Don’t Fly What You Can’t Rebuy
04 Mar 2016TheDarkLord
Location Unknown, In transit from Kaushpoos. Gutamaya Imperial Clipper.
November 3301.
Over the week I spent in Kaushpoos, the palladium had flowed, and I had amassed some 75m credits. I spent all but 7m upgrading the Clipper. With each new module she became faster and stronger and better. Any pirate who bothered me died for their impertinence. Although the aim on the gimballed beam lasers seemed a bit inconsistent, I felt untouchable.
I was wrong.
The journey home was 350LY. I wasn’t looking forward to it, because I was not a traveller. The journey to Kaushpoos had been a monotonous affair punctuated with periods of intense sadness as I remembered that beautiful girl with her amazing auburn hair. But there was nothing for me to do except knuckle down and get on with it. And besides, my Clipper was much better outfitted than it had been on the way up. The journey back should be even more dull than the one out.
I was about to learn some lessons in outfitting and combat.
I had scrimped on the Fuel Scoop, and left myself dangerously exposed by basking in star coronas for extended periods. I had not upgraded the sensors, because I didn’t then know what kind of an effect that would have on the Clipper’s aim of its widely-spaced primary weapons. And I had left the mining lasers fitted, instead of re-outfitting with multicannons. All of these errors and omissions would combine in a maelstrom of destruction. Almost all of it mine.
First up, a Dangerous-rated Federal Assault Ship. Definitely designed in an unlit room, the flying brick is agile, heavily armed, and armoured like a tank. I struggled to get my weapons on target, while it flew around me, turreted beam lasers burning off my shields. At the end, a charge towards me accompanied by bursts of frag cannon fire. I didn’t realise that a full-on ram was on the pilot’s mind until the last second, whereupon the Clipper’s thrusters did not have enough Engine power assigned to muster a sufficiently significant sidestep. The insurance company debited 3m credits.
They say misfortune begets misfortune. In my case, a Deadly-rated Vulture. The ship that I had scorned as I chased down the Imperial beauty. Because of my failure to adequately outfit my weapons hardpoints, we were evenly-matched in terms of equipment. But I was horribly outgunned in the manoeuvrability stakes. A different methodology, but this Vulture pilot was able to combine his cannon, beam laser, and superb agility into a battle-winning force as I stumbled incompetently through space. It was becoming apparent that after a week of pouring money into this ship, its chief weakness was now the wetware in the pilot’s seat. The insurance company debited 3m credits.
It had still not occurred to me that the sensors might help with my gimbal targeting. Or that mining lasers were not a suitable combat fit. For my third run home, I dropped cargo racks and added fuel tanks. I now had enough to get home without stopping for fuel.
Interdicted again, by a Diamondback Explorer. As we jousted, I used my beam lasers to knock his shields offline. He hit me repeatedly with railgun slugs. Then his two friends, in Vipers, dropped into the foray. Each seemed to be equipped with burst lasers. I used chaff to distract their targeting, and blew one up in a single capacitor discharge.
As I worked over the second Viper, the Diamondback overcame my shield generator with his wicked railgun aim. I decided to turn tail and run. He targeted my Frame Shift Drive, which almost immediately malfunctioned, trapping me in this locale. Forgetting the Clipper’s prodigious straight line speed, I thought I was left with no choice but to fight. I destroyed the second Viper just as a railgun slug penetrated my power plant, detonating the ship.
My remaining credit balance, plus Pilots’ Federation loan came agonisingly close to covering the third rebuy.
The pilot’s mantra is “Don’t fly what you can’t rebuy,” which is fine until you’re hundreds of light years from home in a ship you’re struggling to fly in combat, and apparently a magnet for interdictions.
The still-unnamed Clipper was no more.