It’s Good, but It’s Not Right
14 Mar 2016TheDarkLord
Multiple Classified Locations, Imperial Courier “ComebackKid”.December 3301.
Running covert missions in service of Emperor Arissa had been stressful. I had been surrounded on all sides by ships much larger and more powerful than the ComebackKid, but I had held my own through a determination, a failure to acknowledge risk, and the welcome assistance of other members of the 9th Legion.
Enemy Commanders were proving themselves to be far more formidable adversaries than even the Elite Federal Agents that we were finding and killing on a regular basis. The Legion was functioning really well, with free-flowing communications underpinning and reinforcing the cooperative discipline that helped us all succeed in the Emperor’s service.
One enemy commander wreaked havoc, using a combination of multicannons, plasma accelerator and his own hull to destroy the ComebackKid, and subsequently my Python-equipped wingmate with ease, successfully repelling our raid into his territory. A second commander was ultimately successful in destroying ComebackKid again, despite a valiant fight while cleaning up a resource extraction site.
The writing was on the wall for the ComebackKid. She was not built to withstand this level of harm, insufficiently powerful to engage these commanders in such missions. A more powerful ship would be required. Something with more than three medium weapons hardpoints, and with larger shields.
I cast around looking for a viable alternative to the Imperial Courier. The Saud Kruger shipyard had purchased the rights to modify and build the 200-year old design of Zorgon Peterson’s Fer-de-Lance. I recalled it being feared by others, but not me. I’d always thought of it as a bit like those gin palaces favoured by wealthy inhabitants of water worlds. More suitable for hanging out partying on, less than a hundred clicks from the nearest starport. However, Saud Kruger’s work had netted some improvements that turned it into a fairly serious weapons platform. It made sense to me, but I needed 80m credits just to get started in it.
I resolved to redouble my efforts. There seemed little alternative but to push and push, as I had done in November after the loss of the Clipper. I had to attain Rank 5 in service of Arissa Lavigny-Duval, which would net me a 50m Cr payout. All that stood between myself and this goal was the death of 334 enemy ships in the fire of my lasers.
A local holiday marking the end of the year was upon us. I ignored it. I spent every waking hour in ComebackKid. I pushed her harder and further into enemy territory. I consumed covert missions like an opiate addict. If there were no 9th Legion comrades online, I would wing up with anyone loyal to Arissa. No enemy ship was allowed to survive. I myself was barely surviving, existing on bags of fried sliced potatoes and whisky. Late into the night, night after night, I would drag myself to a fitful sleep in my tiny cot squeezed just behind the cockpit bulkhead of the compact fighter.
The carnage continued throughout the week. Other 9th Legion Commanders were using the same time to hit the same goal as myself. Camaraderie was on the rise, and strong bonds were forming in the Legion. My Commander name started to become as much my name as that given to me by my birth parents.
With 20 hours to go until the cycle flip, I docked at an Imperial Outpost, and handed in my vouchers. My merit count ticked over the magic 10,000. Rank 5 achieved. Elated, exhausted, I found the nearest establishment where I could exchange credits for alcohol.
Several hours later the barman woke me. The chairs were stacked inverted on tables, no-one else in the place. I had drunk only the neck out of the bottle of beer. That night I slept soundly for the first time in a week.