Adventures in Doing it Wrong: "Debtors' Prison Dilemma" (Prelude)
18 Sep 2020August Davenport
The low whir of engaged rollers following predetermined paths rumbles through the landing legs and into the hull of the Imperial Cutter Artemis' Bow as I watch the Orbis' starport's inner surface disappear above from my commander's chair. Well, it isn't going to be mine much longer. With labored, sore steps, I move from the bridge to the airlock, waiting for the ship to rest in the shipyard, its future home for the near future. From the outside Ohm Dock didn't seem like the sort of place the Imperial Navy would call its practical home. It looked like a industrial refinery more than a dedicated shipyard"Miss Davenport," calls a woman as a walk out of the umbilical with half-drunk steps of exhaustion. Her hair is pulled into a tight bun, her bandage skirt is almost as tight, Her loose blouse fitting well to show her curves. She wears those fancy heeled magboots and carries a tablet in both hands, holding it close to her chest. Clearly, then, an aristocrat or a technocrat. Behind her some ways is Duke Welf, talking with someone else, an Admiral, I think. Welf von Olmec's older than I imagined from our brief conversations over coms. He has a weathered face, severe jaw, and hairline so recessed he only had a few wires left on the top of his hair. Eyes the color of blue ice undulled by the age of the body they resided in.
I up nod to the woman as I walk toward her a bit. "That's me. Just Davenport though. Not Miss," I reply, my own Creole accent contrasting her posh Imperial.
"M- Davenport, Duke Welf requests to speak with you. If you'd please, follow me." She turns on her heels and leads me to him. With a non-verbal signal, we stop outside of 'polite conversation' range. I roll my shoulders and wait a few moments in silence. Eventually, he approaches.
"Miss Davenport," he offers as he approaches.
"Just Davenport, my Lord," the woman corrects.
A curious brow lifts on the Duke's face. "I see. I'll never understand why Miss is insufficient, you are a woman, after all. No matter." He gestures to the window. "I see you've managed to bring the ship here."
I nod, struggling for something to say.
"Five days flying without rest. Over two thousand souls saved because of your efforts alone. You put in more flying hours than some Imperial pilots. That almost saves you from the damage you caused."
"I caused?! The pylon came down from out of no where."
"Still, it happened whilst you were in command of the vessel."
I groan.
"While you were there, did you notice anything unusual about the station?"
"Aside from the burning bits, the missing bits, and the general disarray?" I snap back.
"Yes," his tone flattens, "aside from those things."
I pause, "No, not really. I spent most of my time worrying about keeping the ship together and on-mission."
"My Lord," pipes in the woman.
"Mi'lord," I append.
"Interesting," he pauses. "Well, no matter. Better this way, I suppose. I have another task for you, Miss Davenport."
"Another unpaid job," I clarify.
"You pledged to Princess Aisling Duval under no duress. You should have known what you signed up for. As it happens, we're lacking some expertise at the moment. We need you to track down a man, one Professor Palin. He's an expert in the studies of Thargoid technology, if you can call it that."
"Never heard of him," I reply.
"No matter. You job is to enlist his help for the Empire on a task involving Thargoid technology. We've taken the initiative to bring your personal ship to this station, it awaits you in Docking Bay Twelve. This matter is vital to the Empire."
"If there's nothing else, I'd like to begin to get underway, then."
"No, Miss Davenport. Good day."
I head off in the direction of the main star port, determined to take a shower and eat a proper meal before I pass out on my ship. As I pull away, I heard a faint echo.
"My lord, the Artemis' Bow was already schedule for overhaul."
"Yes, but she did not know that."
Fracker.