Children of Snacks-la
27 Jun 2024Naomii
Children of Snacks-LaAn Elite Dangerous Story by CMDR _Naomii_, with Commander Cosby
Read the previous story here!
Jameson Memorial Station, Shinrarta Dezhra System
August 3rd, 3309, 04:58 am Local Time
The lobby of the Apex Interstellar transit terminal was nearly empty, save for a lone clerk behind the ticket counter. The room may as well have been deserted. The clerk was lost in a world being projected to him, point-blank, by a virtual reality holofac visor which obscured the upper half of his face. He was undoubtedly experiencing a vista far more stunning than the empty rows of seats that lined the walls of the terminal opposite his workspace.
The room would have been absolutely silent, but for the low murmur of the station’s ventilation systems relentlessly laboring to maintain the hospitable atmosphere inside the leviathan that was the Orbis Starport.
Jameson Memorial was one of the busiest ports in the galaxy, hosting the headquarters of the Pilots Federation. On a typical day, the port saw an endless stream of vessels landing and launching at all hours. But even busy ports still experienced the occasional lull in traffic, particularly during the earliest hours of the morning.
A simple electronic chime echoed through the room, announcing to no-one in particular that a turbolift had arrived from one of the landing bays. The sliding door retracted with its signature hiss. A young woman stepped out into the lobby. Her curly hair was a dazzling shade of fluorescent pink, contrasting with but not clashing against the blue and white synth-leather flight jacket which she sported.
Her curls bounced lazily around her shoulders in the low gravity of the station core as she walked towards the clerk’s counter. The click-clack of her magnetic boots interrupted the calm of the empty terminal, but still did not stir the clerk from his holographic vacation.
She stopped just short of the oblivious Apex clerk’s window stall. A small sign in the bottom left corner of the glass panel read “press buzzer for assistance.” She reached out and depressed the holo-button being projected next to the small sign. A shrill beep dragged the clerk out of his holiday. Startled, he fumbled for a moment before successfully engaging a control near his ear which caused the visor to fold up into a neat band above his brow. He scowled at the woman who had so rudely disturbed him.
“Hello, welcome to Apex Interstellar at Jameson Memorial. The Galaxy’s most convenient travel service.” The clerk droned unenthusiastically, “How may I be of assistance to you today, valued passenger?”
The woman ignored his sarcastic tone and responded. “Hi. I’d like to retrieve my bag. Just arrived on flight 241.” The clerk sighed, “Name?”
“Moon-Khan, Naomi.” The woman replied. She produced her Pilots Federation ID card and slid it to him through the slot at the bottom of the window where the glass met the horizontal surface of the counter. The clerk picked up her ID card and held it under the scanner on his side of the counter. He slid it back to her, groaned, stretched, and slowly lifted himself out of his chair.
“I will be back shortly with your luggage, Ms Moon-Khan.” He disappeared around the wall that separated the ticket counter from whatever lay beyond. Naomi had been to the edge of the galaxy and back but had never actually seen how a checked bag made its way from her possession, to the hold of a ship, and back. The realization amused her.
The clerk returned with a blue and gray duffle bag, which he placed down below the counter. The panel below the counter retracted and her bag was automatically conveyed over the remaining few dozen centimeters to her side of the barrier. She bent down and slung it over her shoulder.
“Thanks.” she said to the clerk as she stood up and turned towards the terminal’s exit. The clerk despondently responded as she walked away.”Thank you for choosing Apex Interstellar. We hope you have a pleasant stay at Jameson Memorial.”
He reactivated his holofac visor, once again escaping his scripted corporate existence. At least until the next passenger arrived.
* * *
The station core Promenade was as crowded as usual for this hour. Shops and restaurants were just beginning to open while the late night bars were in the process of showing their last guests out.
Unlike the manicured environment of the Habitat ring, the street before her was chaotic. Walls and balconies smothered in holographic advertisements, smells both savory and unpleasant, and a diverse cast of characters from all corners of known space. There was even a lone evangelist standing at the corner diagonally opposite from her. His holo-sign called on bystanders to pray to the Far God to spare humanity the wrath of the Thargoid Titans.
Naomi spotted her destination in the distance, a few dozen blocks away. From her perspective, it was closer to the promenade's distant ceiling, though was actually straight down the street from her. The curve of the interior of the station was disorienting to less experienced space travelers. But she knew it was best not to look too far ahead for very long.
Naomi proceeded to the end of her current block, arriving at a monorail station. The train would take her spinward across to the other side of the station's core.
Never too long of a wait for the trains here. She thought to herself, The station was far too busy to let potential business languish in anticipation of transit.
A few minutes later, the train arrived at her stop. A robotic voice called out, “Promenade. Neptune Avenue.” The doors swooshed open and Naomi stepped out.
Neither an upscale club, nor a spacer’s favorite dive, Kwork’s Pilots’ Lounge, Snack Bar, and Cantina was the kind of establishment that one would go to to avoid running into anyone familiar. It was possibly the silliest, and certainly the least respected, of the Promenade’s eating and drinking establishments.
Its one saving grace, an ancient style arcade, which featured hardware game consoles with actual physical controls. The arcade was a well kept secret. Located in a back room. The proprietor exercised extreme discretion with whom he let access the antique games. Naomi had earned the privilege after she’d taken down the pirate clan that had stolen multiple shipments of Syrup of Squill bound for Kwork’s.
Naomi would always make sure to visit for a few hours whenever she made the trip to Jameson.
Today though, she was not in the mood for games. She just needed a place to sit and think.
The sliding doors parted before her and she stepped inside. She stopped for a few moments to examine the room.
The decor of Kwork’s could only be described as obnoxious. Various animated holograms performed entertainment acts, some suggestive and others chaste, atop the rooms tables and bars. It was all framed by a backdrop of shattered and kaleidoscopic geometric patterns in garish and clashing neon colors. An ensemble of retrowave dance tunes completed the atmosphere.
Contrary to her usual seat at the bar where she could appreciate the over the top setting, Naomi settled herself down into a corner booth. She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her forehead against her closed fists.
A loud voice startled her into an upright posture. A hologram had appeared at her table. A cartoon facsimile of the famous Commander John Jameson, anachronistically holding an ancient paper notepad and graphite pencil.
“OH-SEVEN COMMANDER!!! WELCOME TO KWORK’S PILOTS’ LOUNGE, SNACK BAR, AND CANTINA, THE GALAXY-FAMOUS HEADQUARTERS OF THE PILOTS FOODERATION! IF YOU’RE HUNGRY, YOU’VE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE! CAN I INTEREST YOU IN ONE OF OUR ELITE BEVERAGE OPTIONS TO START WITH??? BASED ON DATA GATHERED FROM OTHER CUSTOMERS, YOUR PINK HAIR SUGGESTS THAT YOU WOULD ENJOY A COLD AND REFRESHING BOBA MARK THREE!”
Naomi stared blankly at the overly bright projection. The regret she felt for not choosing a more subdued establishment overwrote any possibility of her making a menu selection at that moment.
The hologram continued, “PREPARE YOURSELF FOR A YUMMMMM TIME DELIVERY!!!
“WE OFFER A VARIETY OF OUT OF THIS WORLD OPTIONS!
“POINT YOUR SURFACE SCANNERS AT OUR POPULAR PROJECT DINE-TASTY SELECTIONS! OUR THE CLUB SANDWICH IS TO DIE FOR! AND COMES WITH A SIDE OF FRAME SHIFT FRIES!!
“IF YOU’RE LOW ON CREDITS, WE’VE GOT YOU COVERED WITH OUR AISLING DU-VALUE MENU! THE MEAT IS AS REAL AS HER HAIR COLOR! TRY THE IMPERIAL DIPPERS!
“OUR SPECIAL TODAY IS THE BAGEL PONT WITH SMOKED SALOMÉ! IT’S FALCON-DELICIOUS!”
Naomi interrupted the hologram, “Vodka, ice, pickles. Keep ‘em coming.” The hologram twirled around and then “wrote” her order on his notepad.
“RIGHT ON COMMANDER, LET'S GET YOU FLYING IN SUPER-BOOZE! (Surgeon General's Warning: Do not consume if nursing or pregnant. Alcohol can impair your judgment. It is illegal to operate a vessel while intoxicated. Kwork’s Pilots’ Lounge is not responsible for the conduct of customers post-consumption. If any damages to the premises occur as a result of your inebriation, a fine will be applied to your Pilots Federation account to cover the cost of said damages. In extreme cases, a bounty may be issued.)”
The hologram dematerialized, leaving Naomi alone with her thoughts. The wearable holofac interface on her wrist vibrated. An incoming call from CMDR Crimtana Montelle. She gestured to ignore the call, then pulled up her notifications. A new icon appeared atop an already lengthy stack of unread messages and missed calls. Most of them were from friends wondering where she had disappeared to suddenly after the Azimuth Gala in Xi Wangda several weeks before.
Naomi had been laying low. After betraying The Order and defecting from Azimuth Biotech, they were both sure to send operatives after her. Whether they would try to take her into custody or merely assassinate her, they were to be avoided.
Her wrist holo vibrated again to signal the arrival of a video message from Crimtana. Crimtana Montelle was a very old friend. She and Naomi had attended the Aisling Duval Finishing School for Girls together before Naomi had run away from her repressed life in the Empire.
Naomi had found Crimtana to be similarly disaffected by Imperial morals and protocol and the two of them had become fast friends.
Their antics and lack of respect for protocol had nearly gotten them both expelled from the boarding school on multiple occasions. Though neither of them would have been particularly unhappy with that outcome.
Naomi had lost touch with Crimtana after her escape from Imperial society into the not-particularly-freer Federation. The two had remained out of contact until about two years prior. Right before the arrival of the Titans. Crimtana had deserted from the Imperial Naval Academy. She hadn’t just quietly slipped away either. She had apparently gathered a crew of fellow renegade cadets and stolen a mothballed Imperial Interdictor capital ship that had been repurposed for training.
Naomi smiled while thinking about Crimtana’s recounting of the escapade. Crim, you motherfucking legend!
Around that time, Crimtana had approached Naomi to recruit her into her then nascent organization, the Rainbow Alliance of Systems. They were going to build a new nation free from both the repressive ways of the Empire, and the hypocrisy of the Federation. But then the Titans had arrived, and Naomi volunteered to run civilian evacuation missions from the systems on the frontline. It was the first in a series of events that had eventually seen Naomi indoctrinated by The Order of the Caretaker, a Guardian worshiping cult, then placed into the upper echelons of the Azimuth Biotech corporation as a liaison between the Order and the corporation.
In the time since Naomi had become entangled with those other matters, RAOS had liberated two star systems from the corporations that had been cruelly exploiting them. But their hold on the territory was tenuous. In response to the rise of the nascent democracy, the corporate and conservative factions in nearby systems had rallied their forces together and attacked RAOS.
RAOSs meager defenses were in danger of being overwhelmed by the combined power of the neighboring factions’ forces. They had few combat capable ships and even fewer experienced pilots to fly them.
A hovering drone encased in the cartoon Jameson hologram returned to Naomi’s table with a bottle of vodka, a glass, a bowl of ice cubes, and a large jar of pickles and set them all down in front of her. “ANYTHING ELSE I CAN GET YOU, COMMANDER?” The hologram shouted at her. Naomi responded while pouring herself her first glass of vodka, “Just go, please.”
“RIGHT ON, COMMANDER!” The hologram twirled again and scooted away. Naomi downed her drink in one swift motion.
* * *
The Anaconda Celestian glided through the mail slot into the central docking chamber of Jameson Memorial. Its pilot, a brown haired and bearded man with a scar running down the entire left side of his face, squinted in the sudden bright light of the illuminated interior. He spotted his assigned landing pad and adjusted his ship’s trajectory to head for it. He smiled as he beheld the holographic numbers identifying his docking berth. Lucky number 07.
He pulled back on the throttle as the ship passed through the projected holographic perimeter delineating the borders of the landing pad. Retro rockets flared, arresting the ship's forward motion.
A voice over the comms interrupted him before he could finish the landing maneuver. “Attention commander, deploy your landing gear!”
He chuckled to himself as he flipped a switch at the base of the throttle control. A few seconds later, he felt a thump reverberate through his ship as the landing gear deployed. With the hiss of the reaction control thrusters firing, the vessel gently lowered itself the rest of the way on to the pad. Another series of thumps from the docking clamps latching on to the ships landing legs signaled that the ship was secure.
The man released the controls from his grip and reached to undo the restraining straps on his seat. There was a suctioning sound as the acceleration gel that had cushioned him from the g-forces during his flight disappeared back into the internal mechanisms of the chair. With both of his palms pushing against the armrests, the man stood up and walked towards the door at the rear of the Anaconda’s bridge.
* * *
Naomi’s head throbbed excruciatingly as she re-entered consciousness. The hard surface of the booth table pressed painfully against her temple. The cacophony that passed for ambience at Kwork’s thundered in her ears.
A voice pierced through her clouded and overwhelmed senses. It was the Jameson Hologram. Naomi was thankful the full volume of the holographic waiter was not directed at her this time, but at another customer. “. . . HAS CONSUMED MULTIPLE SERVINGS OF ALCOHOL. HER BEHAVIOR CANNOT BE PREDICTED.”
A man’s voice replied to the hologram, “I really think I’ll be ok.” He sounded gruff, but calm.
The hologram continued. “DO YOU CONSENT TO WAIVE ALL LIABILITY ON THE PART OF KWORK’S PILOTS’ LOUNGE, SNACK BAR, AND CANTINA WITH REGARDS TO THE BEHAVIOR OF INTOXICATED THIRD PARTIES ON THE PREMISES?”
The man scoffed, amused, “Uh, yeah.”
“RIGHT ON, COMMANDER!” The hologram shouted in response. “ENJOY YOUR VISIT TO KWORK’S!”
With a high pitched whine and crackle the holographic projection deactivated.
With her head still resting on the table, Naomi could feel the shuffle of the man settling himself down into the booth seat opposite her. She pried her eyes open. The man had picked up the empty vodka bottle from the table and held it before him, examining the label.
Naomi mumbled slurred words, “Not innn-rested. Gowway.”
He glanced at her and asked, “You drank this whole thing yourself?” He gestured to pull up the holographic menu and requested a pitcher of water be brought to the table.
Naomi groaned and forced herself upright, then slumped into the booth bench. She blinked several times until the man sitting opposite her came into focus. He had dark brown hair, a beard, and a distinctive scar running down the left side of his face, straight across his eye, which appeared to have been replaced with a cybernetic implant.
Not a stranger. She recognized him. He was a member of the Children of Raxxla, one of the factions she’d fought against in Wandrama. Back before she had defected from Azimuth. Before the Man in the Skull-Faced Mask had turned her life upside down. Before she had learned of The Club, and their manipulation of galactic affairs. Manipulation that had drafted her into the middle of a conflict that would determine the course of events for the entirety of human civilization. Did that really only happen three weeks ago? Feels like years.
The recognition sent a surge of adrenaline through her system. Her eyes widened and her posture stiffened. She jumped up out of her seat.
The man raised both his hands in a gesture of peace. “Wait. . .” He said.
Naomi lurched away from the booth, turning her head back to shout at him, “Whatever Skullface wants? You tell him to shove it straight up his–”
She was unable to complete her sentence because she collided with a hologram framed drone which had been bringing food to another table. She collapsed onto the floor amongst the clanging and crashing of assorted entrees and beverages raining down all around her.
The holographic waiter looked down at her with a shit-eating grin on its face. “GIVE WAY TO LARGER VESSELS, COMMANDER. 150 CREDIT FINE GAINED FOR RECKLESS FLYING!”
Naomi felt her wrist holo buzz with a new notification. Most likely the invoice for the fine she’s just earned. She brushed away at some of the bits of food that had landed on her and then started to raise herself off the floor, pushing with her elbows. She arc’d her torso forward a few inches and was greeted by the man’s hand in her face. He was leaning over her with a concerned expression on his face. “You ok?” he asked.
Naomi grunted in response, then grabbed onto his forearm and felt his fingers wrap around her wrist. He pulled her up off the floor with the strength of someone who had clearly grown up on a full g planet. While not dangerous, it was far more force than necessary in the low gravity of the station’s core. His grip unintentionally launched her off the floor, catapulting her into him.
He grabbed both of her shoulders to keep her from bouncing away, a startled look on his face, which was now only inches away from Naomi’s.
She smirked at him, “Ya know, for a terrorist, you are pretty handsome.”
He let go of her and took a step back. “And you’re pretty drunk.” He replied, then gestured back towards the booth. “Let's get you some water?”
The pair of them sat back down at the booth. Naomi crossed her arms on the table in front of her and let her forehead collapse into her forearms.
The man patted her shoulder with his palm. “Hey, hold it. Drink the water.” The holo-waiter had arrived with the pitcher and two more glasses. He had poured her a cup.
Naomi glared at him, then picked up the cup and sipped it decisively. The man smiled at her and reached for a pickle from the jar.
The two of them sat without speaking for several minutes. The only sounds they exchanged were the clinking of glasses as the man refilled Naomi’s water and the soft crunching as the two of them consumed the remainder of the pickles.
Naomi stared at the man across the table from her as she finished her fourth glass of water. She raised an eyebrow and inquired, “Commander. . . Crowley? Right?”
“Cosby,” he answered, “Naomi, right?” She nodded in confirmation then inquired, “So what does Skullface want with me now? Or did he send you to dispose of me and tie up loose ends?”
Cosby answered her plainly, “He didn’t send me.”
Naomi snapped back at him, “Well then what do you want?” Her tone was saturated in exasperation.
“Nothing in particular.” Cosby replied.
Naomi scoffed at him, “Then what the fuck are you doing sitting at my table eating my pickles?!?”
With a completely deadpan expression and tone he answered, “I like pickles.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “No I mean, why are you here? How did you find me?”
“Honestly, me running into you is a complete coincidence. I just like the snacks and rations they sell here. Came in to stock up my ship.”
“So why are you sitting with me instead of buying your snacks?”
He looked slightly indignant. “Well uh, I, you know. You see a young woman passed out drunk and alone in a bar, you wanna make sure she’s ok. Not like these holograms would have helped you.”
Naomi rolled her eyes again. “Wow. My knight in shining armor.”
“Would you rather I left you to choke on your own vomit?” Cosby retorted, “It’s called decency. Apparently it's not so common anymore.”
His offense gave Naomi pause. She didn’t really believe the Children of Raxxla were actually the terrorists that the Galnet feeds claimed they were. And he’d done nothing suspicious. All he’d done was get her water and help her off the floor. If he’d had an ulterior motive it would have made sense to strike while she was still incapacitated.
Wow. He really doesn't want anything. “Sorry.” She spoke softly, “There are a lot of creeps out there you know?”
“Yeah” Cosby replied. Naomi smiled at him, “Thanks.”
Cosby shrugged, “Don’t mention it.”
There was an awkward pause in the conversation before Cosby spoke up again. “So if you don’t mind me asking, why’d you choose here of all places to get blackout drunk in?”
Naomi sighed, “I didn’t know where else to go. And um, I like the snacks here too.”
Naomi could see that Cosby was ever so slightly smirking as he responded. “Snacks, like vodka?”
“Look, Mister,” She pointed her finger at him. He raised his hands again in surrender.
Naomi slouched forward and rested her face in her left hand, with a pouting expression. She continued with a more somber tone, “You’d be snacking on vodka too if your life got turned upside down recently.”
Cosby sighed, “It was brandy for me.”
“Lavian Brandy? I can't stand the stuff. Awful aftertaste.”
“You get used to it.” He replied. Naomi let out a soft giggle, “Whatever floats your boat, man.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Now that’s an odd expression to hear from someone with your accent. Don’t hear too many old earth idioms from non-feds.”
“It’s a long story. Grew up on Achenar until 16, then moved to Mars. Tried to get rid of my accent but as you can hear now I kinda sound like I’m from everywhere.” She flopped sideways to lay down across the booth bench. “Now I’m from nowhere.” She mumbled in resignation.
Cosby stretched forward to look at her from the other side of the table. “Sleepy?”
“Beyond belief!” She yawned. Cosby pulled up his wrist holo menu. “Can I call you a cab? Where are you staying?”
Naomi dragged herself back into a sitting position. “Nowhere.”
“Nowhere?” Cosby responded. She nodded. “Last few times I was here Azimuth put me up at their villa in the Habitat Ring. Don’t think I’d be welcomed back there. All my ships are in their impound. They froze all my assets too. Spent my last few credits on the Apex ride here and then this bottle.” She gestured to the empty vodka container.
“This is as far as my plan got me. Thought maybe I’d sign on to a passing ship as a telepresence fighter pilot but other Commanders rarely hire new pilots with my rank. Costs too much.”
“I have a guest cabin on my ship that I try to keep in decent shape.” Cosby replied, “You’re welcome to it for the night if you want.”
Naomi shrugged, “Sure ok.” She tilted her head, eyeing him for a few moments before speaking again. “You’ve been nothing but a gentleman so far, but you should know, I’m a light sleeper and keep a Manticore under my pillow.”
“Cabin’s got the same standard security as on a passenger ship. Once an occupant keys in their access code the door can't be opened without it until they officially disembark.” Cosby replied dryly.
Naomi smirked at him, “Yeah I figured. Just giving you shit.” They both chuckled.
The two of them stood up and walked towards the exit. As they passed through the sliding door, Cosby told her, “You, know. I have ammo for your gun if you need to stock up.” She rolled her eyes and laughed as the sliding doors closed behind them.
“I’m docked at Pad 07. Shouldn’t take long to get there from this side of the station.”
“Pad 07?! Nice!”
* * *
The guest cabin aboard the Celestian was exactly as promised. A modest room with a pair of bunks stacked in tandem on one side, a small desk and dresser on the other. The wall opposite the entry was the access door to the head and shower. All the furnishings and amenities were designed to be usable in both zero g and while the Anaconda was docked at a station or on a planet.
Naomi tossed her bag on the floor by the dresser and sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk.
Cosby stood in the doorway. “Let me know if you need anything. There’s food in the galley if you get hungry.”
“Thanks, Cosby.” Naomi replied. He moved to close the door behind him. She called out to him before his hand reached the control, “Hey Raxxla Man,”
“Yeah?” He answered.
“For a terrorist, you’re alright.”
“Good night.” He huffed as he hit the door control.
Naomi removed her shoes and tossed them in the general vicinity of her duffle bag. They were followed shortly by her jacket, shirt, bra, socks, and then pants. She laid down on the bunk, wrapped herself in the blanket, and let herself drift into sleep.
* * *
A crack of thunder startled Naomi out of her slumber. The room rocked back and forth around her as if the entire structure was being tossed around like a leaf in the wind. She fumbled around for the lamp control on her night table but was tossed over the edge of the bed before she could activate the lighting.
“ROWRRRR!” Her cat, Blueberry, had fallen over the edge of the bed too, tangled in the blankets. She thrashed trying to free herself. “It’s ok Blueby, I got you.” Naomi helped to untangle the feline from the bedclothes.
A loud foghorn reverberated throughout the room. Naomi could feel the intense bass frequencies in her bones. Lightning flashed through the window. She crawled over to it, the room still rocking, and threw open the curtains. Against the shimmering light of the Milky Way, a black cloud, a savage tear in the fabric of space, had formed. Bolts of energy crackled around it as a large vessel, easily two kilometers in length, emerged.
The foghorn sounded again and the room ceased shaking. There was quiet. Blueberry nuzzled up against Naomi’s legs, purring.
The intercom chimed. “Lady Moon-Khan, Lady Montelle, Please report to the headmaster’s office immediately.” Naomi stood up, and walked towards her bedroom door. She entered the hallway. The building was made of stone. Ancient, but still obviously constructed with industrialized technology. Braziers lined the path along both walls, their embers burning an unnatural blue. She proceeded towards the door at the end of the corridor, the entrance to the Headmaster’s office.
She found herself in a large, hexagonal room. In the center of the room, there was a triangular reflecting pool. The surface of the water shimmering in the light of the blue flames emanating from the sconces on the wall. The height of the room was unclear. The ceiling was high enough above that Naomi could not see it. By the wall opposite the entrance, there was a throne, constructed out of glowing blue Guardian relics.
Sitting atop the throne was what appeared to be an android of some sort. Its skin was an assembly of polished chrome plates. Its eyes glowed like angry sapphires.
Naomi courtseyed before him, “Headmaster.”
A booming voice projected from the android, though it remained motionless. “I, AM, SALVA-TRON. MASTER OF PROTEUS, SCION OF THE CARETAKER, REBORN IN SILICON.”
Naomi bowed down before the ascended former Azimuth CEO. “My lord, I am at your service.”
“I BRING TO YOU A NEW COMMANDMENT FROM THE CARETAKER. THOSE WHO BE WORTHY OF SERVING THE CARETAKER, RISE AND BE ANOINTED, PALADINS OF THE ORDER.”
Naomi remained prone, unsure how to react.
“ACOLYTE NAOMI, WHY DO YOU NOT RISE? HAVE YOU JOINED THE UNFAITHFUL?”
“No my lord. It is not my place to decide if I am worthy.”
“HAVE YOU JOINED THE RANKS OF THE UNFAITHFUL?”
“Um, no? I don’t think so, my lord.”
“THEN RISE.” Naomi slowly stood up.
“PALADIN NAOMI, THE CARETAKER COMMANDS YOU TO ASSEMBLE A LEGION IN HIS NAME. YOU WILL LEAD A HOLY CRUSADE OF THE FAITHFUL.”
“Yes my lord. I will lead the Caretaker’s legion and slay his enemies.”
“THAT IS NOT WHAT THE CARETAKER COMMANDS.”
“My lord?”
“YOU SHALL LEAD THE CARETAKERS LEGION INTO THE DEPTHS OF SPACE. THERE YOU SHALL GATHER FOR HIM, A VAST QUANTITY OF PICKLES.”
“Pickles, my lord?”
The android stood up, gestured around the room. As he waved his arms toward each of the braziers, their fire changed from blue to green. As he sat back in his throne the relics that it was constructed out of shifted hue as well.
“AZIMUTH BIOTECH IS PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE ITS NEW LINE OF PICKLE BASED AX WEAPONS! THEY’RE TANGY AND CRUNCHY! SURE TO LEAVE A SOUR TASTE IN THE MOUTHS OF THE UNFAITHFUL!”
“Sir? I don’t understand.”
“BEGONE! MY DISCIPLES AWAIT YOU IN THE CHAMBER BEYOND! DO NOT RETURN WITHOUT THE PICKLES! END OF LINE!”
A concealed door slid open in the wall to Salva-TRONs left. He pointed towards it. “BEGONE!”
“By your command.” Naomi replied. She walked towards the doorway. Just as she was about to cross the threshold, the android spoke again, this time in the voice of the Imperator. “Oh and acolyte, do not disappoint me again.”
She entered the room beyond. The stone door slammed shut behind her.
The hexagonal room before her was dominated by a long wooden table. The table was piled high with snacks. Bags of chips, candy, pastries, and crackers. It was as if an entire vending machine supply transport had unloaded its cargo on the banquet table before her.
The booming voice of Salva-TRON announced, “BEHOLD, MY DISCIPLES. THE CHILDREN OF SNACKS-LA.”
There were a number of individuals sitting on the other side of the table. She recognized all of them. Anri LaRosa, her mysterious former colleague from Azimuth. Her old friend Crimtana Montelle. Commander King Karper, a general in the armed forces of the ACA. The Man in the Skull-Faced Mask, who’d turned her life upside down. Current Azimuth CEO Torben Rademaker, her former boss. The holographic caricature of Commander Jameson, from Kwork’s. And finally, her new friend Commander Cosby.
They were all stuffing their faces full of the snacks. They gulped down saccharine carbonated beverages with aplomb. Even the Man in the Skull-Faced Mask was making an attempt. Naomi saw him grabbing cookies from a blue and white package labeled JAMESON MEM-OREOS. He shoved them against the smooth surface of his skull-adorned helmet. They crumbled under the pressure. There was a sizable pile of crumbs on the table before him that indicated he’d been at it for quite some time.
“Naomi!” King Karper called towards her, “You’re just in time for tea!”
Torben hissed at her, “You’re late!”
“Oh my god you guys!” Anri shouted through a mouthful of all-dressed potato chips. “I can’t believe we waited this long to discover Snaxxla!”
Naomi looked back and forth at the motley group of feasting “disciples”. Sensing her confusion, Commander Cosby stood up. His mouth opened an impossibly wide amount, then he froze.
“Uh, Cosby?” She stepped towards him. He remained perfectly motionless. She made it to just across the table from him when an ear splitting roar erupted from his still frozen face. Startled, Naomi tripped backwards and landed on her rear. The roar resolved into recognizable tones. A sequence of rhythm guitar power chords. They were followed by a chorus of screeching voices. “HONEYYYY! WHAT YOU DO FOR MONEYYYYY!”
Naomi was stirred awake by the rock music being carried into her cabin on the Celestian through the ship’s ventilation shafts. She recognized the band, ACDC, a group from ancient Earth before human civilization existed on multiple planets. So the man has good taste.
She rolled over under the covers, sticking her foot out from under them to explore whether the temperature was comfortable enough to leave the cozy confines of her bunk. Her scouting attempt returned safe readings.
She gingerly lowered her leg over the side of the bed until her foot was on the cabin floor. It was thankfully carpeted. Unlike the cold corrugated metal plating the decks of most vessels’ interiors.
She rolled the rest of the way off the bunk. Landing on her hands and knees. A brief crawl later, she rummaged through her duffle bag until she retrieved a clean shirt, which she then slipped over her head. It was a white graphic tee featuring a stylized pink/orange neon sunset behind a palm lined beach. The words “New California” were emblazoned below the illustration in a reflective metallic font.
Naomi stood up and walked towards the head. She winced as she stepped over the threshold onto the cold tiles of the lavatory. The door slid closed behind her.
* * *
Naomi emerged from her cabin a few minutes later. Her hair was still damp from the shower, hanging longer and appearing a darker shade of magenta than it normally did. She was wearing her New California t-shirt and a pair of neon blue leggings. While not properly dressed for space travel with a flight suit and Remlok mask, she at least wore the standard magnetic shoes.
She followed the source of the music down the corridor until she reached the door to the galley. She pressed the control to open the door and then stepped inside. The facility was far more spacious than she expected to find on a ship.
Commander Cosby was busy at the stove. He was managing the multiple frying pans with poise and grace. He turned towards her, having heard the door open. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
“How long was I out?” Naomi asked him.
“‘Bout twelve hours actually.” A machine on the counter on the other side of him from Naomi beeped. “You want some coffee?”
“Sure.” Naomi nodded at him. “How do you take it?” He asked her.
“Decaf, lots of cream, two sugars.” He feigned a disgusted face in response. “Decaf, really?”
“Too much caffeine makes me anxious and jittery. Not a good thing when you are trying to fly in space.”
He shrugged, satisfied, “Fair ‘nuff. One coffee flavored mug of cream comin’ right up.”
A few moments later a warm mug was in her hand. Naomi took a sip, then examined the mug. It bore a logo that any experienced pilot recognized. Hutton Orbital.
Naomi grinned at him, “Wow you sure get around, don't you?” He grunted, “mhm.” He was busy with the stove. “You want a breakfast burrito? Made real eggs and sausage.” Naomi’s eyes were wide, “Real meat? Hell yeah! It's been weeks!” He nodded, and elaborated, “Textured protein makes me mad. Only use it if I'm deep in the black and the last resupply is months behind me.”
Naomi took another sip of her coffee, smiling at him while leaning back against the counter. “Real meat, rock music, carpeted cabin floors. Man you are living the life!”
Cosby used twin steel spatulas to dice the eggs and sausage together. He tipped the pan, dumping a helping onto two tortillas. He sprinkled some shredded cheese and chopped peppers onto them, then gave each a squirt of a bright orange sauce of some sort. He folded the two burritos neatly and placed them in a transparent container.
“Follow me.” He grabbed the burrito container and made his way out of the galley. She followed him through the ship until they reached a ladder. “Hold this for a sec.” He handed her the burritos then ascended up the ladder. With a mechanical hiss he popped open the hatch leading to the dorsal hull of the ship. He reached his hand back down. Taking the burritos from her and placing them on the roof above them. Then he did the same with her coffee.
The two of them emerged onto the hull above the Anaconda’s bridge. The bulk of the 150 meter long vessel extended before them, and the vast expanse of the station's central docking chamber above and around them. Naomi let out a small gasp. She was an experienced pilot, but rarely did she take the time to experience the docking chamber without a ship canopy and heads up display between her and the impressive site. The scale of the structure was breathtaking.
Cosby took a seat at the edge of the roof. His legs dangled over the bridge canopy glass. He patted the hull panel next to him with his hand. Naomi took a seat next to him. “Nice view.” She said.
A massive beluga liner flew overhead as he replied. The station lights reflecting brightly against its ivory hull and polished observation windows.
He nodded to her. “I like to watch the ships.”
Naomi took a bite of her burrito. “Mmmmf! This is incredible! What is this sauce?”
“Habanero ranch,” he replied. “I used to grow my own peppers back where I grew up.”
“Where was that?” Naomi asked. Cosby paused for a while before responding, “Chione.” He sighed.
Naomi knew of the planet, and its tragic history. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Cosby mused, “I grew up near Imperial space, then the Empire made it their space.”
Naomi raised her hand, reached towards him, hesitated, but ultimately placed her palm on his shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze. “The Empire fucks a lot of people in a lot of different ways.”
He shot her a brief glance. “Yup."
She took another sip of her coffee. Cosby swallowed the last bite of his burrito. He looked at her quizzically, “So, what are you gonna do now?”
Naomi burst out laughing. Nearly spit-taking her coffee. “That's. . . That's a really good fucking question.” Cosby stayed silent, waiting for her to elaborate. “I uh, I don’t know what I am supposed to do. It used to be so easy. Explore strange new worlds, boldly go, save humanity, you know?” He nodded. She continued, “Turns out everything I worked for was a lie. I’ve spent the past year of my life working for some truly horrible people, because I believed in the lie that we were working for the greater good. And that the end justifies the means.”
Cosby nodded solemnly. “Rough stuff.”
Naomi wondered what he truly thought of her. Why is he being so nice to me? We were enemies. I represented everything he stood and fought against.
“To tell you the truth,” Naomi carried on, “I don’t think I trust myself anymore to know if what I am doing is good.”
Cosby scoffed slightly, “So what then, gonna do nothing?”
“I tried that already,” Naomi replied, “Crashed in my dad’s cushy penthouse on Mars. All the creature comforts. Lasted about two weeks before I went stir crazy.”
“Sounds about right.” He smiled at her. There was a twinkle in his eye. “Folks like us. Can’t sit still.”
“Any advice?” she asked him.
He stood up and offered her a hand. She took it. This time, the force helping her up was more properly measured. He took a long look at her before speaking. She wondered if his cybernetic eye was maybe equipped to look into her soul.
“You can’t control what other people do, or what they want. And you can’t wait for the optimal moment to act. It might pass you before you spot it. You wanna be good? Go do good.”
He walked away from her towards the hatchway leading back down into the interior of the ship. He started to climb down the ladder, “You comin’? Gotta ship out soon. Roof’s not a great place to be when I take off.”
She followed him into the ship.
He met her at the top of the Anaconda’s loading bay ramp after she’d collected her effects. She embraced him. “Thanks for the bunk, and the breakfast.”
“Don’t mention it.” He muttered. She frowned. “Nuh-uh, No. I will mention it. You’ve been really nice to me.”
She kissed him lightly on the cheek before releasing him from her hug.
He tried to conceal his blush by looking down at his shoes. “Uh, um. Anytime, uh, ma’am. Naomi. . . Commander.” Naomi couldn't help but giggle.
Cosby reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a data chip. “Oh um, I talked to F– uh, Skullface last night. Might’ve mentioned you were having a bit of a rough time.” He reached out to hand her the chip. “He said to tell you not to open this until after I’d taken off.”
“Um, ok. What is it?”
Cosby shrugged, “‘Sposed to be a surprise, I guess.”
Naomi smirked, “Alright then, keep your secrets.” She began descending the ramp out of the ship. She turned back to him and waved as she reached the bottom. “See you around, Raxxla Man.”
He gave her a classic o7 salute as she walked away.
* * *
Naomi watched from the docking level observation deck as the Anaconda Celestian rose above landing pad 07. Its main thrusters flashed brilliantly, propelling the massive vessel out into open space. She wondered what mission its pilot was off to next.
She felt the edge of the data chip in her jacket pocket. Guess it's time to see what Skullface sent me. She slotted the data chip into the reader on her wrist holo. A message notification popped up, she tapped to open it.
Sorry not sorry about ruining your life. Landing pad 02. Go save the Galaxy ✊
- Numbskull
She sighed at the obvious melodramatic and cryptic style of the message, then proceeded to the elevator lobby. The doors of her chosen turbolift slid open and she entered. “Landing pad 02.” She grasped a hand rail as the turbolift began to move.
She emerged from the turbolift at the entrance to landing pad 02, and walked down the spaceway to the tarmac. Parked in the center of the pad, brightly lit by the surrounding area lights, and shimmering in the mist from freshly re-filled coolant systems, was a brand new Falcon-Delacy Cobra Mark III. It was painted with a stylized neon sunset livery which matched her t-shirt. She looked around the bay and spotted no one. She returned to the info panel on the wall near the elevators to check the ship's registry.
COBRA MADAME TURBO. ID Number TC1983. Registered Owner: CMDR _NAOMII_.
“Huh.” She spoke out loud. Even though there was no one around to hear her. “Okay then.” She walked back towards her new ship and boarded through the front ramp.
She took a seat in the cockpit. The holofac HUD booted up around her in its default orange and blue. The ship's COVAS addressed her, “Welcome Commander. Would you like to import your HUD and control settings from your Pilots Federation account?”
“Affirmative. Thanks, Verity.”
“My pleasure, Commander.” The interface around her blinked and was replaced with purple, green, and teal.
Naomi opened up the module panel and was surprised to see the ship was fitted with A-rated modules, an expensive upgrade from the stock E-rated loadout. There was also a fuel scoop, and a complement of pulse lasers and multicannons fitted in the ship's hard points. She could go anywhere she wished and defend herself easily from all but the most skilled of pilots.
I think today is gonna be a good day.
She pulled up the ship's nav panel and punched in a route to the 12 Sextantis system, with a few stops along the way at Engineering bases.
“Verity, initiate commlink to Commander Crimtana Montelle.”
“Acknowledged, Commander. Initiating transmission.” The user interface chirped to signal the outgoing call. A few moments later, a holofac image of Crimtana appeared before her.
“Naomi, you trollop! Why the fuck have you been ignoring my calls?”
“Sorry I’m late, Crim. I’m finally on my way.”
“Sorry. . . you’re late?” Crim looked back at the other people in the room behind her that Naomi could not see through the holo call. “Are you guys hearing this? It’s been two fucking years of me begging her to join us and she has the audacity to call herself merely late!” Crim winked at Naomi through the holo, “Can’t fucking wait. You’re gonna love it here!”
Naomi laughed at her feigned outrage. “I’m sure I will. See you in a few days.”
“Bye, Queen!” Crimtana deactivated the call.
Naomi requested launch clearance. The station traffic controller acknowledged her request through the comms. “Falcon-Delacy November Alpha Oscar, you are cleared for launch. Please make way for larger vessels, follow the greens, and mind the toast rack.”
“Thank you, flight-conn.” Naomi responded as her new ship lifted off the pad. “Oh-seven, Commander. Fly safe out there.”
The Cobra’s thrusters flared bright pink as her ship launched itself into open space.
* * *
Paladin Tigh watched the Cobra Mark III exit the station. It boosted away at high speed after it had cleared the flight path in front of the mail slot. His ship’s COVAS announced his target’s imminent departure, “Frameshift Charge Detected.” The voice was stiff and masculine. A moment later, with a flash of exotic energy, the Cobra disappeared into hyperspace.
Tigh flipped several switches at the base of his flight stick. “Silent Running Deactivated.”
He pushed the throttle forward. The engine plumes of his Midnight Black Imperial Clipper, the Caretaker’s Lance, seemed to almost float disembodied in space as his ship thrusted to within scanning range of the Cobra’s frame-shift wake. He held down the trigger on his flight stick, activating the wake scanner. The ship's interface beeped as the destination telemetry appeared on his HUD.
“Victor, activate a commlink to the Citadel. Priority Alpha.” The stern voice of the COVAS responded, “Channel is open, Commander.”
A goateed face materialized on the holofac screen. “Report, Paladin.”
Tigh performed the customary salute, “Imperator, I have positive tracking signature for Acolyte Naomi’s vessel. Permission to en–”
The Imperator interrupted him. “DO NOT SULLY MY EARS WITH THE NAME OF THE HERETIC TRAITOR!” Tigh gulped. He’d rarely seen the Imperator this enraged before. The only previous such occasion he could remember was when one of his concubines had escaped.
“My apologies, Imperator.” He waited for instructions.
“Paladin, you are to pursue the traitor, to the ends of the universe, if necessary. Spare no measure, give her no quarter. Be, relentless. Let there be no safe haven for her in all the galaxy! Bring her to me, alive, though not necessarily unharmed. I trust you to exercise adequate judgment.”
Tigh nodded, “It shall be done, Imperator.”
“Complete this mission to my satisfaction, Paladin, and you shall know rewards beyond your imagination. Fail, and you will envy the swift death of the battlefield, for it will most definitely not be your end. Praise be to the Caretaker.”
“Praise be to the Caretaker.” Tigh replied. The Imperator deactivated the call.
Tigh maxed out the throttle, boosting the ship further away from the station until the mass lock indicator vanished. He punched the control to activate the hyperspace jump. “Frame Shift Drive charging.” Victor announced, “FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE.”
With a flash, the Caretaker’s Lance disappeared into Witchspace.