Addiction and Reflection
30 Aug 2020TripleRazor
Isaac Balthory watched quizzically from the observation window as the newly arrived ship was lowered into the hanger. Not quite what he had been expecting.Transire Benefaciendo was back in the bubble, after its run out down to the Pleiades. Commander Raynor had brought his Thargoid Scout-hunting ship, a Krait Mk II back from HIP 16753, saying he wanted to give it a bit of refit.
Balthory watched his employer exit the ship and head for the hanger door. It hissed shut behind Raynor; Isaac saluted smartly.
“Ahh, Mr. Balthory, no need for that,” said Raynor with an ironic smile on his face.
“Force of habit, sir,” the old man replied with a wink. He gestured to the chrome-painted vessel in the hanger.
“Um...when you left, you said you were going to change a few things on that Krait…”
Raynor affected a look of innocence. “Well, I added a bit here, a bit there, and it got completely out of hand.”
“At the risk of stating the bleeding obvious, sir, that there is an Anaconda.”
“Blast! And I thought no-one would notice.” He grinned at his facotum. “Welllll…..I faffed around with the Krait, bless it, for a while, and realised it just wouldn’t do everything I wanted it to. Always made a loss when I came back from a hunt. So in a moment of madness…” He turned and gazed at his latest acquisition. “I took quite a bit of equipment off the Krait. So it may be gone but is not forgotten - this is its spiritual successor. Pyrethrum II. Enough cargo space to hold limpets for decontamination. AX multicannons on the upper and side mounts; burst lasers on the nose and large and huge regular multis in the belly. And as many Guardian hull and shield reinforcements as the shipyard could shoehorn into her…” He paused and made a face. “Mr. Balthory...obviously I would like you and the twins to come along as crew. But this is different to anything else. I won’t order you to. I can always hire someone down in the Pleiades. But I’d rather not.”
Isaac shrugged. “We’re your crew, Commander. We know what we signed up for.” Raynor smiled and clasped the man’s shoulder. “Thank you. Suppose we should get going.” He tapped at his wristerm and spoke into it. “Mr Stokes? Fire her up. Back to HIP 16753, please. As close to Goya Landing as you can!”
“Aye aye, sir,” the carrier’s captain replied, “be there in a jiffy!”
Eight days later. Pad thirty-two. Isaac hummed softly as he entered the drive room with a tray.
“Coffee time, ladies!” he called.
“Yayyyyy! Coffee!” squealed Sara, dropping a datapad into a leg pouch and skipping over to him with her endearing grin. “Thank you, Zack!” She wrapped both hands around the mug and inhaled happily. Turned and yelled, “Hey, biatch! You’re allowed to stop at this point!” Halfway up the side of the casing of the frame shift drive, Danielle flipped her off. “Jeez, give me a chance!”
They both wore spider-suits over their RemLoks; a powered exoskeleton that had four legs on the chest and four on the back, with magnetic feet. Designed to provide ease of movement, but more critically, stability; essential when carrying out repairs in zero gravity and especially in the middle of combat. Danielle made her way over, picked up her brew and gave her sister a peck on the cheek. Both wore AR goggles that projected overlays onto whatever they might be working on. A cable looped from behind their right ears, direct neural interface with the exo. Both perfectly pretty and elfin, Danielle had her blond hair in pigtails; Sara’s was short and upswept.
Isaac leant against the wall and took a mouthful of tea.
“Hey, Zack…” Danielle begain. He had never been keen on that contraction of his name, but he was willing to accept it from these two.
“Yes, Dani?”
“...you, er, noticed anything - ”
“ - strange about the boss recently?” Sara ended the query.
Tristan paced the bridge of Pyrethrum II, . He stopped and stared at his hands; they were trembling visibly. “Ah shit,” he muttered. He knew what was wrong, and he didn’t like it. He wished Rose was here; but she was hundreds of light-years away now, attending to her own business.
The bridge door opened, and Isaac strode through it. Walked over and handed a steaming mug to Raynor.
“Thank you, Isaac,” Tristan said. They had agreed earlier in the week to ease back on the formalilty. He looked into the mug, back up with a raised eyebrow. “Herbal tea?”
“Don’t think you need any coffee right now, sir,” replied the factotum, gazing pointedly at the shaking cup. Tristan let out a short, barking laugh.
“I think you’re probably right.”
“Are you feeling okay, Tristan?” Isaac said tentatively. Leaning on the back of the pilot’s chair, Raynor sighed.
“No, Isaac, I’m not. Once, I said to myself that I would stop coming down to the Pleiades. And yet again, here I am. A month ago, I was still in two minds about fighting the Thargoids. Now...I can’t get enough if it.”
Isaac perched on one of the co-pilot seats. “It’s addictive. Yes, we’re on the front line here. People fight the bugs because they have to. Some are driven by hatred, revenge for the families and loved ones lost. Some do it because it pays well. But others...it’s a different kettle of fish to battling other humans. The extra danger, the adrenaline.”
“And there we have it, Isaac. I’m becoming hooked on it. Thus far, it’s not been that dangerous…” his sweeping gesture encompassed the Anaconda. “This beautiful, armoured monster has proven herself to be the perfect creature for butchering those damned Scouts. Her and the bloody fantastic crew I’ve got.”
“You’re too kind, sir…” mumbled Isaac.
“But as soon as the repairs are done and the weapons are reloaded, all I want is go get back out there and add to my tally.” And it wasn’t a bad tally, to be fair. Before, when he was still using the Krait – the original Pyrethrum – he had struggled to, what, thirty-five kills? Now he had racked up over ten times that.
“Any more thoughts on tackling an Interceptor?” asked Isaac. Raynor grinned. “I took Memento Mori out the other day to try that out.”
“I saw you’d taken her, but didn’t think you were going after a big bugger.”
“It was always the fear of the unknown. But I finally got round to looking at some of those training videos.” He took a datapad off the nearest console, and tapped at it, then handed it to Isaac.
“Courtesy of Commander Katie Byrne, of the Anti-Xeno Initiative. Now, at least, I have an idea of how it goes.”
Isaac’s eyelids lifted. “Gosh. That’s some profile picture.”
“Aye. Glad Rose didn’t see that one!”
“So how did it go?”
“Couldn’t get the hang of the flak launcher. When the hull was approaching fifty percent and I’d gotten nowhere, decided it was time to GTFO. Even that took a while. Those Interceptors are fast.”
“So I’ve heard.” He watched the video for a while, then handed the datapad back. Tristan swigged tea.
“Any thoughts, Isaac? You must have seen this sort of thing before…”
The old man sat back and rubbed his jaw. “One more run out today. And then we hit the promenade, for a bite to eat and a few drinks. Quite a few drinks. The Thargoids aren’t going any place. We all need to kick back and relax, even if just for a day. I don’t think I’ve met anyone as workaholic as Sara and Dani!”
“Huh, and then there’s you...always polishing and tinkering and doing something!”
“I rest my case!”
The bar was called Pilot’s Respite. It wasn’t too big, but not cramped either. The favourite haunt of the local bug-hunters, according to the docking bay ground crew.
There were several dozen people in. The subdued lighting concealed detail, but there looked to be people from all parts of the inhabited galaxy.
The Pyrethrum II crew drank, enjoyed the local tapas, and slowly started to unwind. Tristan looked around. He became aware of the atmosphere of the place. There was no tension or bad feelings, just a sense of camaraderie amongst these people, who had come here to make a new life, and found themselves thrown in at the deep end of the bloodiest conflict humanity had even known.
The evening meandered on enjoyably. Several spacers were flirting with the twins. Tristan and Isaac tried not to look too protective; Sara and Danielle were clearly loving the attention.
As another round of drinks arrived, he noticed a nearby group of pilots moving their seats around to face the rest of the bar. A old-fashioned guitar and an acoustic bass were produced; conversation dwindled away as the guitar player strummed the opening bars of an ancient refrain. Two women and two men began to sing.
“There is a place called the Pleiades,
It has seven blue-white suns,
It will go down in history
As the place from where the Thargoids come.
My mother was a pilot,
My father was one too;
Fighting off the implacable bugs
Was all I ever wanted to do.
The only thing a hunter needs
Are the things they take aboard
Just as the armour plates are my shield
The AX guns are my sword.
Oh, mothers, tell your children
That we don’t do this for fun
Give our lives and familes
To fight the xeno scum.
I got one foot on the boarding ramp
The other on the landing pad
I’m going back out into the Pleiades
To hurt the Thargoids bad.”
As the last chords faded, the whole place was silent for a moment, then erupted into enthusiastic applause. Tristan and his crew gathered round the table. There was no need for further words; they clinked glasses and drank. Whatever trials they had to face, they would do so together.