Scotch and part of a soul [The Planetskipper Chronicles]
01 Jun 2016Planetskipper
(Previous episode) - (Next episode)Titus sat contemplating his career so far. Exploration, a little trade, more exploration and then his first real profession, fighter pilot.
The sun was setting behind Founder's World and it began to throw its shadow on the station.
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The Formidine Rift proved its fame and soon Titus was forced back after a jump dropped him in the corona of a star that severely damaged his ship - his lack of heat sinks proved to be his reason to return. He swore off exploration until he had enough for a ship with top-of-the-line heat sinks and power plant so it was back to hauling space cargo.
That lasted two weeks until the call for help from back home.
His senator, Denton Patreus requested the service of able bodied pilots to stabilize Quivira, right next to his home in Siddha. He took up arms in a new Viper "Space Jack" and headed to the thick of it unafraid.
In combat he found his place and after the conflict ended, he took the mantle of mercenary and bounty hunter for Imperial factions while as he ascended the ranks. It was a job that had demanded a price from him, but after telling himself it was good, honest money he stuck with it. Eventually he upgraded the "Space Jack" to his Vulture "Boom Wagon" and things became a little easier.
After months clocking in as a fighter pilot and a particularly grueling conflict zone encounter near 78 Ursae Majoris the Comm chirped with news that he was Elite, the True Elite - battle tested and a survivor. He walked the burning line and was declared a victor.
He requested a leave of his contracts for a week and headed to the original Scotland on Earth, landed in Islay and bought his first bottle of true earthling scotch - he wanted the real thing now, not the synthohol he usually drunk.
The next day he spent throwing up in hotel's bathroom, the day after that he had a long sleep before finally waking up with a headache, thirsty and hungry. He tried "traditional scotish food" and promptly threw up again when he found how it was made - it was made worse by what the locals called hair-of-the-dog for his hang over that, to him, tasted just like whisky.
Recomposed he headed back to 78 Ursae Majoris to finish his contracts.
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Titus shuddered at those days - he wasn't the best, perhaps he wasn't even "good", but he was efficient - his tumbler empty as the sun's last warm rays scurried across the room.
"I never shot an innocent man" was what he repeated to himself.
Sometimes, after a dram or two, he even almost believed it.
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Writer's note: I love haggis.