Thargoid scouts, Part 4: Limping back
03 Mar 2020Orodruin
Smoke was filling the cockpit of The Witch King accompanied by the hissing sound of the Thargoid caustic substance eating away the ship's hull. Of the remaining Thargoid scouts, I had managed to eliminate another but two yet remained and the Gauss Cannons were almost out of ammunition.- "Incoming missile."
The ship computer seemingly never ceased its purpose of announcing pain and imminent death. I remembered the sight of the Type-9 that had been obliterated by the scouts when I first arrived. It seemed as if I was about to join it. The impact of the caustic missile jerked The Witch King strongly to the right and the warning gauges seemingly screamed as they reached their maximum levels. There was no more fight left in the ship. Staying would mean certain destruction and as the hull gauge reached sub-40% I boosted away and engaged supercruise.
- "Incoming missile." the computer repeated itself.
Split seconds later, the frame shift drive was charged and the computer instead started the encouraging, but to my mind very slow, countdown.
- "Four ... three ... two ..."
I could see the caustic missile coming in from below the stern of the ship.
- "One ... engage!"
The Witch King entered supercruise and the missile disappeared from view.
I had a look at the navigation panel to find a good place to dock and lick my wounds. Certainly, my first encounter with the Thargoids had not gone according to plan and I had made a number of grievous rookie mistakes. Copernicus Observatory, a Coriolis station not far from the main star, would serve well as a place to recover and ponder the future. I turned The Witch King around towards the station and accelerated.
- "Taking damage." the ship computer announced with an almost gleeful voice.
I wished it would stop talking for just five seconds. I looked at the hull indicator, it was going down at an alarming rate. My mind went through a loop as my eyes alternated between looking at the indicator and the distance to Copernicus Observatory. It was not clear that the ship could make it all the way, particularly not with the necessary deceleration. A good thing I had decided to fit a decontamination limpet controller. I pulled back the throttle and exited supercruise.
The smoke and the sound of corrosive substance eating through the hull were still filling the ship as I switched fire groups to the one controlling the limpets. Empty. Another rookie mistake. In my eagerness to see what it was all about, I had completely forgotten to load up on limpets before taking off from Blackmount Habitation. Forgetting limpets was an inconvenience in a mining ship, but in this case, in a ship built for Thargoid combat limping back from its first encounter, it was life threatening. Panic started to grip my mind. This was not good.
After freezing for a couple of seconds, my mind snapped back into action. After so much time mining, I would have more than enough materials to synthesise a couple of limpets. As I browsed the menus of the ship's interface to reach the synthesiser I gave a silent prayer that it would still be operable. Among the chaos and sounds of the ship disintegrating, it went into action. For what seemed like an eternity, the synthesiser progress bar filled up percent by percent until four limpets were ready to be deployed. I wasted no more time in launching one of them using the decontamination limpet controller and the limpet flew out with the single purpose of saving the ship from doom.
To any external observer, the limpet probably did its job in a swift and efficient manner. However, sitting in the melting can of metal, it seemed to me as if it took ages.
- "Caustic substance removed." the ship computer said as the first piece of good news I had heard it announce during the entire trip.
The hull indicator was stable at 17%. I sank back into the pilot's chair and felt the immediate panic subside. After collecting my senses for a few minutes, I turned back to the navigation panel and reengaged supercruise towards Copernicus Observatory.
Approaching the Coriolis station, I was extra careful not to violate any of the flight regulations. The state of The Witch King certainly did not allow any daredevil flying through the mail slot or even too extreme accelerations. As I extended the landing gear and slowly approached the landing pad I was struggling to keep away the thoughts of incompetency on my own part. Locking turrets in forward fire mode, forgetting to stock up on limpets, not properly avoiding the caustic clouds left by the Thargoid scouts. The list of mistakes I had made certainly were the mistakes of a newcomer and I thought back to the indifferent expressions on the veterans back at Blackmount Habitation as I had left. New pilots came and went. Some were dissuaded by their first encounter and never came back, some stayed and improved, many turned into space debris. Nobody could predict the category any particular newcomer would join.
Once The Witch king was safe in the hangar I let out a sigh of relief. This would not be the day I die. I unstrapped from the pilot's seat after letting the local repair crew know that their services were sorely needed. As I exited the ship and headed towards the nearest pilots' accommodation, I turned around to have a long look at the tragic vision that was the ship's hull. It was amazing that it had held together at all. The green of the paintjob could only be seen in sporadic patches and most of the hull had deep gashes and craters where the caustic substance had consumed it. There were also small valleys where the hull had melted and cracked when struck by the Thargoid energy blasts. The repair bill would be hefty, but not something I could not afford. The Witch King would be ready to fly again. I headed off towards a long and dreamless sleep at the accommodation. Would I be ready to fly again?