Moving up in the world.
12 Mar 2016Desert Fox CXVII
Sometimes, things just fall into place.Sitting across from me is the most clean cut ship salesman I'd ever seen in my life. He's taller than me, with pale skin and flashing grey eyes. His blonde hair is expertly combed and parted in the middle, and his teeth are that shade of white that only holo-stars have. He is dressed resplendently in a tailored black suit, black shirt and purple tie. A button on his lapel flashes between the Zorgon-Peterson and Saud-Kruger logos. On the desk between us is a bottle of Achenar Blue No. 8 and a datapad with my purchase agreement on it.
Ok, you're probably a little confused at this point. Let me give you some background:
I was discharged from the hospital a couple hours ago with nothing but a bottle of anti-biotic painkillers, the user manual for my new arm and the assault pack Reid had given me. To my intense chagrin, one of the nurses escorted me to the doors in a wheelchair, even though I could walk perfectly fine, thank you very much; "hospital policy," she told me with a practiced smile and the demeanor of having dealt with this situation multiple times. Reluctantly, I acquiesced, and allowed her to wheel me out of the building.
I hobbled my way back to the hangar, feeling decidedly naked being unarmed and wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans. Doing my best not to strain my wounds, I hurry on my way, garnering more than a few questioning glances. If they were interested in my attire, my rush, the pure white prosthetic or all three, I didn't know, and to be honest I didn't really care. I just wanted to get back to the safety of Freyja so I could clean myself up and get into some decent clothes.
After what seems like an eternity, I flop down onto Freyja's tiny bunk and sigh, my eyes squeezed shut, dropping the bag to the deck below me.
What a fucking nightmare. How am I ever going to explain this fiasco to the council? Can't tell them the truth; half of it would get me executed. The other half would get me enslaved. At least I got the items back. Silver lining, right?
I lay there for a few minutes, one arm slung over my face, obsessing over the cleanup of this shitshow, when I hear a slow but steady beep coming from the cockpit. Shifting my arm slightly, I peek into the cockpit with one eye; the comms panel is lit up showing two pending notifications. I'm tempted to blow them off and go to sleep, but something compels me to check.
So, with a groan of pain and annoyance, I heave myself to my feet and shuffle over to my chair, slumping down in it with a huff. Lazily, I flick over to the comms panel. The first one is dated 6 days ago. I shrug and open it:
<Incoming transmission>
<Source: Thatch, A.>
<Message is as follows:>
<Congratulations, Commander!
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Augustus Fletcher, and I’m contacting you because your reservation for a brand-new limited edition Zorgon-Peterson/Saud-Kruger Fer-De-Lance has become available. At your request, one has been made available on Shajn Market in Kamadhenu, and is ready for customization your convenience.
Your one million security deposit will be applied to the final cost of your ship. Your window of opportunity to accept this offer is one week after the date of this message. Please understand that if you decline to purchase your vessel, your deposit will be non-refundable.
I look forward to meeting you and finalizing your purchase.
Best regards,
Augustus Thatch, Saud-Kruger>
<End of transmission>
Oh shit. I flip to the next message, my eyes wide.
<Source: Thatch, A.>
<Message is as follows:>
<Commander,
The window of opportunity for your reservation of a limited edition Zorgon-Peterson/Saud-Kruger Fer-DeLance will expire tomorrow. If you are not interested in making a purchase with us, please contact me so that the ship can be made available to another commander.
If you are still interested, please contact me before end of business today so that we can make an appointment.
I look forward to hearing your decision.
Best regards,
Augustus Thatch, Saud-Kruger>
<End of transmission>
I read over the messages again, the information not truly registering. My hands are shaking and sweat begins to bead on my forehead. I'd been blind drunk when I made that reservation, not really believing I'd ever get a response; It had been one of those things where you do it just to see what happens.
I never thought I'd have enough money to even buy one stock, but that had been before I bought Night Witch.
I flick over to my right side panel to check my assets; almost 70 million. Christ, I can actually afford this if I start liquidating things right now.
Completely dumbstruck, I sit in the chair, thoughts racing through my mind a mile a minute. Should I do this? I've got three perfectly good ships in port right now, plus Freyja. I didn't, strictly speaking, need a Fer-De-Lance. But it's a Fer-De-Lance, one of the baddest ships in the air. Not only is it a certifiable flying slaughter house, it's a status symbol. When you're flying one of these, especially the Saud-Kruger edition, people know that you're somebody.
I go over the options for a few minutes, and then make my decision.
My hands still shaking, I send a ping to the harbor master at Marker Depot to start liquidating my assets and shoot a reply to the Kruger rep. I was buying this ship.
-------------
After several hours and more than a few unsafe FSD jumps, I arrived at Shajn Market. On the way, I'd received a reply from the Kruger rep acknowledging my interest and confirmation that my assets had been liquidated. I was now sitting on a sizable pile of credits. More than enough to buy at outfit a Fer-De-Lance.
I still had a little while before my appointment, so I take the time to wash up in Freyja's field sink and put on some decent clothes. I opt for my high necked grey Legionary uniform. No need to beat around the bush about who I am. Luckily, all my medals, ribbons and patches are where they need to be, so I don't need to waste time arranging anything. As a finishing touch, I stuff my pistol into its shoulder holster and grab my peaked cap before heading through the airlock and out of the ship.
The dealership is furnished in standard Imperial fare: smooth lines, soft blue light, glass and brushed steel furnishings, white walls and marble floors. A crystal chandelier hovers at the center of the room, shooting shimmering shards of light dancing over the walls and floor. Holo terminals dot the area showing off the various ships Saud-Kruger produces. In the back are what look like office spaces and off to the right is the showroom, hidden behind huge panels of opaque glass.
I'm greeted immediately after I enter through the large double doors by a smiling woman in a red dress. "Welcome to Saud-Kruger! Are you here to browse, or did you have something particular in mind?" She looks at me expectantly, her smile still in place.
I clear my throat and straighten the front of my uniform, still a little out of sorts. "I have an appointment with an Augustus Thatch. He's holding a ship for me."
Her smile widens. "Oh! You must be Mr. Fox!" She gives me a knowing look and shakes her finger at me. "We were all afraid you'd miss the deadline. Right this way, please." She turns and strides off towards the back of the dealership, her heels clicking against the stone floor. "The Saud-Kruger Fer-De-Lance is a magnificent ship; it has all the firepower and protection of the original Zorgon-Peterson model, but with an upgraded reactor bay and drive core. You've made an excellent choice, Mr. Fox. Here we are." She indicates a group of white leather armchairs arranged around a low glass table covered in ship magazines. "If you'll just wait here, Mr. Thatch will be with you in just a moment." She flashes me one last dazzling smile and walks back to the entrance without another word.
I stand there, slightly nonplussed at the encounter; either they pride themselves at efficiency here, or they really want to get rid of this ship. Can't really blame them for it though; that's a lot of money just sitting around burning a hole in the bulkhead. So I just shrug and sit down, setting my cap in my lap.
I'm not waiting for very long before one of the doors springs open and two men step out.
"I'll have the order filed by the end of the day. You won't be disappointed, I assure you." The man, who I assume to be Augustus Thatch, claps the other on the back and shakes his hand vigorously.
I stand, tucking my cap under my arm, and step forward. "Big sale?"
"Hm? Oh yes, very big contract." Thatch turns to me and gives me the once over before fixing that wide dealership smile onto his face and extending his arm. "You must be Mr. Fox, here about the Fer-De-Lance. We were concerned you wouldn't show."
Meeting his gaze, I clasp his hand in my prosthetic one and give it a single shake. I don't however, reciprocate his smile, opting for a blank and business-like demeanor instead. "I apologize; I was in the hospital."
He nods and glances down at my white composite fingers, the smile sliding off of his face. "Nothing serious, I hope?"
Keeping my expression blank, I release my grip. "Deadly."
Understanding crosses his face, and for a moment it looks as if his carefully crafted appearance was going to slip, but he catches himself. Gesturing to the door, he shoots me another smile. "Shall we?"
I nod and move to follow him, but he stops me before I cross the threshold. "One question before we start; hardwood or marble?"
-------
"Thing of beauty, isn't she?" Thatch stands next to me, a loving expression on his face as he observes the ship before us.
I pause for a moment, eyes sliding up and down her hull, before responding. "She's alright."
Which is a bold faced lie; she is magnificent; 74 meters long, 18 meters tall, with two enormous fusion engines and enough weapons to hold up Hudson's trousers. She's all sleek lines and rounded edges, painted in a rather fetching red and black scheme. Whatever trepidation I had about buying this ship evaporated the moment I layed eyes on her. I could already see myself at the helm blasting pirates into slag and laughing my ass off the entire time.
As much as I want to jump up and down, squealing like a small child at the sight of her, I need to maintain a demeanor of professionalism and disinterest. If I come off as too enthusiastic, he'll try to price gouge me and I'd walk out of here poorer than I need to.
That being said, my composure and self restrain starts to slip the moment I step inside; the interior is swankier than the Inquisition's HQ in Kamadhenu; heated marble floors, fully equipped galley, a head that actually flushed, one of those showers where the whole ceiling is a spout. Don't even get me started on the captain's quarters; huge king sized bed, full minibar and a wall to wall vidscreen tuned for every major channel in the galaxy and then some. Even had a state of the art AI quantum computer below decks ready to accept any major personality core on the market. It's all I can do not to throw credit chips at Thatch and demand he take my money.
But I compose myself, making the odd snide remark about shoddy wiring or low quality plumbing. Somehow it was working; Thatch was looking more and more dejected with every word I speak and every room we toured. He was hiding it well, don't get me wrong, maintaining his wide smile and pointing out an improvement or new feature for every negative comment I made, but I could tell he didn't think he'd make the sale today. Good. Let him be on the backfoot. If I can keep this up, I'll walk out of here with the keys to one of the finest ships in the galaxy, at a bargain to boot.
It becomes exponentially more difficult to keep my composure once we step into the bridge. It was huge and spacious, with seating for a pilot, co-pilot and an engineer, black leather chairs, soft blue lighting and big easy to read displays. The large canopy was made of thick impact resistant glass and re-enforced thick steel struts.
I can't take it; contrary to my better judgement, a giddy smile begins to inch its way onto my lips as I take it all in. This was possibly the nicest bridge, nay, ship, I'd ever set foot on, barring an Orca or a Clipper. Pythons and 'Condas are nice; got plenty of room and are deadly as all hell, but they're a bit too utilitarian for my tastes. Orcas are gorgeous ships and swanky as all hell, but they're just not my cup of tea; I mean, to be fair, they're passenger liners, not cruisers.
The clipper was a nice middle ground between the two extremes; fast, decently agile and can bear its teeth when it needs to, but it also elegant, comfortable and high class.
This ship, on the other hand, is a completely different animal; fast, agile, with monstrous weapons and defenses and on top of everything, goddamned high class.
Still smiling, I sink into the commander's chair and wrap my hands around the throttle and stick. The leather is soft and stuffed with some sort of foam or gel that adjusts itself to the contours of my body, resulting in the most comfortable chair I'd ever had the pleasure of sitting in. The stick and throttle feel heavy and reliable and are made of polished wood and blued steel. The buttons are metal set in rubber cushions so that they don't rattle. All the controls are holo-labeled, indicating they can be adjusted and customized to the commander's preference.
As I'm fiddling with the console and flipping through the various menus and radio stations in the side panels, Thatch approaches me and stands off to one side.
"So, what's the verdict, commander Fox?" Even though I'm not looking at him, I can tell he's smiling. I'm buying this ship, and he knows it.
I stop what I'm doing for a moment and briefly glance over the controls one last time before turning towards him. "I only have one question; Does it come in white?"