Meaner than a Junkyard Dog
12 Aug 2016Kyndi the Badass Space Chick
Think of the money, Kyndi Jane. Just think of the money.Even after I gently move the Krait fighter into a better-lit section of the hollowed-out frigate, performing zero-g repairs while wearing thick gloves is no easy task. Inserting a fuse is easy. Accessing the master capacitor bank is not. I've been at it for nearly an hour, fumbling and swearing at a job that would have taken fifteen minutes with bare hands and gravity.
Every safety on the old reactor is tripped. There's no telling what'll happen when I get to the capacitor assembly and swap out the fuse. Maybe it'll thrum to life. Maybe it'll wait for a regular activation sequence. Maybe the jackass who tried to gun it last time blew more than just the fuse. Maybe all I'll have for Big Jim is a helpless shrug.
There. Finally. The main capacitor access. Or maybe everything will work out fine and I'm in for a payday.
Carefully flipping a pair of clips that haven't been touched in over a century, I open the door. It's totally silent in space, but I can almost hear the rusty old creaking noise that they would make if the ship was in atmo. Inside is a row of the large, metallic tube-like capacitors. At the bottom is another, smaller access with stenciled lettering on the cover.
"Master fuse". Guess that's it, huh?
With the same caution as before, I unclip the cover from the fuse box and pull on the exposed end of the buried fuse. It comes out easily enough, and it doesn't feel like there are any loose parts stuck inside the slot. Holding it up into the light, I frown.
Look at that thing. A special silver and painite alloy, scorched to a blackened crisp.
I tuck the burned-out fuse into the empty utility pocket in my spacewalking suit's leg, and carefully unzip the one in my other leg, gently pulling it out. It's a large, clunky, u-shaped part almost entirely encased in non-conductive clear silicone- but if it gets the ship running, so be it.
The fuse slides into the slot and secures with a satisfying click. I look up, non quite knowing what to expect.
Nothing.
Well, okay. I guess some button-pushing is in order.
I re-secure both access panels and take the time to leave everything as I had found it. The Krait has an entry code, but Big Jim included it in the data file. Engaging my mag-boots and walking to the hatch, I do my best to punch the control bad buttons with my stubby, gloved fingertips. The controls are an old-fashioned ten-key array, not the self-appearing holo array that most newer ships come with.
The ship doesn't appear to have power, but as I float in place next to the hatch, the backlighting of the keypad lights up.
After all this time, the mechanical controls still work. Nice.
I key in the simple four-digit code, and the numbers flash green. A second later, the door slides open, releasing a gust of atmo.
Well, it had life support not too long ago. So there's that.
The inside of the Krait is as dark and cramped as I'd feared. The ship is clearly a military one, with exposed piping and modules crowding the narrow accessway. A few emergency lights are on and blinking- but as before, I have to rely on my suit's floodlights, bathing everything in a sickly green glow.
I'd studied the layout of a Krait interior on the way over, but there wasn't much to memorize. The interior of the old ship was spartan even by the standard of a new jack's first Sidewinder. It didn't even have a cot that folded down from the wall, and only featured a tiny storage locker. And I didn't even want to think about using the century-old personal waste tube that connected to the seat...
Well, it's not like you're moving in, right? Just get it running and back to Jim.
I open a metal box on the bulkhead wall with the universal "power" symbol on it. Inside is a large, heavy lever set to the "standby" position. With both hands, I'm able to push it up to the "activate" position.
For a second, nothing happens. Then, banks of interior lights turn on, along with a familiar thrum of a ship's reactor firing up. I find myself holding my breath, despite knowing that I was likely perfectly safe. I flip off my searchlights and float towards the cockpit. The commander's chair is considerably less accommodating than the one in my Cobra, made all the more so by my bulky spacewalking suit.
The controls in the cockpit light up, a mainly green-lit array of manual buttons, switches, and dedicated readouts illuminating the space around me.
Awesome. A ship made before the universal interface was rolled out.
I frown and pull out my holo-tablet and study the file on the Krait's controls. After some intense reading, I feel confident enough to hit the main activator key.
The main screen in front of my face lights up in a boot sequence. It takes a few minutes, but eventually halts at a peculiar screen:
<irregular activation detected. Run diagnostics? Y/N>
This is what fucked that last guy up.
Hitting <Y>, I settle in and watch as numerous system checks rapidly scroll before me. The ship has power, but you don't rush a job like this- no matter the amount of cash waiting for you on the other end. A full systems check for a vessel that hasn't been activated in over a century takes time.
And luck.
I exhale nervously, momentarily fogging the front of my helmet's glass. Normally, I would take a few soothing tugs from an o-head joint, but I don't smoke on the job unless I'm really comfortable with my surroundings. And the middle of Tionisla Graveyard is, well-
The exact opposite of comfortable. C'mon, you old bucket of bolts. Boot up so that momma can get paid.
Thank God. That was taking forever.
In a moment that makes me wonder if there is a God after all, the ship activates without a hitch. Virtually everything is in the green, except for a few non-essential systems which are in the yellow. An error message for the frameshift drive flashed, as the Krait's original firmware didn't know that the hell one was. To compensate, there was an auxiliary panel bolted to the side that integrated it into the power grid so that I could use to plot a course back to Fuelem. It looks a little out of place- an orange holo-panel amid a cockpit full of green switches and buttons.
The maneuvering jets are a little touchy- the slightest pressure on the pedals jerks the ship to one side or another, almost sending me crashing into the frigate's hull a few times. Eventually, I'm able to line the Krait up with the frigate's hull gash. All I need to do is park it next to my Cobra, float inside to get my things, and-
Oh, shit.
What am I doing here? I could ask the same of you. Guess we're all just chickens in the coop, huh? I can see that you've already shown yourselves inside my ship. Nice job on breaking through the security. Sorry there's not much in there. I wasn't really expecting guests.
Oh: a comment about my booty in place of the booty. Yes. Clever. You're just a paragon of wit. Tell you what: you're welcome to my ship. Seriously. I wasn't coming back for it. Now, if you and your junkyard dogs will excuse me-
Calm down, sweetheart. It was just a joke. Yes, I'm sure you've got quite a bite, but I'm not normally into that.
Excuse me?
No, I'm not powering down. Not after working so hard to get this thing running. And no, I'm not coming with you.
Damnit, Kyndi. This isn't how you wanted to get familiar with how the Krait handles. He's blocking your escape from in here, anyway. Just keep it on the level.
Yeah, my Cobra is pretty fast. I saw to that. But do you and your little pups really think you can catch the Krait flown by Commander Jack Vance himself?
Whoever the hell that was.
Yeah. As a matter of fact, I do have something to say in my last moments of freedom:
In a way, I'm almost glad that you and your junkyard dogs slipped your chains and started barking. You see, I'm a little new at the whole "making off with a century-year-old ship I've never flown before" thing. I admit it. You got me.
But dealing with overgrown boys who think that they get a few inches thicker by talking down to a purple-haired smuggler chick? Only about every day since I was seventeen. So thank you. Thank you for putting me back in my comfort zone.
Oh. What's this? A detailed description of all the things you're going to do to me once I'm locked in your quarters? Yawn.
Heard it.
Heard it.
Heard it.
Heard that one, too. A lot. You know, I'm beginning to think the only danger I'm in is from being bored to death.
Are you finished?
Yes?
Well. Allow me to retort.
One of the best parts of being me is that none of those silly laws about firmware tampering really apply. So if I wanted to, say, access the source code that allows a commander to remotely control their ship from their SRV and re-write it to include a bunch of new commands, then I could do that. From right here, a girl like me could use her holo-tablet to turn the searchlight on and off. Or deploy the landing gear.
Or engage the self-destruct.
Yeah. You heard me. And I've got my tablet right here. I'll even hold it up nice and high for you.
No, I'm not bluffing. Look how I just retracted your hardpoints. And there goes your cargo hatch. I wonder what this button marked "lockdown" does?
Oh look: your controls don't work anymore.
Now, now- don't be like that. Look at me. Focus. Deep breaths, boys. We're almost done, and you'll want to pay attention to this last bit: I'm setting a five-minute self-destruct timer. That's enough time for you to hop back into that shitty little Hauler you flew up in, right? Let's hope so.
Here's the thing: my ass is leaving Tionisla in this rusty old ship, and there's nothing you can do about it. You can either move my Cobra aside and get the hell out of my way, or wait for it to detonate- in which case I'll just plough through the blackened bits of debris and you-gibs. The choice is yours.
You're letting me through after all? Oh, how courteous! And they say chivalry is dead. Here, let me restore directional control. And- done. Free.
Now, let's see what this antique can do.
Wow! A girl could have some fun in this old jalopy!
Oh, and boys?
Don't try to follow me. Just stick to what you're good at: chewing on old bones in the junkyard and snarling at each other to determine the Alpha Male. But remember the most important lesson from today when you go back to your little dog-eat-dog world:
Even the Alpha tucks tail and pisses if he messes with the wrong bitch.
