Always read the small print - ALWAYS
07 May 2017Brandlin
Ok so it wasn't new. But at least pre-owned sounded better than second-hand right? But after all this time saving and scrimping and running tons of machinery and crates and bulk ore in one of Lackon's 'finest' it was at least finally his. Standing on the landing pad and looking at the way it hunkered powerfully on it's gear made him smile. It wasn't everyone's cup of tea - hell out here some of the pilots didn't even drink tea! - but it was a ship he'd always desired. Clean lines, the sweep of the hull, impractical as hell but so much ... well.. sexier to look at than those geodesic slabs that seem so preferred these days.
It had almost bankrupted him to buy... well honestly it wasn't the buying that had crippled him, it was the customising. No one buys a Gutamaya to potter off to the next station and back with your basic engines. You need the roar, the hum, the power on demand... and that cost money. So he'd done it properly, class A everywhere that mattered and a new paint job. Gone were the echoing empty holds for shipping other people's goods replaced by swish passenger cabins for the rich and famous. Gone were his days of grinding out a meagre existence ploughing the shipping lanes in a queue of Lackons, it was going to be wall to wall billionaire heiresses and bespoke travel arrangements to the nobility.
Standing there at Weaver he looked through his new-to-him helmet visor at the glistening sparkle of the vast open dock. It had been a revelation that docks could sparkle! as far as he was aware the default dock colour was somewhere between soon-to-fail-rust-orange and we-can't-afford-a-cleaner-brown, usually with a haze of exhaust you could smell through the re-breather rather than actually see.
This was going to be THE LIFE!
If only he'd read the small print on the passenger manifest...
First job, a simple nearby run only a couple of systems out for a dozen business people lead by rather fetching slim woman by the name of Melissa something. He hadn't heard her second name over the sound of imaginary cash registers going off in his head. He was amazed by the amount they were prepared to pay. Maybe that should have been his first clue? But hey it was their money right? If they wanted to pay him a months income for a simple two hop trip then that was up to them...
Everything was going so smoothly. Despite the massively increased width and the huge amounts of power on tap as he feathered the thrusters to meet but not exceed the station speed limits he slid the fabulous beast through the slot without even a scratch. He had heard that new pilots struggled with the width so he was flying cautiously. He maintained the limit even though he could feel the engines behind him barely idling and almost ashamed to be going so slowly. He was behaving. He had a reputation to build and word of mouth in the VIP passenger business was going to be important he felt. Besides he had read SOME of the small print and clearly Melissa and her entourage were not going to be happy if he clattered the station or oncoming traffic and they spilled their drinks back there all over his new carpeted cabin.
So 99 m/s steady as she goes... hmm even his old type-7 was faster than this but he was going to behave all the way to station limits and then apply a smooth transition of power, come about and make the jump... maybe just maybe he would let the engines roar for a few moments before the jump; throw in a boost or two to impress his guests.
The com chatter was light in his ear, nothing untoward, the usual babble of station management warnings about traffic volumes, and collisions and scanning.
Scanning.
What was that in the small print?
Something about scanning?
He'd barely got the fat tail end out of the slot let alone beyond the cage when the klaxon went off. The scary little corner of his display that he had worked so hard not to light up in the past was now blinking red. He dared not look but the words ILLEGAL PASSENGER were now blinking and pulling his attention away from the view ahead. At the same time coms chatter blared warnings in his ear and his own systems bleated about mission updates and decreased happiness.
His attention slipped as he fumbled to bring up the message panel and understand what was happening, he nudged the control stick as he did so and slewed the fat back end of the shiny Gutamaya into the cage with a rending shriek of metal on metal....
Wait... metal on metal?
What happened to the scream of shield-on-metal absorbing the impact...?
A quick glance at his HUD showed the complete shield failure, the smaller unit that he had installed to make room for the second luxury cabin blinked in that slow lazy red circle that suggested like a cowboy mechanic that fixing this was going to take a lot longer than he wanted.
ILLEGAL PASSENGER blinked in his HUD.
WANTED blinked in his HUD.
Incoming message - dissatisfied passengers - blinked in his HUD.
There was so much blinking and screaming at him from his controls that he almost didn't see the Security Services Python sat beyond the entrance. Almost. When he did see it it was too late. The irony of the Python being a friendly bright green hue of a trusted ally in contrast to the blinking red of damage warnings and failed shields was lost on him as the lovely Melissa messaged him one last time to say how appalled she was with his commitment to his passengers.
He felt rather than heard the THUNK as the emergency escape pods were activated and his passengers exited ship. Without even paying.
They say in your last moments that your life flashes before your eyes. It isn't true. As the hull damage sensor sank to single percentage figures and the burst of terminal laser fire lit up his view a number of conflicting thoughts assaulted his mind.
"i didn't even get them out of the station - they ejected in the slot!"
"it's going to need a lick of paint after this."
"shield size and class BOTH matter!"
"i hope no one was watching this manoeuvre"
But overall as the canopy broke and the emptiness of space tsunamied into his lovely new cockpit his last conscious thought was...
"Read the fucking passenger manifest small print."