Empire 1: Twice the Climb
11 Jan 2018Tarm Wallunga
Satio System, Pegasi SectorMid to Late December, 3303
Nice, quiet, peaceful moment in the cockpit of my recently acquired gunship. I decided to name it War Pig long before I ever actually managed to get my hands on it, and it still seems a fitting name, especially now that I’m actually using it specifically for what she was meant: the utter destruction of my foes, starting with those bastards, SigAndro.
For weeks we’ve been manipulating the various shotcallers, group leaders and VIP's of the half dozen factions of Satio, a project we’ve been working on since Luther suggested we come out here after having dealt with….family issues. Election tampering, that being the technical term for our ensuring that the right people won, taking over Ford Orbital, and now, the final stroke in removing an outside power from the system – pushing the BSE into a shooting match against SigAndro that will, with our generous assistance, of course, ensure that they not only pack their shit get out, but never, ever, come back this way again.
When the BSE finds out what we have in store for them, though…..well, we’ll just burn that bridge when we get there. In the meantime, however, we’re on their side….until SigAndro burns from the sky, that is. And speaking of which….
“Hey, ground crew – when the fuck you gonna let me get back up there?” I growl towards to the ground crew of Block Relay, who were supposed to swiftly rearming and refueling my ship. There’s a crackle of static over the comms net, and finally some dry, raspy voice that sounds like it belongs to some prepubescent puke speaks back to me.
“War Pig, reload complete. Awaiting clearance from tower to proceed back to Launchpad,” the boy-man says.
“Well tell them I said to hurry the fuck up, I got Gunslingers up there and I’ll be good and goddamned if I let them keep fighting while their president is down here sipping mai tais!” I’m really not that worried about it, to be totally honest, but you can never let the servants see that shit. They’ll just try to capitalize on it and then next thing you know, they’re walking all over you.
“Understood, War Pig,” raspy boy replies in a somewhat shaken voice. “I’ll put a rush on it.”
“We were in a fucking rush to begin with!” I snarl right back. “There’s a fucking combat zone all around Satio Four! What did you think this was, a pleasure cruise? Fuck it…and fuck YOU, while we’re at it.”
I hastily snap the comms over to the flight control tower. Really tired of dealing with middle men, even if I’m not really in a rush. The advantage now is that the Gunslingers, through our affiliation with the Posse, own Block Relay, which means we control the flight tower. I should be off the ground just as soon as the ground pukes put the gas cap back on.
“Tower, this Tango-Alpha-Romeo One-one. Clearance for departure and immediate transit to SuperCruise.” I say confidently. There are several seconds before there’s a response, presumably some tower boy looking for my transponder.
“Romeo One-One, clearance denied. Standby.”
Now I’m fuming, and any rush I might not have had a moment ago, just became a crucial immediacy the likes of which I only feel under combat. “Get. Me. The. Fuck. Off. The. Ground.” I snarl into the mic through clenched teeth.
Around me the ground crew is suddenly dispersing, and I can feel Block Relay’s inhibitors releasing my ship back to my control. The hangar deck-pad is shifting back forward, meaning they’re about to put me back on the surface. Good. Finally someone is using their damn brain and expediting this process. In only a handful of seconds, my ship is slid forward then upward through parting doors in the hangar ceiling, and the moderately bright light of Satio streams down.
“Clearance granted, Romeo One-One. Ascend at your discretion, flight path is clear.”
I’ve heard that bullshit many times before, only to have to suddenly juke to one side to evade some incoming craft passing through the mail slot at the same time as me. Then again, I’m launching from the surface, and there’s plenty of sky above me. Big sky, little ship. “Romeo One One, departing,” I mutter just barely loud enough for the mic to pick it up and transmit. I’m already moving onto the launching of this beast of a ship.
Vertical thrusters maxed for a few seconds into the up direction, War Pig lifts up off the ground, slowly at first, and then steadily more swiftly. A flick of a toggle switch and the landing gear recede into their storage positions and are sealed for flight. One last look around, then I nose up even as the ship continues to rise on momentum having an advantage over Satio 4-A’s one-quarter standard gravity, and I punch the afterburners. Gravity induced by maximum thrust propels me back against my seat, and I don’t give not one damn. Even as the ship reaches its max thrust output for those crucial few seconds, I’m easing the throttle to full power to continue my climb from there. Next thing I know, mass lock is gone, and I’m floating into super cruise. We have a fight to win; I can’t just hang back here forever.
Block Relay, Satio 4-A
Early January, 3304
“Listen, Gail,” I grumble from my seat on my side of the desk, “this is all good. All gravy.” I lean forward a bit over my desk and take a bite of the sandwich that I was trying to enjoy before this asshole showed up. Gail Roberson is, for all intents and purposes, the second or third ranking member of the Posse. In a way, the dumb old bastard, who, by the way, appears even more old and wrinkled than Clayton, our previous point of contact, thought he was our boss. Or my boss. And let me tell you now, that shit doesn’t fly with me. I’m my own boss. Not some ancient windbag second tier shotcaller.
Apparently Gail doesn’t like my attitude, my tone or my confidence. I can tell from the way he still hasn’t taken a seat in what only passingly passes for my office, and in the way he’s standing there with his hands on his hips, like this is his show and someone owes him for his performance. I finish chewing my sandwich, chase it with a mouthful of beer, all while waiting for him to finally take a seat.
I’m kept waiting. Fuck it. I take another bite, ending that sandwich’s existence as such, and then lean back into my chair, cross my ankles up on my desk. This is my show, I don’t care who the fuck you are, and I aim to show that. “I’m guessing I’ll have to explain this to you again, aren’t I, Gail?” I ask in as sickeningly sweet of a voice as I can muster without twisting my sated stomach.
“I need to know why you were helping our enemy!” Gail answers in a stern voice that speaks a volume or two of disappointment and betrayal.
“Then sit the shit down and listen to me as I explain it.” For probably about the fourth time, but I candidly neglect to mention that part. I swear, some of the Posse’s people are just shit for brains. Good for muscle and fodder, but not much else. This is part of the reason why I am sure that if I had just a few more people wearing black and orange rockers, the Gunslingers would own this system, and not these stupid pieces of filth.
Gail seems to consider the notion for a moment, but finally grabs the back of the chair I offered him when he first showed up, and slides his old sack of bones into it with a suppressed sigh.
“We fought alongside BSE to reduce SigAndro’s influence in Satio,” I start off, trying my best to not sound like some sort of bored political science teacher, and lean forward onto my desk. “This move on our part actually served two purposes.” I smile a bit at this part. “First – SigAndro’s presence in Satio is already severely diminished – their own people are protesting them, in fact! I’m sure you’ve heard of the demonstrations?”
I pause a moment. I know he’s heard of them – he has to have, since they started on Ford, and that was where the news broke. He had to have heard of the problems SigAndro’s having even with their own people by now. He nods slowly, and then I continue.
“Good. So, they lose the war with the BSE and are even now packing their shit to get the hell out of the system. My guess, they won’t be coming back for good long damn while.” I smile a bit more broadly. “You’re welcome,” I smirk. “You know, since you had such concerns with them not that long ago,” I continue to smirk.
Gail shifts ever so slightly in his seat, the specifics of that body language I’m not able to decipher. No matter. I continue, anyway. “Secondly, BSE now trusts us. Which means, by extension, they trust you and the rest of the Posse. But,” I smirk some more, and hold up an accusatory finger. “But aren’t they having a problem on Lasswitz? Some virus in their cattle pens, or some shit?”
Gail nods to this, and this time his non-verbal communications are easy to interpret. “Yes, yes they have….”he trails off.
“Yes. Seems to me that if you’re administering over a colonial outpost, such things shouldn’t be happening, and didn’t they have another dozen cases reported just earlier this morning?” I wondered aloud.
“I see where you’re going at with this,” Gail says as he finally pieces together my comments, not to mention everything I’ve been pushing over the last two months.
“Indeed.”
“It seems to me,” Gail says after a moment, “that new leadership might be needed in Lasswitz.”
“And I have just made you a king,” I smirk, throwing my arms wide to further illustrate the point.
“A king?” Gail asks.
“Yeah, fucker,” I smirk as I settle into my seat and fish out a joint of O. “King of the Satio system. Or Czar, if you like. I don’t fucking care.” I light my stink, inhale the first puff deeply.
“Hmm…” Gail ponders.
Hmm, indeed….I just made you king. That makes me emperor, bitch.
Apologies for errors previously; it was a quick slap together and post right before having to head off to class. I've edited them out, I hope, and want to say thanks for reading! Especially to the seven! people who already gave me shinies BEFORE I made the corrections! Thank you, all, and I hope you can't wait to see what I have planned next! Until next time!
-Tarm / J