Evac Procedures (part1)
24 Sep 2018Caffeine Low
Taran Glick hugged his son close and silently cursed a litany of blame. He cursed the Thargoids, the Empire, the Federation, the Alliance, the corporations and most of all himself.After his wife died in a flash outbreak, he’d taken their son and their hauler and looked to make a new life elsewhere. The new expansion into the Pelaides Sector had given him the opportunity to seek work. There was plenty of freelance hauling to be found and he and his son were slowly rebuilding their lives. That’s when the Thargoid wave had swamped the Sector.
When the station was hit, they were suddenly cut off from their ship, and hurriedly bundled into the nearest evacuation assembly point, along with thousands of others.
“I’m thirsty, Dad” his son croakily whispered.
Taran looked over at the ration kiosk, metal grille sealed. Once again the hydration ration was late.
“OK, Dillar we’ll get something when they next open the kiosk.”
Just then the evacuation board alert chimed. In the centre of the hall the large holographic noticeboard displayed three names. The crowd shifted slightly as the three fortunate ones made their way to the embarkation lounge to be cleared by station security. On cue the station-side doors opened to reveal a mass-transit shuttle with fifty well-dressed occupants. Back further in the safer depths of the station there were separate evacuation points. The domain of VIPs and corporate agents, or any that could afford to pay their way to safety. The shuttle passengers entered the hall and did their best to quickly move to the lounge without paying attention to the suffering and desperation that surrounded them.
Something inside Taran snapped, he picked up his son and pushed his way through the throng to the embarkation lounge. Outside, flanked by two security officers, stood Johanssen the station evacuation officer for this area.
“Three, Johanssen? Only three this time?” accused Taran.
“Full boat, I’m afraid. Orders are ’essential’ personnel only.”
One of the two security officers stepped forward igniting his riot-baton, Taran’s anger evaporated.
“At least ensure we get more rations, we’re hours overdue!”
“Sorry, supplies are limited station-wide.”
Their interchange was suddenly interrupted by a commotion inside the lounge. The ship-side airlock opened to reveal a grey-haired pilot, dressed in a gaudy orange flight suit. A pilot leaving his vessel during emergency evacuation procedures was unheard of.
The pilot looked over the assembled passengers in front of him before barging through them to the main hall doors. One of the corporate passengers tried to intercept him, but was wordlessly stared down and shifted uncomfortably away. The orange suited pilot hammered on the hall doors and one of the security officers opened it for him.
As the pilot emerged through the access doors, Taran was finally able to get a good view of his face. It was a weathered by a lifetime of space flight, craggy and pockmarked, with the remnant of a vicious scar etched diagonally across his face. But the most striking were his grey eyes, cold, cruel and calculating they locked Taran’s gaze for an instant.
“What’s the meaning of…’ started Johanssen while turning.
The outburst was abruptly cut short as the pilot’s hand lashed out to grasp Johanssen by the throat and drag him into close proximity of the pilot’s face.
“You make no blood money from my work. From now on I only transport from this hall and by the end of the day no child shall be left here. Do we have an understanding?”
Johanessen nodded and gulped air as he was released. Taran saw that the security that had opened the door had barred the other officer from intervening. Then he realised that the pilot was looking him over. The calculating gaze settled on his Pilots Federation insignia and displayed trade rank.
“You a cargo humper or a paxer?” the pilot barked.
“Humper, but my Hauler is toast somewhere in the back of this wreck.” Taran replied.
“You know your way ‘round a T6?”
“Used to fly one when I had a corporate hook-up.” Taran answered confused.
“I need a co-pilot. You interested?”
The blunt question caught Taran off guard.
“I have my son…” Taran impotently trailed off, pulling Dillar in close again.
The pilot knelt down to be face to face with Dilar. Gone from his eyes was the coldness, replaced instead with a mischievious, playful glint.
“I have a mighty need for a Science Officer on board. I’d like to offer you the position.” The pilot spoke directly to Dillar, “As long as you vouch for this here humper?”
His son snorted and nodded enthusiastically.
“Then we best be on our way, Science Officer.”
The pilot stood up and nodded at Taran, before moving to the security officers.
“You heard my orders; anyone docking in the name of the Fathers takes passengers from this hall only. Standard rates, no bribes. Ensure it is done.”
Both security officers nodded.
“Anatoly approves.” All three intoned together.
The pilot once more turned to Johanssen, “Do this simple task and all will be well. Fail and the corridors of Williams Terminal shall flow with your kin’s blood.”
Johanssen grew even more pallid and wilted even further under the pressure of the pilot’s gaze. The pilot turned his back on the station officer and walked back to the lounge doors. He indicated that Taran and Dillar should precede him.
“Apologies for the delay. Thank you for choosing to travel with The Mocha Fun Bus. We shall be on our way shortly.” The pilot announced with a cheerful grin as he entered the lounge.
One of the corporate passengers stepped forward.
“This is not acceptable, if you think we’ll be paying the bonus for…”
His complaints were cut short as the pilot’s fist connected with the corporate suit’s jaw with a sickening crack. The suit crashed to the floor stunned.
“Prep the ship for take-off.” Came the order, “I have to deal with a… customer service inquiry.”
Taran ushered Dillar toward the doors and turned to watch as his new commanding officer hauled the victim off the floor by his immaculate hair and slam him face first into the lounge windows, giving him an unobstructed view of the evacuation hall.
“I took a contract to transport you, it didn’t say you had to be conscious or in one piece. Those people out there, the ones that your employer abandoned, I’m here for them.” the feral snarl held all the other passengers captive.
The lounge doors slid shut, leaving Taran and his son in a short corridor illuminated only by the evacuation alerts. At the far end of the corridor a ship’s passenger entry hatch sat.
With a name like The Mocha Fun Bus Taran had no idea what sort of vessel to expect, especially one flown by a man, who appeared to be a high functioning sociopath.