Cool as a Cucumber
16 Aug 2016Kyndi the Badass Space Chick
Cold and hot. Ice and fire. The frozen blackness of space. My adrenaline-fueled body heat.
This is it. The moment of truth.
I've done everything I could to prepare my ship. Made my rounds to a few underground contacts to make her as invisible as possible. Rigged her thrusters to run clean as a whistle. Muffled her reactor sig. Installed a kill switch that deactivates everything except what I need to land.
Now it's just a question of if I'm ready.
In my old Cobra, I had the option of running away if scanned. Not so in the Diamondback Ex. Like anything else in life, it's a tradeoff.
Old ship: more likely to be scanned, easier to escape.
New ship: less likely to be scanned, harder to escape.
I've decelerated from supercruise, the station zooming to prominence in my canopy. This is it. They know you're here. Decision time: complete the merchandise drop and risk everything- or jettison the cargo, turn around, and try to get back into a Cobra.
My face twists into a look of determination. Fuck it. Let's get paid.
I request docking permission with as few words possible, and barely listen as the bored tower operator confirms my landing pad. I angle the Diamondback towards the mailslot, leveling out and maxxing the throttle. Just another smuggle job, Kyndi. You've pulled this off a hundred times.
Yeah, and failed a handful of others.
I'm getting closer. Soon, I'll be in scanning distance. Then, the real fun begins.
Not yet...
I peer as much as I can around the mail slot. Still a good distance away, not a lot of other traffic, and I've got plenty of time.
Not yet...
Two of them. Authority ships in Eagles, coming around the port side of the station. They aren't breaking to head my way, but we're about to cross paths...
Now.
I hit the kill switch to overide my ship's controls. Everything that isn't needed to breathe or fly gets '86ed, along with the heat they emit. My thermal vents close, sealing the reactor heat inside the ship's hull.
I put power to engines and hit the boost to help close the distance, the mailslot growig steadily larger in front of me. I'm committed. If I abort now, my sig will spike all over the pigs' scanners- and even the greenest cop in the 'verse knows that a speeding Diamondback trying to mask its sig is up to no good.
Under my clothes, my sweat and body heat mirror the steadily ticking temperature readout on my controls. The heat level is climbing, but-
I grin. But not nearly as fast as the old Cobra's used to.
The twin Eagles of the system's Authority fly above my head without as much as a half-scan. I exhale as the cool blue light illuminates the cockpit.
I'm in.
I wait until I'm well within the cavernous docking bay to restore the ship to normal running. For a moment, my ship emits a burst of sig- but this deep inside the station, it just blends in with everything else.
The giant hologram of my ship's docking bay number guides me to the right pad. I set down the Diamondback in a slow, graceful touchdown- and immediately hit the controls to descend into the hangar.
Well, so much for this ships's smuggling virginity.
It's an apt metaphor. Like most cases of sexual debut, the first smuggling run in a new ship involves second-guessing, nerves, and plenty of sticky skin.
I smile. And one way or another, it's over before you know it.
Unbuckling and rising from the pilot's seat, I give the Diamondback an affectionate pat on the bulkhead wall. And we both stayed pretty cool under pressure, didn't we?.
The thought sticks with me, and my grin grows a little wider. Cool Under Pressure. I like that. Looks like I'm about to make an exception to my "no ship names" rule...
Another job, another payday.
I'm reclining in the bunk of my ship, drifting in uninhabited space, eyes closed and letting the onionhead carry me away before going to sleep. I pull out my holo-tablet, lazily checking on my updated credit balance.
Soon, I think. Soon you'll have enough saved up to get started on that secret project you've been kicking around in your head. Just need a couple really good scores is all.
Closing my eyes, I run the figures and the quotes through my head again. Yeah. Two mil ought to do it. After that it's just a matter of sifting through the data. And then, if I stumble across what I'm looking for...
Exhaling the grey-blue smoke above my head, I kill the tablet and toss it aside. Today was a good day, and there's no need to ruin it by thinking about that.
One thing at a time, Kyndi Jane. Stay smart. Stay mobile. Stay employed.
I roll over to one side and curl up, the cold metal bulkhead wall pressing against the small of my back. My vision becomes a blur, memories of the past flashing in my head like a disjointed picture show. Joy, pain, terror, peace- the memories aren't recalled so much as felt. Faces that I'll never see again mix with faces that I hope to never see again...
Gulping down breaths of fresh air, I toss away the joint and sit up. The visions melt away into the background as I stare down at my naked thighs, fingers running through my hair and creating a purple curtain that frames everything I see. I look up from being hunched over. My parents' faces are the last things to fade from the onionhead-inspired journey inward.
And never, ever forget who you are.
