Sharp Edges and Bright Lights
27 Feb 2020Nirakoji
27 February 3306Artemis Lodge, Celaeno
Hunters Lounge
“Commander Siara Solatra?” She matched the image that Atlas had sent earlier. I stood back a moment and assessed just who it was that I was looking at. She was leaning against the wall when I approached, arms crossed, looking around the room. In less than a second, she had me sized up out of the corner of her eyes, and she seemed annoyed to have been noticed and approached, shifting from one foot to the other.
“I’m in need of a pilot with nerves of steel, and I received a tip that you are just that pilot. You helped out a friend of mine in a big way, and now I’m wondering if I could hire you formally to help me out,” I began, wasting no time. She struck me as a no-nonsense commander, a pilot whose time had been wasted one too many times. Once bitten, twice shy. Noticing the tension in my chest, I forced myself to breathe again. A trader by nature, the mission I was embarking on was not territory I was entirely comfortable with. Then again, I’m not sure who is comfortable in the Pleiades. The folks out here are away from the bubble for many reasons - and those who are still staying here amidst the intermittent and ever-looming Thargoid incursions have strong reasons to be here. Stronger reasons than to be in the Bubble.
She assertively put out her hand, “Woah, slow down there captain - I don’t even know you yet. I can fly, alright, but what is it I’d be putting my life on the line for?”
I recalibrated myself to my social graces, and found my feet again. “Forgive me for cutting to the chase - I’ve got Thargoids on my mind, and they… they make me tense. You’ve no doubt heard the talk around the station with their recent increased attacks.”
“I mean, I’ve seen some of those buggers up close and personal. The little ones floating around on the surface, not to mention the bigger ones flying around in space.” She replied, cool and calculated, not rushing her words but expressing a determination to respect her own time and space.
I nodded, “I figured as much. You don’t jitter the way most folks around her do.”
“Eh, they’re like bugs, y’know--big bugs--if you get jittery, they just sting you.” She’d nodded at me, having taken the time for banter to test my mettle and opened her stance up more comfortably. She reached out her hand to shake in agreement. Solid contact. This woman clearly has a sense of her own principles and virtues - at least, more than most people I meet.
“Tell you what, Commander Solatra, I’ll have the mechanics tighten up the fighter bay and have you onboard within the hour. I think you’ll enjoy the flight - I’m a merchant by trade, and I’ve earned some favour with the right people over at the Federation for this kind of an outfit..”
27 February 3306
Artemis Lodge, Celaeno
Landing Pad 07 - C.S.V. Jericho
“Wow. You didn’t tell me you were bringing me aboard a Corvette! Commander Nudraakan, who exactly am I dealing with here?” Siara’s eyes were wide. She still kept her feet; while impressed, she wasn’t intimidated by the class of the ship. Good. My first impression was proving right. This woman had mettle, and if I had anyone with me for the coming task, only AXI could provide better nerve to work with. If all went according to plan, this sortie would remain well below the pay-grade of AXI.
I briefly oriented her to the bridge, and took the opportunity to politely set straight a pet peeve of mine, “Please, you can call me Nirakoji. Formalities like that are a wearying pretense to hold up. Welcome aboard - the fighter pilot’s station is to your right.”
“Ah hah! Well, howdy there, ma’am! I see cap’n Nirakoji found us a crackshot pilot.” I smiled as the gruff voice of CMDR Mercer Guncult boomed across the bridge from the gunner’s station. Siara turned and grinned, mocking a flourished bow and sat down comfortably in the fighter pilot’s seat.
“Siara--if I may--meet Mercer. He’s lock, stock, and barrel a part of my squadron. You’d be hard pressed to find better company than him, and he’s proved himself integral to our work. A dang good gunner too, though if you stick around long enough, you’ll find him a man of diverse interests, skills, and refined tastes. I like the company I keep.” Siara gave me the side-eye as she recalibrated some controls from her casual spot in her seat.
I sat down in my command seat, and began rolling through the pre-flight checks. Weapons armed and loaded. Travel gear stowed in the station storage. SLF fighter bay installed and communicating with the helm--I’m learning to trust those mechanics. Power distribution stable. Weapons routing normal. Anti-Xeno Taipan fighters loaded and stowed. Shields online. I blinked rapidly, doubting myself for a moment, and scrolled through the readouts again. Thargoids make me nervous, and I don’t want to miss something critical. I carry the weight of responsibility for the crew on my ship. I glanced back at Siara, and she was adeptly familiarizing herself with her station. Mercer was relaxed back with a cigar, one hand on station, the other tucked behind his head. He helps me stay more at ease in these situations. Salt of the earth, grown up in the Federal agricultural fields of Nanomam. Once more I was grateful for our paths crossing.
“Buckle up folks, we’re launching in 5...4...3…” The Core Dynamics thrusters roared to life, dirty drag tuning rippling like a dragon’s heartbeat in a tornado. With slow, elephantine grace, we approached the mailslot and, with a grin sneaking across my face, I opened the engines up with a fury.
27 February 3306
System: Celaeno
Ship: C.S.V. Jericho
Non-Human Signal Source
“Weapons check!”...”Fighter check”...”Hold onto your butts, we’re dropping in hot!”
Scouts. Five Thargoid scouts, their distinct whirling saucer shapes whizzing through a wreckage field. I settled into my chair a bit more, and braced into it as I tucked and rolled the Jericho into the wreckage field of some hapless trade ship, flotsam pinging away from my shields like a delicate curtain of aerograde steel. This would be good for us, it would break us in a bit before we started heading for what I was really after. This was a small threat compared to what lay ahead. I confirmed that the radar was, in fact, not tracking any interceptors.
A high pitched whine ripped past the bridge viewport - Siara’s first Taipain roaring to life and engaging the nearest scout. I lined up the prow of this warship with another, anticipating a hail of multicannon slag to be unleashed from the seven cannons. Aside from the wailing scouts and the screaming Taipan--nothing.
“Mercer! What’s going on back there?” I schooled my voice, eyeing our shields. They were holding well; I redistributed our power supply to the shield cells and watched them glow down the hull with greater intensity. He roared in frustration,
“Stick’s jammed and input isn’t doing anything! One moment.” Before I could say a word, the access hatch to the console plate below his controls was popped open, and Mercer was on his knees, multitool in hand and digging away, flashlight tucked between his teeth. I glanced at the shields again, rolling the Jericho to dodge a feisty scout that rolled our way like a death-dreidel.
A brief flashback memory overlayed itself on the reality before me--pirates; flashing lights; hull peeling back like cheap tin cans--an explosion on the starboard plating of the Jericho spread flames licking across the metal-and-energy shielding. Siara cursed loudly as bits of Taipan fighter were strewn in many directions; a second fighter was already launching, Siara’s holo-presence transponder flashing blue and orange light across her face. I flipped through the modules and rebooted the flight computer on the weapons.
“Those mechanics - must have crossed a wire somewhere. Fix one thing, break five.” Mercer grunted approval as his console lit up and holographic turrets interfaced their way around his arms. A melodic drum beat pounded from the hardpoints all around us - one by one, in puffs of screaming green, the Scouts were turned to slag.
27 February 3306
System: Celaeno
Ship: C.S.V. Jericho
Non-Human Signal Source
This signal source had a different reading; the last, while exciting and a good shakedown for my crew, didn’t have what I wanted. “... hold onto your butts, we’re dropping in--cold this time. Steady, and mark your targets; wait for my word.”
What we saw next was beyond words. I felt some blood drain from my face. Space before us was eerie quiet. A queasy green glow was cast all about, and as my eyes adjusted from supercruise to normal space, I saw wrecks. Corvettes, Cutters, and support ships. A proud fleet, battered almost beyond recognition. And amidst them, like a twisted sunflower of death, was the unmistakable shape of a Thargoid Interceptor. After it leisurely scanned it’s latest victim with an ungodly looking wash of laserlight, it leisurely turned towards us - and our heads erupted from all directions with a horrid mechanical bellowing as it drifted unnervingly fast toward us.
“KEEP. STEADY.” I howled through a whisper at my crew, my jaw clenched like a vice. Every fibre in me wanted to look away, but I forced myself to stare this beast down and hold my own. No fight would do; I had the engines primed and hand a hairsbreadth away from boosting to the left and below this creature to get away from it. It glowed, and as it glowed, that same laserlight wash rolled over my ship. It was blinding, searing, and chilling. The air cooled and my lungs and eyes burned. It felt like a hand had snuck under my skull and wrapped itself around my brain.
And then it was done. The interceptor turned around as if we were as boring as a lump of biowaste, and shimmered away with it’s alien propulsion system. Space opened before it like a curtain being rolled back, and without a noise, the Interceptor was gone, like it had just casually walked into another room. I fought a wave of nausea, and glanced at my crew. Mercer furiously puffed at his cigar, muscles tensed. Siara’s face was stone, with a distant look in her eyes. We were quiet. I glanced to the left at my contacts panel - my ships scanners reading only damaged escape pods, and not what I had come for. I surveilled my surroundings once more, and nosed toward the escape pods, cargo hatch open. This was altogether different than the asteroid rings of Hyades or Borann; the familiar clunk into my cargo bay was only a priceless treasure to some family I hoped I didn’t know. Not that it would have changed their grief.
27 February 3306
System: Celaeno
Ship: C.S.V. Jericho
Returning to Artemis Lodge
I broke the silence as our frameshift drive hummed in supercruise. “I wasn’t wrong about you, Siara. You were solid back there.” She looked forward, silent. “This place--the Pleiades--you’re all alone out here, aren’t you.”
“Yes; it’s suited me well, I’ve been out here like this almost as long as I care to remember.”
I nodded, continuing, “that works for many, at least, well enough. I’m not sure what brought you out here, but I do know that I like what I’ve seen, and that Ordo Corona Stellarum has room for pilots like yourself.” She eyed me from the corner of her eyes, one eyebrow slowly raising, almost imperceptibly. “I’m not one to push, Siara - but I’m extending an open invite. You can take your time to think about it.” She seemed to withdraw into herself, shrinking back into her chair ever so slightly as she considered what I had said.
“I… I’m not sure. I guess, I’ve been so used to doing things on my own; you wouldn’t like my kind. I’m not polished and refined.” I chuckled.
“I may be look like a soft trader, Siara, but I’m plenty familiar with people of your kind - and what I saw was virtue-bound iron out there. Polished? No - but my crew is about striving for polish, not being perfectly polished. The Order is based on recognition of a need, not perfection in meeting that need.” She closed her eyes. “Siara. There’s an ancient earth proverb that goes as follows, ‘if you want to run fast, go alone; if you want to run far, take friends.’” Her eyes opened and looked at me. Mercer’s cigar glowed red as he looked between our faces, grinning slightly, and nodding reassuringly at her. Artemis Lodge loomed big before us, the planetary ring shining in the dazzling light of Celaeno’s star.
“Alright, Nirakoji. I’ll join. I hope you don’t regret it.” I smiled to myself as we eased through the mailslot. The future holds no promises - and regrets can cut both ways. Friends and pilots cut from iron though? They’re rare. They’re worth keeping close, even if they have sharp edges.
