How I Got Here: "The Norma Jean"
21 Apr 2023Columbuss
Commander Justin Estok. Stardate 21-APR-3309."Call it an advanced payment..."
The hangars in a space station, regardless of the station's design, they're always cold. Whether it's because of the tremendous cost of keeping the space station warm, the sheer size of the space, or the simple fact that there's more starships here than people, a hangar bay isn't the kind of place you'd want to spend much time in without a jacket. A space station power plant, like the one keeping Whitworth spinning, they give off a tremendous amount of heat. It's the reactor. Deep inside the bowels of the station, these enormous fusion reactors, they spend all day fusing nuclear fuel into energy.
If you don't know how a star works, this is how it works. These reactors, they might not be stars themselves, but they operate using the same principles.
Much like a star, the byproduct of fusing massive amounts of Hydrogen atoms together is Helium. This helium, it takes the form of highly energized plasma which is normally used to create thrust in starships. That blue exhaust firing out the rear of your Cobra when you punch the thrusters, that's the helium. On a station like this, however, it's used to maintain the rotation. It keeps the station rotating so you can keep your feet on the deck.
While employed all over The Bubble, these fusion reactors we call "power plants", aren't without their flaws. No power plant is 100% efficient. So, while most of the heat created during the reaction process can be harnessed and used, some manages to escape. They call this "waste heat". Much of this "waste heat" is filtered and dispersed throughout the station to help maintain the temperature and onboard atmosphere. The rest, it's released and vented out into space.
"Call it an advanced payment," Aly says, after I follow her through the double doors to Hangar Bay 42. "Or call it tools for the job. In any case, it’s yours... If you accept the offer, that is."
"Wait a minute," I say back, before walking past her and into the hangar as the interior lights illuminate the room in loud, audible clangs. Turning back, I look at her in astonishment. She returns the look with a smile, before diverting her eyes back to the center of the room. Her voice echoes over my shoulder as I continue my slow stride toward the landing platform.
"Faulcon DeLacy," she says. "Python, it's called. When in the market for death dealing and maneuverability, accept no substitute. Factory green. She's fresh out of the box, but fully customizable, of course."
Placing my hand on the cold steel of the landing strut, I can feel the ship gently hum in my palm as slight vibrations tremble up my arm. I stifle the sudden urge to laugh as my mind tries to make sense of the emotions flowing through me. Gripping the landing strut, I can see my reflection looking back at me in the polished steel.
"There's a catch," she says, again from over my shoulder. "This is a substantial investment, you understand. A substantial investment with a substantial risk, should anything go "off the rails". This kind of risk, it makes my employer, Liberal Command, quite uneasy to say the least. So... "measures" have been taken on board the ship to keep a pin in what could become a "loose cannon". I apologize but, there was nothing I could do about it. This comes from," she stops her sentence short before pointing toward the ceiling.
"You want to put me on a leash," I reply, before turning back toward her.
"It's only temporary," she says sternly, her face naturally softening and stifling my apparent anger a bit. "Once the job is done, the device will be removed and she'll be all yours. Do we have a deal?"
"Ugh," I groan before nodding back. "I assume you have a target in mind?"
Aly takes a few steps closer before fishing a data pad out of her pocket and handing it to me. I tap the screen and begin to glance over the data
"This will outline what we expect of you. We've pieced together most of Ardulo's network. We think we've identified the major player's anyway. So carrying this out should have him sleepless and jumping at shadows within the week. Remember," she says, bending down a bit to command my eyes back to hers. "The goal is to get him to talk, NOT to kill him. And if you bring down too much of his business, his bosses will have his skin. He's no good to either of us dead, is he? So try to stick to a "reasonable" amount of damage. Understood?"
I nod back in agreement. "Understood."
"As for the specifics," she continues. "I trust you know how to cause chaos, so I'll leave those up to you."
With a nod of understanding, she turns back toward the hangar doors. As she paces toward the exit with her hands in her pockets, making as lengthy strides as she can, she stops as if remembering something and turns back again.
"Oh! And don't worry about the Chelsie Grin. I've put a Liberal Command tag on the hangar bay you have her docked in. Would take some pretty ballsy hitmen to kick that door in now. You'll also find a couple million credits on the pad I've given you, for outfitting and such," she says before a grin forms on her lips. "Lastly, you'll find the address of a nice place I found on the tenth level. The Lohaneese Sun Fish is supposed to be extraordinary. We have a table booked for the same time next week. See you soon."
The doors to the hangar bay seal shut behind her as I turn back toward the Python. Placing the data pad in my jacket pocket, I take a few steps forward watching the overhead lights disappear behind the hull. The beams from the hangar lighting, bend and echo out over the hull like a sun setting over some distant, green horizon.
Standing in the hangar, my mind begins to wander back to the mysterious woman who'd left this ship with me. Despite our business like relationship, there was something calming about this "Aly". For someone of her size, she knew how to command a room. She had all of attributes a good leader should have and something about her demeanor struck out any frustrations I may have felt otherwise. When she spoke, I listened. When she led, I followed, almost without thinking.
Reaching down, I tap the communicator on my wrist, signaling Finn and Brandson, still on board The Chelsie Grin.
"Is that you Boss?" Brandson asks. "Where've you been? What's going on? Are you okay? We were just about to come in after you."
"Relax kid," I say back. "I'm fine. You and Finn, come to Hangar 42. I got something here you need to see."
"What's in Hangar 42?" Finn asks over the headset.
"Get down here and see for yourself," I say before tapping the comm again and closing the connection.
While I wait, the body heat stuck inside the jacket warms my limbs. Placing my hands in the pockets, I pace the length of the powerful new vessel, taking in the locations of the hardpoints and utility slots. In my head, loadout combinations begin to form and dissolve as I lay out the pro's and con's of each. Inside the jacket pocket, my hand forms around the data pad. Pulling it out, I tap the screen again, illuminating it and projecting it's contents in the air above the screen.
Fingering through various files, I find a layout of the Loha Council's power structure. It's a pyramid shape with names and faces of three older looking people at the top and fanning out toward a multitude of names and faces at the bottom. All of them connected by various lines and graphs, illustrating their apparent affiliations with each other.
As I leaf through the file, my hand stops scrolling when Lorencian Ardulo's face enters the frame. Pinching my fingers on his image and spreading them slowly, this photo of him fills the frame until I'm staring him in the eyes. Suddenly, my mind wanders back to Aly again, and the conversation we'd had when we'd first met, in the diner just hours before.
"This Loha Council," she said, before glancing around the diner and leaning over the table to keep the conversation between us. "They've been a thorn in the side of Liberal Command for some time now. A thorn Winter's desperately wants removed. Naturally, I was the one tasked with yanking it out. That's where Walter came in."
She leans back a bit, waving off some of the smoke from my cigarette before taking a sip of coffee.
"With Walter gone," she continues. "I was starting to think I was out of options. That is, until I read his files. Walter made mention of a certain "asset" he'd employed to help level the playing field in his fight against The Council. That's what brought me to you. Now, you know this place. You know Walt. You know The Council. And If I understand Walt's files correctly, you have something of a personal vendetta against them, which is exactly what I'm looking for. However, you lack funds, intelligence, security, stability… All things a pesky corpo-rat like me, with many favor's owed to her, can offer."
She takes another sip of coffee before placing the empty cup back on the table and leaning in again.
“It sounds like a match made in heaven to me," she says through a wry smile. "Or in hell. Whichever suits you best.”