3308-11-14 Yembo
14 Nov 2023TechnoNomadic
The persistent comms alert dug me out of my sleep. I retracted my helmet to rub my eyes. A list of CZ's scrolled by. I guess I'm going to war again. I just did this a few weeks ago. I did realize that wasn't quite right, a few weeks to me was a few years to everyone else. No rest for the weary I suppose. I checked the mission board for something quick to punch out while I finished waking up and it was a sea of red. I guess that figures with the next system over in civil war. And none of it going into Yembo. Very odd. I was inspired to check the port's contact list and could not suppress my smirk. Under the shadow of war no doubt.I sank back into the pilot's seat and rolled my head to stretch my neck. Combat isn't my calling even though I'm sitting in what can only be called a purpose-built killing machine. While DeLacy's seats in the Phantom are more comfortable as the hours add up, I still can get over how I seem glued to the seat used by Zorgon even while the spaceframe is groaning. I can't help but want to throw the ship around and it doesn't matter how much the ground crew complains about the maintenance. They'll never be able to stop me from grinning after bringing Angurvadal back from all the escapades.
At any rate, this isn't a cockpit for thinking. I dusted off from Noon and headed back to Naddoddur for a refit. There is no point in getting expensive components shot up when shields inevitably fail. I sent comms ahead to the crews so the modules would be ready. A few minutes later I'm lining up on the pad. I can already make out the empty carriage for taking the fuel scoop to storage. I can't help but feel some anxiety about not having the scoop, especially with such a short range. But there's nothing Angurvadal needs to do right now that isn't within the reach of her fuel tank. As always there's the scrape as the gear makes contact followed by the slow sink as the absorbers take the weight and level out. I powered down the ship and gave the all-clear to the crew.
While I waited for the station engineers to complete the refit and complete the combat readiness checks for the weapons, I took the chance to not be in the pilot's chair. It was going to be a long day. The berth in an FDL is very spartan but serviceable. I peeled off my Remlock and put it in the maintenance unit while I cleaned up and let my skin breathe a little. I nearly forgot to close the cockpit door. Maybe I'm a little too used to being out in the black. For a few moments, I had to push away the thought that the galaxy would be a better place if there were fewer of us humans in it. Images of bullet-hole shredded hulls flashed through my mind. I glanced aft with a fair bit of nervousness where Lewis' bulk slept.
I finished up my personal needs and pulled my refreshed Remlock back on. After taking a selection of ration and beverage packs out of storage, I made my way back to the pilot's chair. I sat down and began to store them within easy reach when comms pinged with the confirmation from the ground crews. I read through comms while sipping a nutrition pack. Looks like my new squadron has an ally and it is that ally that is at war. I was about to frown over the politics when I saw that it was a faction that just couldn't see their way to peacefully leaving the system. I tried to remember some ancient quote about diplomacy and the best I could come up with was "Their swords are short and we shall remind them our pens are sharp." I'm pretty sure that's wrong.
Orders confirmed it was time to let Angurvadal do her job. All systems are powered, check. Activating thrusters. The ship shuddered to life, and the hiss of the drives deepened into a growl as we went through the airlock. I gave into Angurvadal's hunger and we went in search of prey.