Broken
23 Sep 2019Flikre
So last week I found a purpose, a goal in life.A few days ago I had that purpose taken away from me.
Considering the size of the galaxy and the amount of populated systems, this was a strangely short journey. I guess the cosmos isn't done screwing with me.
I was bouncing around the bubble, focusing on reports of Viper MkIV's in combat. Specifically when the ship should have been destroyed but miraculously survived. Most were crap, bragging on the part of commanders either for fame and fortune, or just to pull (seriously, I've been hit-on so many times this week it's unbelievable).
A few caught my eye though.
The first I checked out was near my old stomping ground of Kurughnaye, where I lost my license and had to go back through training again. It felt very odd setting foot back in McArthur City, especially after everything that has happened. After catching up with a few aquaintances, sorting out a couple of debts that were owed and drinking my weight in alcohol, I investigated the reason why I was there.
The pilot of the Viper had survived an encounter with two Anacondas and several Eagles, something that Ellie could certainly do, especially when she was fitted with HRPs. The pilot was arrested and is currently serving time, but the guys I knew swore blind that he wasn't flying my MkIV. They might not be that most reliable of people, especially considering what we did to earn money, but I believe them.
They'd use Ellie to extort money out of me if they did, they know what that ship meant to me, and they're not nice people.
First bust.
The next few followed the same kind of format, asking around at bars finding out anything I could about the stories I had heard, talk to the pilot if I could or take a look at their ship (Ellie had a slightly asymmetrical hull due to the multiple repairs on the very skeleton that held her together. Nothing serious but it meant that some of the hull plates needed to be custom made or they wouldn't fit properly).
It was the sixth, seventh? Lead, that it all fell apart.
Some commander had taken their Viper to Sag-A*, got attacked on their way back and crashed into a planet. The reason this one got my notice was the fact that the ship had been bought second-hand at auction.
I had to pay a lot of people a lot of money to get this information in a hurry.
Anyway, I got the coordinates of the planet and headed out, one of those unnamed systems with a load of gibberish letters and numbers, and after hours of scanning, I located the wreck.
My heart was pounding as I flew in and then stopped as I got a good look.
It was my ship.
The crash had split her in half, completely gutting her insides and spreading them out over three kilometers. The registry and ID plates had somewhat survived, enough to confirm that this was my ship and I hadn't jumped the gun.
I can't remember what my feelings were after that, but I do know that for some reason I flew back to where Arkadia was docked, bringing it to the crash site and using its beam lasers and multicannons to turn the entire area to glass, screaming while I did it.
I know it's just a ship, it's just a thing. I know it's not healthy to have such an emotional attachment to a machine, but it's hard not to, that little tank ended up saving my life so many times.
I don't really know what to do from here, I've gotten some sort of closure over Ellie, regardless of how it happened, and I did get Arkadia back at least.
I'm at a loss, and I'm getting to the point where I'm done caring. I've headed back to McArthur City and a few of the guys here are talking about teaming up and forming a pirate gang, strictly small term, no major presence, quick and stealthy. To be honest I'm considering it, going back into piracy.
If I'm going to be the butt of a cosmic in-joke, I want to make damn sure someone pays for it.