Gunslinger Foundation 3: Gunships and Patches
23 Dec 2017Tarm Wallunga
Early to Mid-December, 3303McMonagle Dock, Paiyung
Sitting all pristine in dark colors, illuminated only by the handful of lights lining the perimeter of the landing pad, was my ship. Angular lines, razor edges, and hard panels gave it a blocky, yet somehow sleek, deadly silhouette.
Okay, so technically it wasn’t mine. Not yet. But it was the reason why I was here, and not flitting about the Pegasi as is my usual order of business. The Federal Gunship was only a hundred meters or so away, and stood in silent triumph to a years’ worth of planning and aspiration.
We were going to steal it; daddy wants a new starship.
Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been in love with Wayfarer ever since I first prepped her for the Beagle Point run, and Opportunity will always be my baby. I’ll never drop those ships – whether brand new or worn with light years of travel or the dings and scrapes of a thousand tons of smuggled “illicit cargo”, those two ships got me where I am today.
Well to be fair, Luther and Sigurd are what really got me where I am right now, what with hacked ID chips and gaining us access to Federal controlled docking spaces. But now? A literal stone’s throw from the prize I’d had my eyes on since leaving the Navy, and the chance to shove a big-knuckled, fat middle finger into the eyeballs of the Federation’s top brass. I am going to steal that Gunship, hell or highwater. And the best part? Hah. You’ll laugh at this.
She’s already got all the trimming and shiny lady-bits I wanted, custom fit by order of some regional Admiral Asshole, approved by System Administrator Dickhead, and paid for by Federal Citizen John Q. Dipshit. Luther’s connections and Sigurd’s hacking are, evidently, excruciatingly exquisite.
“Alright,” Luther says in a low voice, “Tarm’s the pilot, we’re the flight crew.” He looks at me and Sigurd in quick succession, then continues speaking, as if we didn’t already know the plans for today. “Today’s flight is a test of the FSD and weapons by jumping out-system…”
“We get it,” I mutter, shutting him up. “Let’s just do it, already.” I adjust the flight harness over the stolen Federal gray and black flight suit, this whole get-up makes my skin itch like I haven’t showered with real soap and water in days. Shrugging it off, I step forward, leaving behind the cluster of access tunnels that lead to service bays and storage areas, and with supreme confidence and only a little swagger, walk right up to the crew access hatch at the rear of the ship.
Security’s light, thankfully, but then again this isn’t an actual Federal Navy installation, either. Just a subcontracted facility that does the engineering work before sending the “finished product” off to some staging base. No one stops me as I close with my new ship, and only have to flash an ID chip at a small scanner to gain access to the landing pad. Of course, so far as the automated system is concerned, we really are the flight crew for today’s previously and properly logged and filed test flight.
I settle into the pilot’s seat and start keying on the computer and other systems to get this ship up and running while Luther and Sigurd take the co-pilot’s chair and an engineer station further aft. There’s a faint purr in the back of the ship and it steadily hums to a low, energetic growl, and I smile at the sound of the ship’s power plant coming online.
I won’t deny it – I’m excited, more so than the simple excitement of nervous energy on what might be expected in the middle of a heist of this magnitude. Its almost as if the reactor coming online was inside me instead of the ship, and all that power is radiating through me and into the ship. As if I am the source of power aboard this vessel.
I fish around the pockets of the flight harness with jittery fingers. I can feel Luther’s eyes on me, but I ignore him. Come on; where is it?
Ahh, there it is, that joint and lighter. I was gonna wait until we were underway for this, but I need a little smoke to smooth some rough edges.
“Really?” I hear Luther say.
“Yup,” is all I answer with, and spark the O to burning life. I may or may not have pushed that first mouthful of smoke his way, too. Just because.
“All systems online,” I hear Sigurd report in the ear-bud in my left ear.
“Request clearance for departure,” I reply. Federal Flight Control responds almost automatically with our egress vector, and I’m smiling, ear to ear as I lift the fat-assed gunship up off the deck. Twenty meters up and the landing gear retract and stow, and power is diverted to thrusters.
Its go-time, bitches. Fifty meters a second, then seventy-five as we slide through the mail slot and everything around us goes dark – no more lights from within that cavernous docking bay.
“Course set,” Luther reports, and I turn the nose towards the marker indicating the relative position of the Tan’gika system, our first stop. She turns with all the grace of a rusted-out bathtub, but I still like it, either way.
“Frame shift drive charging,” the female voice of the computer reports.
“Here we go,” I mutter, and then I stab the -JUMP- button. Space trembles, goes cloudy, then white lines explode all around us like a laser show in a 3-D acid burn. A few seconds pass…
And we’re staring at the fiery ball of Tan’gika’s primary star, a ball of fiery red-orange fury. Uneventful jump, my favorite.
I wait while the FSD cycles through its safety cooldown. Luther and Sigurd say nothing, each monitoring their screens for anything out of the ordinary. Stolen or not, she is a new ship with new, not to mention a few questionable, parts; this is still a test flight, after all.
Everything seems fine, though. No warning lights, no sirens or savage indicators spelling our impending doom. That’s good. Next stop – Satio, and another uneventful jump. Excellent!
Another red dwarf, then over eleven thousand light seconds to Ford Orbital for a few last-minute touches on War Pig, and dumping every last serial number associated with her.
That was far easier than I expected. Perhaps, dare I say, too easy?
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Li’ao Khaoth eased the throttle back as his Dropship slipped through the welcoming lights ringing the outer edge of the mail slot. By mere habit he flipped a few switches, ignored the computer’s accounting of his ship’s landing gear being deployed. Six pads ahead, the big brother of a gunship set down just as he started his own descent onto his own pad. An automated flight control spoke a welcome to him even as dexterous fingers keyed in an order refueling his ship and shutting everything down.
“Ford Orbital, eh?” Li’ao muttered. “Nothing special.” He exited his ship, shouldering a small pack in the process, and headed for the nearest bar.
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“So, the Revolutionaries are set,” Johnny was saying to everyone seated around the table, and I pretended to pay attention. These meetings, while periodically needed, bored the ever-loving Jesus out of me. Of course, today’s meeting would definitely be ending on a positive note, so I was probably, to be fair, more impatient than I was bored. “Our man won, of course,” Johnny says, smirking.
A few chuckles flitter about before Johnny goes on. “Clayton’s expressed a few concerns…”
“But he’ll stay quiet because he knows it’s the best play,” Britta grumbles from her corner of the table. I smirk at her, try not to make things too obvious, too. Not that everyone doesn’t already know who’s been tussling the Shield Maiden’s sheets these last few weeks, but still – gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.
“What about Gold Electronics?” I ask before I end up revealing too much, locking eyes with Sigurd. Pressing Gold Electronics Holdings into a shooting match with SigAndro was originally his idea.
“A shit show,” Sigurd answers, looking downward for a few seconds. “The deal was good,” he offers as an explanation for the plans ultimate failure, “but things just didn’t work out.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I cut in again, waving a hand. “Everything’s locked down pretty good right now. Josef and crew are set now, SigAndro is playing bones from last place. “I pause and light up a straight smoke, blow a few rings because I can. Everyone’s quiet, waiting for me.
“I hear we got some full patches to put out,” I finally say with a classic, shit-eating grin. Knuckles and palms bang on the table all around – new members who’ve proven their trust and reliability are always good to celebrate. I raise a hand to settle them all down and then make the official call.
“Fraa Orolo..rolo.. whatever his fucking name is,” I smirk. “You know who I’m talking about. Full patch – yay or nay?”
“Aye.”
“Yup.”
“Aye.”
“Yes.”
“Unanimous,” I say in something barely bordering solemn. “And the other guy – Ohen-what’s his face. Yay or nay?”
A repeat wave rounds the table.
“Unanimous again,” I say. Ear to ear grin now, though not quite as wide as when I first fired up War Pig. “Bring ‘em in, patch ‘em up!” I say happily, thumping a fist on the table.
Two new shit heads come in, hesitantly at first it seems, but who can blame them, really? Even with just the five of us, we can be quite the intimidating lot, what with silent stares and all.
“You fuckers ready for what’s next?” I ask in a quasi-grave tone, just for effect.
“Neither answer, but their eyes bounce all over the place, trying to read the others before determining what they think is the best way to answer me.
I laugh at them, then motion with both hands in a grabbing motion. “Take that Initiate shit off!” I growl. I watch as Johnny and Sigurd lurch after the two newer guys, jerk their jackets off and start cutting at their patches.
“You shits are done,” I say coldly.
And then I pause, again, for effect.
“Cuz today, you’re all in, Gunslingers!” I toss a pair of full patches – all three pieces on each set – and watch as they slide down to the far end of the table where Fraa and Ohen are standing. The look of relief passes over their stupid faces, then gives way to sheer joy. “Put them on!” I order. “And just like the Spartan’s of old – you come home wearing them, or you don’t come home at all. Get me?”
They both nod, reaching in their own way for their patches.
“Good,” I nod finally. “Welcome!”
Hugs and cheers go around, welcoming our newest brothers to the fold. “No, go! All of you! Go fucking celebrate or something!” I laugh at them as they make their way out into the bar outside our little office of sorts.
“Luther!” I call out before he can leave with the others. “I got a job for you,” I say as I move to close the door so we can talk privately. “It’s about a boy…”