Better the Devil you know, when the Wolves are at the door...
31 Jan 2020FreddieLuxx
The inertia of the drop from the last jump to Dez throws me forward in my seat. The Suit builds the familiar pressure to keep my bones from breaking as it keeps me locked to my seat. I hear bulkheads groaning throughout Stellaris. She's not happy with me but she'll see me back to the hearth. She deserves a break. We had taken a hit from a rogue bit of debris, and only narrowly lucky it wasn't the bridge. Long Range Comms were out though, as was the head. Not that I minded, I could put up with the suits 'comfort' functions for now, and I'm sure instructions and information would be coming thick and fast as I landed.
The last of the ship's atmo from the lower decks evacuates into space from a small hull breach, as Stellaris settles into supercruise and I adjust our heading to Jameson's. It wasn't the first time I'd been hit by space trash, was always a good way of being able to tell you were back in the bubble really, but I knew I'd be getting a real hard time off my ground crew Chief for that. I could hear it now...
"All that Friggin Space and a wee half ton of debris hits you, how do you keep this job? Do you go looking for it? Look out Universe! Its the Trashman! Here Boys! Get this..." etc, etc.
The thought brought a smile to my face. It'll be good to see him again, the stupid alcoholic.
Good to be Home.
The last few light seconds flitter by as I throttle down the FSD and prepare to make my final drop to real space. Stellaris almost sighs with Jameson's in sight. I definitely do. I swap the pressure of FTL travel for a new kind of Pressure.
"FREDDDDAAAYYYY!" - Griff. Our Squadron's Effective 3rd in Command and an old friend.
"Whats new brother!? Long Time"
In all my days of shipfaring, I have learnt that friends are far and few between. So when you make them, you keep them. For all our massive numbers, Space is truly lonely. Griff and I ran a combat carrier corvette back in the day for the Federal Navy, in a patrol group rather embarrassingly named "Fist of The Unicorn" 2nd Rapid Offense Unit. Frig to the Unicorns. But we went way back like cargo racks. More scrapes than I care to count, but I've never felt like my back was better protected than when I'd launch in those F-63s than to know his guns were working. Once service was up we both jumped into the Industry game, scrabbling in the dirt of planetary rings for minerals like some ancient prospector panning for gold. Griff got me this job and I was just happy to be out that stupid mining vessel, with some direction and structure.
"Long indeed! Nex is getting ambitious and we are making money hand over fist with this new contract, get your ass to command and dress nice, lots of people to meet. I've already transferred funds to have the "Gunblade" brought out of the moth cupboard, and ground teams are working round the clock on all PGL ships. Met your Chief..whats his name...Garry..Gavin...Gerry..."
"Grady! How is the drunk bastard? The"Gunblade"?"
"Drunk! But he's getting things ready for you. Wasn't happy that he can't get to work on Stellaris but orders is orders." Well avoided...
"I'll smooth it over, dont worry. What is going on? I heard all sorts on Wolf 1301 from Galnet."
"War Brother. Its War..."
The silence said it all, we'd seen our fair share and the prospect of another left us hesitant to say the least...
"...anyway, Uniform on and make it quick. We have some big players coming to our humble offices."
"Sir! Just coming up on the no-fire zone, I shall be there soon. Luxx Out."
I bring up my screens and submit a request to dock. Everything checks out. I am assigned my landing pad. The routine is trained and welcome.
The"Gunblade". I hadn't thought about her in a long time. Times when atmospheres burned with laser fire and hate...
...But history has a way of repeating itself.