Licensing Day
22 Apr 2020NeLs0n RaD
04.22.3006 / Aboard: NA - All Ships Docked / Ops Region: Apadecavi / Ops Location: Apadecavi - Fonteney City (HQ Trinity Galactic Group)I looked at the data-pad as I sipped on my beer, a satisfied smile as I read the Pilot's Federation notice again... I had made Trade Rank of Tycoon.
"You're doin' alright for yourself, Commander", I thought, then suddenly realized that the thought wasn't in my own voice, but was instead the familiar female voice of my fighter pilot, 'Lys Boyle.
"Hey, what's up, Boyle?" I asked in greeting, nodding to the bartender to bring one for her.
She shook her head as the bartender looked to her for an order, "No, I'm good Commander, thanks anyway. Was just stopping in real quick on my way through. Will catch up with you on our next mission, and congrats on making Tycoon."
"Thanks, Boyle, you've been a real help in that regard, by the way."
She shrugged with a bit of smile, "Just doing my part, after all your success is mine as well. Besides, you take on some good jobs and let me vacuum test various jerk-off models..."
I laughed, "I'm sure we'll be getting more practice with that soon enough!"
"Good!" came her reply, as she headed back out to the station corridor.
I turned back to the bar and my beer, considering the last few years since getting my pilot's license. I didn't have a tonne of money in the bank, but always enough to cover buy-backs if I lost a ship. And speaking of ships, I had managed to pick up a small fleet along the way. Having been a flight mechanic, I enjoyed building specialized ships. Then too, I had managed to incorporate my own company, Trinity Galactic Group, with the motto "You got credits, we got ships!" I took another draw on my beer, remembering the start... Licensing Day...
I had served as crew on a variety of ships, pretty much any that would let me get stick time. Most notably was an old Asp Explorer, the “Bouncin' Betty”, commanded by a pilot that went by the name of Ramsey. Nothing else, just Ramsey. “Old, but not obsolete”, he used to say. I learned more from that old tom-cat than any of the hot-shots I had ever run into all put together. He was the commander that signed me off and referenced me for a Pilot's Federation License. I'll never forget the day...
“See me at the bar after you get the 'Betty bedded down, noob,” Ramsey called over his shoulder as he headed toward the station's hangar access lifts.
“Sure thing, boss,” I replied. This was the usual conversation after a long haul. I made sure the cargo was properly off-loaded, signed for, and most importantly, paid for. Then I'd do the full-on post-flight inspection, note any maintenance requirements, top off the fuel tanks and put the 'Betty to bed in the station hangar.
I strolled into the bar, letting my eyes adjust to the muted lighting, then looking around until I found the appropriate corner booth, and sure enough that's where Ramsey was. I headed over and slipped myself down into the booth's cushioned couch to the left of him. As I did, he slid a data pad over the table to me.
“Got a message for ya here, noob,” he said casually.
I looked at the data pad and saw the glowing Pilot's Federation logo. I fumbled with the pad excitedly to get the message opened.
“Try not to break my pad, noob,” Ramsey said wryly.
And there it was... a holo image of me and a certified Pilot's Federation license. I about fell out of my seat, a huge grin coming over my face. I waved over a server and ordered a round of drinks for the whole place. Ramsey grinned and raised his glass to me then downed his drink. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a Galactic Credits card and slid it over to me.
“Your percentage, Rad,” he said, as he stood still grinning, “and congrats on making pilot... you're fired!”
My jaw dropped, “Whaa...?”
“Now, now... don't go to water thankin' me or nothin',” he said, “but I've taught ya all I can, and fer sure all I'm gonna. The 'Betty only has room for one commander and I'm it, so yer gonna hafta make other arrangements.”
“Damn, Ramsey!” I said, feeling a lump come up in my throat.
“Collect yer gear and hit the shipyard, boy. Time for ya to make yer own livin' for a change... and don't dilly-dally, I launch in an hour.” With that he turned and headed out of the bar. I haven't seen him since.
The data-pad's insistent buzzing brought me back around to the present. Looks like SSF has another fat contract that just won't wait. I tapped the pad's call button...
"Yes, Commander?" came Boyle's voice.
"Head down to the Antares, SSF just sent another contract for a hot delivery into hostile space."
"Roger that, Commander", came her reply.
"And Boyle... don't dilly-dally, we launch in an hour..."
