Copperhead Road - The Oracle
15 Dec 2017Commander-Wingnut
Orbis Spaceport "The Oracle" Pleiades Sector IR-W D1-55 15
DEC 3303
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"Mother of Chrome!"
As soon as the UNSS Copperhead Road slid back into normal space, the Oracle reverse-imploded into view only eight kilometers off his starboard canopy. Just as quickly, Wingnut realized things were worse than he had imagined. The pieces of the habitat rings that hadn't already been flung off, were aflame. The docking channel crackled orange with both emergency lights and licks of chemical fire.
Nothing was where it was supposed to be - and there were a lot more somethings where there was usually nothing.
A lot of those somethings were wrecks.
A lot more of them were other vessels. Imperial, Federation, independents from all manner of gathering. Wingnut had never seen so many ships in one place, not even during his typical rescue-and-salvage "droperations."
Ships were drop-waking in from every direction. Ships hovering near the Oracle like worried parents. Ships zipping through the docking bay at full speed. Ships hurrying back out - just as quickly.
Many of them fled for the nearby rescue Pilots Federation freighter Montreal One, or the sleek-looking Imperial hospital ship that were standing off at a safe distance. The more sluggish-looking vessels, probably laden with evacuees, simply picked a direction and low-waked the fuck out of there.
It was like a beehive had been kicked over. Even as the Copperhead Road angled herself in towards the bulbous hangar at the end of the burning Orbis, Wingnut could see a Fer-de-Lance limp out, trailing a smokey-colored gas from its disjointed cargo scoop.
A heat sink spat from its chin, but far too late.
As he watched this small slice of surrounding chaos, the Fer-de-Lance' canopy shattered, one engine nacelle snapped away, and the ship suddenly vanished into a bright fireball and was gone.
The hailing channel was not just alive, it was sheer pandemonium.
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[ HTR-55 ] : Oracle traffic, Huntress V. Emergency clearance, please. Python coming in.
[ JARJAR ] : Oracle, Jarminx, type Anaconda for emergency landing.
[ MEA-12 ] : Jarminx, hold short. This is Mea Culpa, off with twelve and outbound! Clear the doors, clear the doors!
[ JARJAR ] : TRAFFIC! We just lost that Fer-de-Lance. I can see further damage to the pylons from the derelict Beluga as well. It's just bouncing off the walls in there.
[ JARJAR ]: At this rate, you're not going to have any more big pads left I can reach.
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[ CA-420 ] : Oracle Traffic, Charlie Alpha Four-Two-Zero is on site to provide relief. Copperhead Road is type Diamondback Explorer. Can I get a pad, please?
[ ORACLE ] : Thanks for coming, Commander. Be advised we have several emergency situations developing simultaneously. We are advising all civilian pilots to remain clear of the station.
[ CA-420 ] : Oracle, are you absolutely sure on that? You really look like you could use some help.
--:-:--
The pause before Traffic's reply was so long. So quiet. So very pregnant. Several seconds passed.
Wingnut was almost certain the signal had been interrupted. He was about to repeat, just once more, when the strained voice came back on.
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[ ORACLE ] : We need everyone we can get. The casualties in here are staggering, the flight deck is jammed with panicking evacs, and the whole thing is falling apart around us.
We're not gonna turn you away, Commander, but we're not in a position to help wave you in either. It's gotta be your call.
--:-:--
The commander deliberated. The spaceport yawned to his side, belching gas, smoke, and flame. If a space station could take on a list and begin sinking, this is what it would look like. His grip on the stick tightened ever-so-slightly and he found himself swallowing.
He was about to fly into a kiln, rattling with the pieces of very dead pilots who had been every bit as brave as he was about to be.
[ CA-420 ] Understand situation, you have solid copy on all. Go ahead and clear me, Traffic.
[ ORACLE ] Charlie Alpha Four-Two-Zero, you're approved under Starport Evacuation Protocol for Pad 44. You've been warned - Be careful ... and thank you.
--:-:--
"Commander.... COMMANDER!"
"I see it. Get them aboard, RIGHT NOW."
--:-:--
The Beluga Liner, produced by Saud Kruger, was not a small ship. If you were to drop her into a body of water, it would displace nearly 950 tonnes of it.
That made the luxury cruiser almost four times the size of the 260-tonne Diamondback Explorer.
If you were to look up from the bridge of the Copperhead Road, you would see Pad 16 - upside down about a kilometer above your head - and this enormous mass of broken, burning metal crunching sideways into it like a monster ravaging Tokyo.
Fatigued bulkheads gave with a hideous squealing moan, and the landing pad buckled like tinfoil beneath (above?) it; the hangar it concealed gaped into space. A rushing fountain of breathable atmosphere vented around the wrecked ship.
The Beluga broke in half at her waist like a dead tree falling in the woods.
Huntress V, a Python that had parked inside, was pulled across the floor of Outfitting Hangar 16 and came out with it, swept free of her mounts by a raging river of oxygen and nitrogen - which, in turn, was tainted with hundreds of untold (and very flammable) chemicals.
Huntress was sucked back out into the raging inferno she had sought to shelter from. Through its glass, the Python's commander could be seen scrambling to finish his interrupted pre-flight routine and take control of the gyrating ship.
The hellish scene continued to unfold above Wingnut's canopy, and his fingers drummed the flight stick nervously. It was very clear that the remains of the Beluga were not ready to rest just yet. With the station's spin slowing, the artificial gravity was only 0.3 G and dropping. This left the two halves of the broken liner with very little weight to resist the jet that was shoving it away.
Temperature Critical
intoned the Copperhead's VI.
In a moment, he was going to have to eject his third and last heat sink.
Pushed free of its crater, the wrecked Beluga's burning skeleton arose menacingly from the flames. Unmanned and utterly broken, the two halves began to fall ponderously towards Pad 44.
Wingnut swallowed again, furiously trying to predict its trajectory.
The equation wasn't promising.