Disconnected
04 Apr 2023GoblinCoffeeShop
April 4th, 3309Chang-Diaz Station - HR 1403
Relinquished Homestead floated to rest on a patchwork landing pad. As the clamps engaged, Goblin scanned the docking bay looming overhead. Quiet. After the missions he just ran, he welcomed the peace.
Nothing was routine out here.
He leaned forward in his seat and punched into the remote contact system to, hopefully, cash in his contract. The abandoned settlement he was supposed to restore was actually online when he arrived, despite the pirates scouring the place. He figured being the groundskeeper would maintain his end of the bargain. Sure enough, the mission provider's smiling mugshot was there to deliver Goblin's reward. Bullets well spent. Who the fuck would take advantage of peple trying to recover from the Thargoids? Not the handful of pirates lying cold as the moon, not anymore.
He would have had two contracts if he hadn't lost contact with his wingman shortly after touching down. They'd been having trouble with the comms all night. Somewhere around the time Goblin was clambering into the DBX's tiny SRV bay, they disconnected. No luck hailing him since then. Goblin eased back into the seat and sighed. He trusted his man, though. Surely he'd return to the station before long, and Goblin would be waiting.
He breathed in the silence. The crews must have been working hard to get the station in this good of shape. Images of burning wreckage and alien clouds cast a haze over his mind. It was only a few months ago that he and Mouse ran evac for a station just like this while flames poured within and battle raged without. So many wounded, so many fearful.
So many saved.
And now it was rebuilt. Quiet. Quiet like a lunar gravesite. Structures poked up into the dim orange light like headstones over empty soil. How many lost their lives here, just in this one station? How many died fighting to take down one last interceptor, or suffocating in the confines of the stations depths? How many of those wounded started new lives at Tarach Tor, or died shortly after arrival? How many would never return to this shell of a beautiful home?
Just the sound of his breathing inside the idle cockpit. Nothing from his wingman. Nothing from Mouse, either. He wanted to reach out and see if she was alright, just to make sure she was okay. He could just imagine what she might say if they could speak. "Dinnae fash yerself, lad. Save what lives ye can today, dinnae chase mine where ye ken ye'll nae find it." But he knew she wouldn't say anything. It had been three weeks now, and her trail was far behind. There was no reaching her now.
Quiet. Goblin squeezed his stinging eyes shut and pressed them into the inside of his elbow, leaving a few splotches in the dust that coated his suit. He let out a deep, shaky breath and blinked away the tears. He would stay in the ship tonight–certainly not the first time he slept in the DBX–and when he woke, his partner should be back, and Mouse… Well, maybe they'd have some better news at TCON. Until then…
"I trust you, Sam," he whispered to the empty cockpit, "but I fucking hate this."
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