette:

1. Respect the setting and rules of the universe.
Inara is an Elite: Dangerous 3rd Party Tool. The RP Forums are set in the Elite: Dangerous universe. Elite: Dangerous has rules, as any fictional universe does from Lord of the Rings to Star Wars, or Game of Thrones to Star Trek. If you intend to RP within the Elite: Dangerous universe you are bound by the history and rules of that universe. Simply put, this RP forum is bound by the same rules as the game, so if it can't be done in the game, it is not permitted here. This applies to things from a 50Ly Jump Range on a normal, unmodified Sidewinder, to the destruction of entire stations.

2. Respect the characters created by others.
We have a wide variety of characters already here. It's expected that some will be similar, just as it's expected that two characters will be vastly different. Opinions of each persons character will naturally be varied, but all are valid provided they follow the rules of the universe. You are allowed to interact with, or avoid interaction with, any character in the RP forums. But you have no right to belittle others for their creation. You are not an authority figure on writing, nor are you directly affected by another persons imagination. You might not like it, but you MUST respect it.

3. Be caught up on current events before joining in.
You need basic things like character descriptions in order to interact with them. You also need to know what's going on in the surrounding areas. This is simply because the people you are hoping to RP with, might be gearing up to something that you might not want to be part of. Or simply that the most recent post, out of context, could leave a different impression on the goings on than if you gather that context. We don't expect you to read every single post from the beginning of the forums, just enough to get that basic understanding.

4. Either subscribe to, or frequently check, the Roleplay: Q&A and OOC forum.
People may be discussing something relevant to you there, or even discussing you directly. Perhaps someone asked what the general consensus on the existence or non-existence of a certain object. Or we're just chatting about random gibberish. Either way, be aware of it and use it. If you're unsure about something, such as how guns would look and or behave, or even the music selection, use the OOC forum to ask. We don't have all of the answers, but the collective knowledge and logic usually allows us to overcome an issue and come to a decision on what should be allowed. Frontier Developments, and even David Braben himself, don't have the answers to every possible question that can be asked.

5. Large Scale events exploding out of nowhere are a complete no go.
We get it. Everyone wants their character to be noticed and for people to be tripping over themselves to interact with them. In some audiences, an introduction involving you blasting in for landing in a fiery wreckage of a ship, before cart wheeling out and sword fighting 35 Ninjas before whisking off with the local celebrity for a glorious night of passion, is in fact, cool. This is not one of those audiences. It is generally considered better to build your character up slowly over time. Eventually, you might even have a legitimate excuse to fight those Ninjas. Maybe even with other RP participants by your side.

6. Perfect characters are boring.
The point of a character arc, is that it is in fact, an arc shape. One who is morally unquestionable, fully kitted out and an infinite fountain of knowledge, cannot go through an arc. Give your character flaws. Be it a tendency towards befriending the wrong people, or a bad knee that frequently gives out at inopportune moments. It gives readers something to latch onto and empathise with. You can give your character exceptional capabilities at something, but it requires balance. She's a damn good pilot with no equal, but can't drive an SRV for peanuts. It can lead to some very interesting moments between characters, be it heartfelt or comedic.


Other Notes:
It should be noted that there can be exceptions to these points. For example, good grammar when a character is speaking is actually rare. Few people in real life actually speak with perfect eloquence after all. Or previously arranged actions during a fight scene, such as someone stumbling back after a punch. What's key to remember is context.

All in all, remember this is purely for fun. We have some seriously talented writers here, and others whose writing history starts and ends at high school. But many are willing to help out in whatever way they can. All it takes is that you ask nicely.

Also keep in mind that many people who RP here, also have logbook stories related to the character, or characters, they portray. If it looks like there's an "in joke" going on that you're unsure of, it's probably in those.

In fact, some users have even gone to the trouble of creating "alts" to RP with. If you read back far enough, it's usually pretty clear who has and hasn't, and which ones are the "alts". It's therefore not unheard of to see the apparent seizing of control of other characters. If you do spot one, point it out in the OOC section. If intervention is needed, it will be sorted quickly and (hopefully) politely.

Most, if not all RP participants here have Logbook stories pertaining to their character(s). These are for the reading pleasure of anyone who wishes to do so. While it can be useful to read them in order to gain a bit of backstory on a character you wish to interact with, it should not be assumed that your character shares that knowledge. Within the E:D Universe, these Logbooks either don't exist, or are private diaries kept by the characters. Either way, without explicit statements to say otherwise from the writer, your interactions should reflect that your character is in the dark about any information you, the writer/reader, have gained from reading the stories.
05 Jun 2016, 7:39pm
"Ow! God that burns!" Dave exclaimed. He had somehow got himself stranded in hyperspace between two systems. "Closest starport triangulated: CITI GATEWAY - 16,634 light seconds. FSD has emergency hyperspace capabilities, emergency jump to 23 kilometres to target? Confirm?"
"Roger that computer" Dave said with relief in his voice.
He sat in his seat
four, three, two, one, engage
He was suddenly 23km away from Citi Gateway, sending out a distress signal to get picked up. His engines were ruptured and could not move.

---------------------
MEANWHILE
---------------------

"Sir, we've got a distress reading 23km out, 7 o' clock from the tower." Ivan Kalashkinov said in his thick russian drawl.
"Roger that, Kalash, we're sending out a rescue ship.

--------------------

"Ship Delta Alpha Victor one-oh-three, do you copy?"
"Ah thank god, yes this is DAV103, my engines are bust I had to do an emergency jump here, can you pick me up?"
"Of course, we've got a rescue ship coming your way, ident your transponder and squawk it to 7700."
"Ident and 7700, DAV103"
"PLO523, decrease speed to 100 and take caution of an emergency in the area"
As the controller started to talk to others, DAV103 pushed buttons on his radio transponder and kachunk a rope was attached to his ship and he was towed into the starport

-------------------

"Attention all pilots, we have an emergency situation, please stay a safe distance from DAV103, who is being towed to the repair docks, thank you"
15 Jun 2016, 8:16pm
"I swear that bar never gets old."

Matt and Kyndi stumbled into the cavernous docking bay, ships coming and going above their heads.

"Sure doesn't, darlin'. You never know what you're going to find in there."

She smiled and turned too him, pulling him in for a sloppy, unsteady kiss. As their lips met, Matt hear a noise ahead of them. Opening his eyes, he saw the same cloaked figure that he had seen earlier.

He broke the kiss, his eyes narrowing. "Is that the same-"

Kyndi turned around, catching a glimpse of the blue-furred- man?- boarding the stock Fer de Lance. The paint was scratched, but on the side of the hull was a snowflake symbol that neither of them had seen before. She turned back to Matt and kissed him again, dragging him by his leather jacket towards his ship.

"Don't worry about him, Matty. He'll find a place where he belongs. Now-" She lowered the entry ramp, smiling her Kyndi smile- "- don't we have more important things to see to?"


Last edit: 15 Jun 2016, 10:55pm
16 Jun 2016, 7:59am
"Come out of dock and power down your engines"

"Fuck the feds have caught up with me" Heathen thought as he punched in the command to launch his Vulture "Huginn".
"I better get a running start" Heathen backed Huginn to the rear of the station and lined up his shot. Diverting power to engines and shields Heathen started accelerating, trading paint with an Orca.
"Commander leave dock and power down or we will engage you"
"Oh will you shut up" Heathen said over comms as he hit the boost, racing through the mail slot and past the feds. "Come on, come on, come on"
Lasers started hammering against Huginns shields as the feds gave chase. As the mass lock came off Heathen hit the FSD.
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Engage" "Better luck next time boys" and with that Heathen disappeared into Witch space.
17 Jun 2016, 9:44pm
"What the hell was that?"

It had already been dim on the bridge of the Fer-de-Lance, but now it was-

"Station just went dark." Kyndi's voice was matter-of-fact, without a trace of fear.

Matt shifted in the commander's chair, the only illumination around coming from the ship's instruments. "We've got full power, though. But we can't leave because-"

Kyndi finished his sentence for him"- of the docking clamps going into lockdown."

The bounty hunter and the smuggler let out a long, dejected sigh in unison.

"We ain't going anywhere for awhile, are we?"

Kyndi looked around. The cavernous docking bay was totally blacked out except for the floodlights of docked ships that were activating one by one. Not even the emergency power had kicked on.

"Sure aren't."

Matt turned to her, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Well, I reckon I'll have that extra drink, after all."
18 Jun 2016, 3:23am
Out on the docks, with the mailslot unsealed and the lights unpowered, it was going to be hell. Putting on the helmet. Clicking the seals tightly shut. Around his head whirled the sounds of humming vents and hoses. In a moment the pressure grew, and the voice spoke again. Seal Complete.

At least with the station still spinning...there would be some mild gravity to manipulate. Displayed in bright blue letters, large enough for others to see from the outside, [O2 Remaining - 25:00:00...24:59:23…24:58:37].

Stepping onto one of the flat bays. Gripping a nearby rail to remain stationary. Looking up to see all those ships lit up and lingering through the empty blackness. Measuring just how far away the mailslot was. Andrew gave a little groan, ”God damn it...I am going to die in debt…”
18 Jun 2016, 7:46am
Heathen hits the marine station, looking behind him he swore, no one followed, fuck it. Pulling out the small charge slammed it on the lock. Walking down the corridor he counted to ten then blew it.

He ran into the armoury, it looked beautiful, grabbing the armour he spent some time trying to do up the clamps, struggling along.

After 20 minutes and much swearing, the armour was on. Heathen grabbed a large backpack and filled it with cutter charges and chunks of explosives.

"Like the good old days" Heathen zipped up the pack and ran for his next destination.
18 Jun 2016, 8:00am
Heathen reaches the hatch and stops for a breather, slamming on the helmet and clipping the seal, Heathen turned on the comms "Little Crow, this is All Father, be prepared for an emergency pick up if I fuck up" having the equipment made him confident though.

"Muninn, tell Santa I'm on my way" with that Heathen opened the hatch the pressure sucking him out, after regaining his thoughts he used the propellants on the arms and legs to aim slightly off the mail slot "package underway.
18 Jun 2016, 12:05pm
(Might be taking a few liberties with the pseudo-science. Please be gentle!)

The station was dark. Darker than anything as powerful and complex as such a thing should ever be. Yet, the shadows were dying. As it was said before...ships throughout the hull were still breathing a little life. Each of them flickering on external lights. Their spotlights shifting and searching the interior. The lights of other ships could be seen behaving...more erratically.

Those ships that died while still docking suffering the effects of their last intentions. There were thuds and scraping noises echoing through the black. Several ships, still colliding and grinding against the structure. Such noises were a nightmare for any experienced pilot. Flashbacks to early attempts at landing. How much worse it was now. When the sources of those sounds were numerous and dispersed. Not all of them illuminated. Who knows how many were whirling around, completely unseen.

At least there was some glimmer of hope. The passageway that was Andrew’s ultimate goal. No matter how things moved or changed around him, it stayed constant. Though unlit by the usual reassuring blue. However, without all the pollution that normally fills these sorts of stations...the lights from outside could reach inside. The stars beyond could be clearly seen from inside. Seeming to spin as the station rolled.

Speaking of rolling…This...is…bad!”

Spiraling face first in gaudy somersaults, Andrew was having as bad a’ time as his spectators surmised. Several attempts to acclimate had already failed. While the pilot had been EVA trained, that was with a lifeline. And around a single, stationary ship that provided perspective. And half a lifetime ago! So now when he found himself thrown into the crowded dock...he was relearning how terrible he was at course corrections. *psssssssfff* Another burst of air. Countering the last one he had used. Finally slowing back to a stable trajecto-

”RE-”, a teeth gritting exclamation joining a silent, yet solid thud. The old drab fatsuit slapping against the bubbled canopy of an Asp...or Type 6...or maybe even a custom fitted Diamondback? Something heavy! Not having proper lighting made guessing the model of his captor unnecessarily difficult. Even harder to see all the damages that the aloft ship had suffered. ”-gret. So much regret. H-huh…”

What he saw inside the cockpit would, well, stay with him forever. There were just a few emergency lights filling the cabin with an orange hue. It wasn’t much, but it made the shadows stand out. There floated by a PDA, some sort of drinking mug...even one of those bobbleheads that are so popular these days. The ship banging around in the dark must have knocked it all loose. Especially the former operator.

Seeing the figure floating so gently. The conflicting nature of the lifeless form and the gentle sway of such hypogravity…

Andrew quickly shook his head. Closed eyes pulled away from the view. ”No. Focus.” Looking back towards the spiraling stars. Gripping as best he could onto the craft, he prepared himself for another launch. Almost to his target. An antique. One that was so surprising to see when he docked his ship earlier this cycle. A Python. An old, unrefurbished one. Still showing off the older, less curvy frame that they used to have.

Most importantly...sporting the Old World, self contained hydraulics. The kinds that could endure the troubles of space radiation in the time before perfect external shielding. The kind that...might be functioning…”Please, oh please.”


Last edit: 18 Jun 2016, 2:22pm
18 Jun 2016, 1:34pm
Progress felt slow, this journey took seconds in his Vulture, but Heathen was commited now, looking round the lights from the ships looked like search lights "Visor go to thermal" the view suddenly changed, there was still a lot of black but luckily some heat was escaping the shell so he could at least see where he was going.

Naturally things aren't going that easy, dodging 6 ships so far that didnt even dock before they were shut down.
"Okay okay okay, 3, 2, 1" Heathen hit his propellant, turning himself round, its been 3 years since he did a free fly, and with an hour he lost his leg.

Slowing himself down Heathen braced for a landing, hopefully he hasnt lost the skill. "Mag lock on" even if he fucked up he wanted to know he was anchored oppossed to having drifting.

Heathen landed heavily, having to drop to his knee to soften the landing, but all the same he heard a whirrrr coming from his suit "well thats the bearings gone"

Limping over to the nearest service hatch Heathen prised it open and jumped inside "package has arrived" now to look for something to close the mail slot, Heathen limped away followed by a whirring.
18 Jun 2016, 9:02pm
Heathen arrived at the counter weights, opening the door the sight made him whistle, this might be harder than he thought. The emergency door was held by two weights, about the size of a corvette with an emergency stop just in case someone tries what Heathen was about to do.

Placing cutting charges round the weight line above the stop "I hope this works" Heathen said out loud as he initiated the timer.

Satisfied with his work Heathen looked up at the emergency gate "oh for fuck sake" he swore the clamps weren't holding the gate a second ago? Eyes going back to the timer "5" he shouldve given himself more time, closing his eyes.
20 Jun 2016, 4:30pm
Heathen woke up to someone tapping on his visor, what the hell happened? Unclipping his helmet and looking round, he was on the floor of a Type 6, looking up at the woman standing over him "are you okay sir?" Oh this was brilliant.

"No, feels like I got hit by Cutter, help me up girl, I need to get the armour off" as the girl helped him unclip the armour, Heathen looked round, it must be the Syr, must mean one thing "we're not in dock are we?"

The girl looked up at him, this was the first time Heathen ever met Little Crow, only dealing with her over radio. "No sir, we're not. There was an explosion and you got spaced. I'd take you back but while power is out, it's too dangerous." Heathen limped to the cockpit, dragging the now useless prosthetic behind him.

Looking out to the station there was a small hole blown out beside the door, but it shouldnt affect a seal, but the emergency gate was still open, damn clamps didn't release, Heathen fucked up. "Okay, theres nothing we can do except wait, now lets check if your long range comms work" walking back to where he woke up and started up the comms relay, biting his lip, he hoped someone was coming for them....
21 Jun 2016, 3:36pm
”Aaa...haa...aaa...haa…” [O2 Remaing - 05:29:20]

Andrew was tired. Far more so than he could have dreamt he would be. Despite the lacking strain of standard gravity, his trip had been an ordeal. Several times he found himself launching from one docked ship, to another. Even having to opt for a lightpost when crossing near an empty pad. The lunging had taken a toll. The painful impacts hadn’t helped. Still...he had arrived.

Stretched out across much of pad 24 was the wide body of a very old girl. A Python long past her prime, but obviously well treated. To think that someone maintained such a thing these past two hundred or more years...it just shows that Delacy knows how to build a masterpiece.

With lights off and hull painted in that nonreflective olive, it was only by memory and fortune that he found his goal. Having seen the beautiful ship earlier. Having dawdled while docking just to gawk at her a little longer.

It was almost criminal...his rough landing. Splashing against the side at midship, Andrew could feel the vibration reaching inside the empty hull. No reinforcements. Seems she was only good for cargo these days. That was fine. For what Andrew and everyone else in this station needed, she was perfect.

A real shame he scuffed her so. Crawling as best he could over the ship’s angled sides. Moving towards the stern. His face making a similar expression. Working his way to the airlock that resides in the rear. Hoping to goodness that the antique hadn’t been too modernized.

[04:14:47]

Finding the old hatch was easy. A rather massive pairing of doors. The usual entry for the crew. Usually operated by electronic controls…”Ok...ok ok ok...should be around here.” Trying to keep himself calm. Trying to disregard the numbers flashing in his peripheral. Andrew clicked on his shoulder light. ”Sh-” The sudden glare that came from the polished alloys was immediately disorientating.

[03:55:10]

Taking a few moments to adjust, Andrew’s eyes slowly found focus. First thing they noticed was the oxygen, of course. They shifted madly after that. Scanning the edges of the egress. Quickly finding a looped fixture. Retrieving a safety line from his side even faster. A cable and hook to anchor himself.

The pilot had a fair understanding with this kind of ship. One that made him confident enough to come out and risk suffocating to death...on a chance. So far, it was panning out. Now latched to the hull, his search could shift. Looking now for the silhouette of a sealed compartment.

[02:23:22]

Succeeding. Faster than expected. Andrew pressed his hand against the inlay he had discovered. Sliding back a spring loaded cover. Inside he found the answer to his woes. An emergency release. One designed for...well…kurrrrshhhhh

Emergencies! Twisting the hand release, a sudden series of popping sounds echoed around the doorway. In a moment the door flung up with a rush of force. The heavy, reinforced barrier slamming against the spacer’s body. Knocking him into flight. His body dangling in light gravity. Pushed horizontal by the escaping pressure.

The room he opened was the rear airlock. It had not been flushed, as was procedure, since the last time it was used. An easy error for any pilot to make. Were it not for the safety cable binding him to the ship, he’d have flown away into the dark. Even with it…

[Warning. O2 Remaining - 1:00:00…00:59:57]

Gasping inside of his helmet, Andrew rolled his head around. Trying to collect himself from the blow dealt by the door. His ears were ringing. He tasted the faintness of blood on his lips. Fortunately the suit was unbreached. Otherwise he wouldn’t have felt anything at all.

Looking up as best he could, he saw the open door before him. Reaching out wildly with his hands, he clawed at his safety line. Pulling with all his might, he floated towards the ship. Instincts betrayed him. Forcing his legs to kick uselessly. Each breath thinner. Each moment more desperate…

[WARNING: O2 CRITICAL]


Last edit: 21 Jun 2016, 4:04pm
23 Jun 2016, 11:19pm
”Kuhk!”

There came a deep and rumbling noise. It shook everything around him, as though the world were crumbling. Dying as soon as it began, the tremor was seemed to little more than wake him in the end. With a violent spasm, the spacer flung out his arms and kicked his legs. His head was spinning.

gasp Uuuuh gasp kuhkkuh!”

His eyes were reddened, and killing him. At first they saw nothing but black blobs interrupted by the occasional glimmer or flash. When they did start working again...they spotted the blood spattered across his visor screen.

”Aaahkuhk, ack...f-fu...fuhk…” In his ear whirled a hurricane. Not only did they ring, but they were assaulted by a terrible, hissing wind. His mind so confused, it couldn’t even realize something so familiar as an airlock.

Where his body lay, collapsed and burning, was at least safely inside the Python. The small room around him was being flooded by oxygen. The pressure was becoming very noticeable. Though it was becoming a livable environment, Andrew still felt like dying.

The helmet, and the seal it created, had been broken. While it still remained on his head, the locks had been loosened and eased apart. There wasn’t much of it, but fresh air was flowing in through the cracks.

Blinking madly, trying to orientate; Andrew could not recall the last few moments of his life. There was the door. The line he had crawled up. Then a...a latch? It started to fade back to him. Slowly. In the time his mind collected itself, so did his limbs.

No longer flailing, Andrew worked to prop himself up. Soon he was off his back, and thereafter he was finding his way up off the floor entirely. Looking around with reclaimed sight, he found his memories bridging together. The large door shut behind him. The white room around him. The yellow plunger he had engaged before blacking out. The pressure exchange.

gasp Uuuh...thank...bob.”

The first breath without coughing. The first taste of air not polluted with blood. With great relief, he reached to remove his headgear. Twisting and prying the cap off, he felt a large surge of air crash into his lungs. Suddenly they were burning again. It hurt, but in the way that life sometimes does. A welcome agony in this case.

Standing up, he found his legs were still shakey. How long was he...didn’t matter. There was something he had to do. So, reaching towards the inner seal of the airlock, he pushed himself to reach the latch release. A trifle of a task. Yet, as he was, it took everything his body had to unlock the heavy jam. Then all his weight just to ease the interior door open.

But now...he was in. It was dim, but there was light enough to see. The same emergency lights that came standard on most ships lit every corridor and egress. Looking around him, there came a sense of familiarity. And some mild alarm. It was only in the shadows that he noticed his mounted flashlight had died. Damaged? Out of power? There wasn’t any time to figure it out. The craft’s illumination would have to do.

Trudging through the dark, Andrew did his best to head towards the front of the ship. It should have been easy enough. Just keep heading straight. What really troubled him were the stairs. Damn things were tiny, and hard to distinguish. If only he were a toddler with night vision.

Still, stumbling proved to work. Soon he found himself in a widening path. The lights along the floors veering away at his sides. It was in this spacious place that he began really exploring. Hands put to the walls for more than support. Gloved digits feeling out their way as he walked the perimeter.

”My license for a light…” The credentials are barely of use in a working ship, in a dead one the flashlight always wins. Sadly he was still without. What he did have was experience. ”Is…” A sudden divot. A grip...the loud echoing pop of a plunger successfully pulled. ”yes!”

What he had found was the manual valve switch for the ship’s powercore. A large, heavy toggle that acted as, well, a manual jump start. As soon as the resistant switch was flipped, internal lights began popping on. The ship gasping her own first, sweet breath.

Looking around with added clarity, Andrew found the monitors about still blackened. A few began to boot up. Independent systems not linked to anything but themselves. Certainly not enough to actually fly the ship. Fortunately, that didn’t matter…

Andrew had other plans. Now moving with restored vigor, he ran for the cockpit. Before he could continue with his plan, he needed some bearings. It was as he made this trip, and exited the thickly insulated hull of the power plant, that his COMs finally started transmitting. Or, rather, receiving transmissions.

He heard a few voices on the other end...none of them sounded like they were addressing him. Not anymore at least. Still, how long had he been isolated from them? What all had happened?! Reaching the bridge. Moving towards the open canopy...that is when Andrew saw, ”Holy...Mahone-y.”

The large hole, blown straight out of the station’s interior wall. A small cloud of debris and loose materials now lingering around the damage. Tumbling gently outward, to the edges of the open dock. ”Was that...someone’s plan?” His eyes glanced to the mailslot. Still open, still expelling all their air. ”Shit!”

With even less time to spare, Andrew bolted for his next step. Locating the internal access to this old girl’s hardpoints...


Last edit: 24 Jun 2016, 11:47am
05 Jul 2016, 1:59pm
(Yeeeeah. More pseudo-science shenanigans incoming. Be kind. Figure it best to just wrap up this little venture that started...)

There are many things different about the ships of today. While many designs have been around for decades, or even centuries, they have had a lot of changes. However. Sometimes. Someone lucky might come across some of the relics. If they are lucky enough, they find them still operational..”I am going to buy so many lottery tickets after this…”

Grinning in a way that was almost childish, Andrew’s eyes studied the quality and integrity of a massive winch. The tool, fitted into a standard Class-2 hardpoint, was not any sort of weapon. Despite looking like a cousin, or even sibling to a gun. In reality, it was a classic Faulcon Manspace mag-anchor. From an initial inspection, it seemed to be in perfect condition.

”Ok. Ok ok.”, turning to examine the manual controls and hydraulic cylinders. ”Let’s get you topside.’ Gripping the heavy hatch he pried open moments before, hoping to restore the hardpoints inner seal. Once he latched the locks shut once more, the pilot turned towards the ship’s bridge. Lunging with restored hope.

Floating back into the Python’s cabin. Up to the helm where the expansive canopy provided him a view of the docks. Starring once more towards the mailslot. Doing his best to identify details in the dimly lit cavern. Andrew fetched a grease pencil, and quickly began scrawling on his Remlok’s white sleeve.

One of the first things any true pilot was ever learns from the Federation and her legions of instructors...mathematics. The physics of navigating in a vacuum. The quantitative outputs of functional equipment. The figures and ratios that go into landing an ungimballed shot…

...and this shot. By Mahon’s bank statement, it was going to be a dosy. Something new for him. Something he needed to be a success. So, the math was important. Had to be checked, not guessed. Then checked again.

Honestly, he didn’t have enough sleeve for this.

After recounting what facts he knew. The size of the docks. The placement of the ship. The way his stomach churned when he thought about missing. Andrew was certain that he had his numbers right, and his in-suit diapers primed. It was now or never.

Gliding back into the ship’s belly; Andrew’s heartbeat hastened with each meter he put behind him. The hardpoint’s internal console was waiting for him. Waiting to bring him triumph, or an embarrassing death. Landing at the controls, he decided to think about his scribbled numbers rather than what they foretold. Setting to work at the gears and levers. Cranking the mag-anchor into the deployed position.

With the atmosphere that remained in the Python, there was plenty of substance for sounds to travel. Cranking gears whined. Hydraulic pistons hissed and trembled. The symphony of pressure and motion was only made louder by the ship’s hollow body. Many times, Andrew feared something would crack or burst. How he would have preferred the safe, tedious humm of a live ship.

Still, there were loud clanks and pops to signify his successes. The first came when he raised the weapon to the surface. Those following created a repetitious metre. The deployed winch being turned and raised into exactly the right position. Or so Andrew hoped. Looking back to his arm with each new click. Having trouble reading his writing; with all the shaking his arm was doing. Not to even mention the sweat rolling off his brow and into his eyes.

Soon. There were no more noises. The readied anchor was in position. The correct position? By math, it better be. The would be no time for a second shot. There wasn’t even any more time for him to hesitate. ”Make the shot...not a shit.”

With a pull of a switch, the ship’s body shivered. A powerful bang slammed the hull above his head, and clawed through the entirety of the craft. After it, nothing. There was too little substance in the dock to properly echo a distant impact. Andrew held his breath. Waiting; for the reverb.

Choked up. Lungs burning. Heart froze. The spacer lost track of time. Until...the ship’s walls were ringing like a mighty bell. The anchor had made contact.

As far as his heart sank into his belly, it now lept out his throat. With fumbling limbs and unbalanced kicks, he threw himself back towards the cockpit a third time. Losing control of his momentum, quick. Rolling and crashing against the canopy. Body unflatteringly squished against the translucent barricade. Yet, despite his rough landing; Andrew found that his view was a perfect one.

Off in the distance. At the far end of a long, and sturdy cable. The magnetic anchor had struck her target. Now firmly secured against the station interior. To Andrew’s delight, she had landed on the dark of the bullseye.

Both hands thrown above his head. The enthusiasm enough to send him spilling backwards into the cabin. Teeth gritted in an brazen smile. ”Not a shit! Ah-ha-HA!”
05 Jul 2016, 2:13pm
(A happy little resolution. Then things can start working their way back to normal.)

What came last was, of course, the easiest part of it all. A simple trip to the reactor core. The cranking of a couple of dials. One down, the other...way up. In time the power that flowed through the ship’s viens would surge. Without a digital command, the internal capacitors would still shift from SYS to WEP.

With the ship’s digital systems down, all the could happen was a surge. Weapons without commands to deploy or trigger, would run very hot. One weapon in particular, was the mag-anchor. Since the power feeding to the hardpoints wasn’t getting through to the others, it would all slowly funnel into the only active outlet. The ever live electromagnet.

What Andrew had aimed for on the station wall, was that large metal disk that is always so noticeable to exiting traffic. An enormous electromagnet itself. Used in all manners to both contain and control the normal shielding of the mailslot. As well as…

THUD

...the massive blast shields. Thick alloy doors. Sturdy enough to shut the vacuum out, and lock the station down properly. Trigged to shut by the station’s magnets; which until reenergized by the live wire now strung between the Python and the wall, had been too dead to do their job.

Throughout the cold shadows of the docks, a new light grew. Burning poorly at the start, but growing fast into something bright and warm. An orange streak that reached from the hangar bays, to the station wall. A single, thick cord; radiating heat like a star. Gleaming only for a moment, before dying out again. The job done.

All hail the Faulcon engineers of yesteryear.

The anchor's line might be fired and melted, but it did want was needed. With the blast doors in place, there would be no decompression. The station would retain her structure and atmosphere; waiting for her internal systems to reboot.

If such a recovery was even possible.

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