The Lives We Left Behind - The Convoys of LFT 625
31 Oct 2020Lakshmi Bai
Her eyes snapped awake, and she was not where she remembered she was. On a hospital bed with sterile, white sheets, silence all around.
Not the cacophony of activity in augmented reality that was the bridge of FSS Durgawati on her final approach to Fox Enterprise, the tenth in the same working "day".
Under Federal law, Pilots are required to obey particular health and safety regulations, restricted flight hours when operating in Commercial aerospace zones. Undoubtedly with the current humanitarian crisis at LFT 625, and the international fleet racing to complete its final deliveries to the Federal Navy under the auspices of Safeguard Interstellar's relief mission, such regulations were easily forgotten.
There was an unofficial race to deliver the largest amount of cargo for each ship class, Fox Enterprise maintaining a so-called leaderboard of top Commanders who visited the station's bustling loading docks to offload food, medical and survival equipment which was then processed with breakneck speed before packaging for further transport to crisis zones aboard the great Federal Spacelift vessels.
At last glance, Lakshmi's motely fleet of a Diamondback Explorer, Keelback armed transport and a newly acquired Federal Dropship had just amassed 1,840 tons, a far cry from the records set by heavy transporters and even privateer clippers that moved up to seven hundred tons per load. Yet she was not here to fly Large Slow Targets, having refused the lease of a Type-7 for her Midshipman's assignment and instead chose a ship every other Commander seemed to dislike.
It was perfect for her purposes though. The Dropship was a hulking, angular vessel seemingly designed by trying to cram as much armour, weapons and cargo space in a 50 meter long rectangle as possible. Like all military vessels, Durgawati was bloated to the gills with an arsenal of multi-role configurations, but if you lightened the ship for point to point transport it was both cheap to operate and bulletproof reliable, whist easily outflying most other privateer freighters in the 120 ton cargo capacity range. It was designed for heavy duty Fleet operations, which meant it had to be easily operated by enlisted Navy Pilots and experienced Commanders alike.
For the past week Lakshmi's flotilla had not only performed shuttle runs in support of the International Fleet, now seven thousand strong, but provided courier and security missions for the local Federal Customs Authority - following a mini coup in the system that led to the local Federal faction receiving massive credit "investments" and replacing the former system authority. With heavily armed patrol vessels stationed at jump points and expert boarding teams inspecting suspect arrivals, piracy and commerce raider incidents decreased dramatically but the spacelift effort was still a lucrative target.
Fighters and Couriers, often piloted by fresh Commanders often followed Lakshmi around, using her as an expert navigator as she plotted high velocity FSD routes following the solar wind currents far from the normal orbital planes, and as such were immune to interdiction and gravitational anomalies alike, significantly faster under manual piloting as a result. These novice pilots no longer had to contend with the frequent scare of so-called "Gankers" that lurked the common point to point shipping lanes.
Demands for medical services were high with the frequent skirmishing and in-port incidents that occured when seven thousand freighters all unloaded at the same harbour, and Lakshmi was not in medical long enough to appreciate the facility; she was given just enough time to recuperate from fatigue, given a pack of concentrated nutrients and mild mood enhancers, not that she needed much of either, and cleared to leave under the condition she would not fly for the upcoming weekend. The port was a scene of barely controlled chaos and many ships not actively flying were rotated below-decks so as not to obstruct traffic. It would take some time to retrieve her ships and yet more time for the hundreds of thousands of tons brought in by the International Fleet to be fully processed.
An insistent finger poked her in the left hand repeatedly, and under it appeared a soft pile of clothing, some of which quite elaborately embroidered as she felt hard fabric and metallic foil grate against her skin. Lakshmi tried to get out of the hospital bed but instantly regretted the 90 degree rotation, and her right hip reminded her of a particular crash landing not too long ago. She winced, but deft fingers kneaded her shoulders and down across her clavicles to distract her from the discomfort, somehow the light pressure made her gasp a little and snap instantly awake.
Rekha the Handmaiden withdrew her hands, and stood at her full height with hands modestly clasped before her.
Ah, the hired companion. Wondering why the system authority of Ay Indi would send one to accompany her, Lakshmi blinked at her, gazed upon her elaborately dressed (for the time) form, red saree tied over skin-tight survival suit and topped with a red and gold embroidered headscarf that draped down her back to the waist.
"If you're done admiring the view... you may wish to get dressed so we can leave this place," said Rekha's slightly robotic voice, as she spoke from behind the survival mask which digitally amplified it.
Lakshmi looked down at the small pile of fabric in her hands, and squeezed it gently, looking back up at Rekha. She raised a questioning brow; It was the same colour the Handmaiden wore, except it was a long, antique Punjabi dress, tight around the middle and slitted high up to her thighs and thankfully much easier to put on.
"Refugees are aboard the station. It's easier to fit in this way," Rekha explained, not too convincingly. Unless they were about to appear in an ancient Indian wedding, red and gold saree and dupatta was not going to make them fit in. Perhaps a particular occasion she'd planned for them, then?
Lakshmi had no grounds to fight and so complied, a little amused by the attention she'd always received from Rekha. She was certainly very skilled at being an assistant but declined to answer any queries as to her trade... and way of life. Lakshmi had always assumed, from her Federal social studies that she was some kind of liberated ex-Imperial person, but that did not explain even a bit of why the people of Ay Indi would seem to cling on to such traditions with pride, and for that matter, upon why Rekha would serve her every whim without question, without payment like it was a voluntary contribution to her well-being and convenience.
"I will always be your friend," Rekha said to her one intimate night, when Lakshmi was questioning herself, just why did she give herself willingly to this cause, flying herself into exhaustion without much as a shred of recognition, "You can tell me anything."
Thus upon that friendship Lakshmi's reputation as a Commander grew. Shepherding novice courier pilots around the system, teaching them where to fetch cargo and register the runs with Federal Port Authority for the promise of a future reward. They were in small ships, Cobras and Vipers, they didn't have the tonnage required to really compete with the heavy freighters, but it was effort, and yes, the friendships that count.
The nurse stood at attention as she signed the discharge papers, her augmented reality eyepiece automatically scanning a copy and repeating the data on its miniature screen. The treatment and the hospital bed didn't cost her anything; she was after all, regarded as an active serving Midshipwoman of the Federal Navy's foreign service branch.
Albeit a very elaborately dressed one that made waves of people give way to them both, leaving questions as to their rank and social status.
Rekha said nothing as she led Lakshmi through various forms of public transportation within the Fox Enterprise station, from wheeled vehicles that ran on a circular highway ringing the port facilities at the station's hollow core, and following that, transportation tubes and a maze of crowded passageways that eventually led to one of the station's observation decks near the port's entrance.
It was a long walk, and they had to take a fair number of breaks, and each time they stopped Rekha would regale curious commoners and Federal personnel alike with a story that didn't fail to make them smile and nod approvingly. They asked questions of their oddly garish fashion, of course, but when they looked at her, even through quarantine-mandated face shields and protective masks, it was always with a particular recognition that she was someone who did something very important.
What was so important about her?
She just flew cargo from place to place, pointed multi-cannons and pulse lasers alike at potential foes. Not even anywhere near the performance rating of an average starship Commander of the time. She flew a 'trash hauler', nowhere near the sleek, powerful Corvettes nor the lightning-quick fighters that ruled the stars.
Then she realized it, standing on the observation deck, hands planted on the railing as she gazed out into interplanetary space. Lines of ships arriving and departing in orderly fashion and the Federal Navy ships that watched over them.
The deck rumbled as a Heavy Transporter passed through the gateway forcefields that separated the port atmosphere from the vacuum of space, a cheer erupted as the Type 9's main engines erupted in plumes of fusion fire sending the ship arcing off into the distance where several similar ships awaited. These were not privateers but having Federal official markings, they were the ships that took the International Fleet's contributions the final mile to the crisis zones.
A pair of Federal Corvettes in battleship gray floated serenely past, like swords of the stars their angular hulls glinted in the light of the distant star. Then another one, a Privateer in elaborate gold damascene whose nameplate read Interesting Times took the lead at the head of the convoy. Someone showed her how to activate the observation deck's AR projection and listen in on the STC frequency.
Convoys were forming up headed for Charunder and Ennead today, and each ship flew with the callsign of a particular Commander who contributed to the spacelift effort. She started looking for her friends' names, and spotted them one by one as they winked off into deep space like shooting stars as they made the jump to lightspeed.
Then she saw it. A massive Type-10 Defender flanked by two heavy fighters rotating into jump position at the edge of Fox Enterprise station's gravitational sphere of influence. Massive drive arrays charged and glowing as she waited patiently for the FSD wake to dissipate.
"Interesting Times to Convoy PQ-36, jump to Charunder on my mark"
"PQ-36 Jett Reno, ready."
"... Remiel Pollard, ready."
"... Steve the Red, ready.:
"... Girl Scout 88, ready."
"... Rodent of Usual Size, ready."
A chorus of laughter echoed across the observation deck as the roll call continued. Until it was the moment Lakshmi's tears flowed.
"... Lakshmi, ready."
"Three... Two... One... MARK."
As the starships of convoy PQ-36 folded space and time in unison to reach speeds that previous generations of human beings could only dream of in fantasy, and as entire star-nations mobilized in readiness of a coming storm, so did Lakshmi know her purpose amongst the stars.
It was not about the ships, nor the credits that came with each successful mission, it was not about the ebb and flow of corporate, or political power that came and went. Like the names on the ships we fly, they were of people and their glorious deeds that we remember today.
"It is for our friends we fly," she turned and addressed the growing crowd behind her, "Each waking day, braving the horrors of the Void and enduring separation from those we love. The past lives we left behind, for the future we together will make."
"Our wealth we share, to the people who tame the uncharted waters. And our lives, for their safety."
"Each name you've heard before... We are Commanders of the stars. Remember us."