I've realized lately that facebook is a great tool for showing my work to my friends. I've also realized that facebook is not a good tool for showing my work to people who are not my friends. To remedy the problem this blog has been created. I'll update the story with new content when I think there's been enough time for the readers to be caught up. Comments are always welcome and wanted, and are a great way to let me know I should put more story up. With all that mouthful said, here's the first part.
I was supposed to be a soldier. A hardened veteran, the company's best. And I was. But it was her that pulled me back into being freelance, into something I had thought was in the past.
Even the familiar cockpit of the Trident that I had flown for three years under the company's wing felt foreign to me now. The muscle memory was still there; I could reach out and find the flight stick with my arm at the exact angle I expected. My thumb knew where to find all five firing buttons. The trigger was just as bouncy for quick shots as it always had been.
My left hand hovered over the systems panel, all of my fingers knowing just how to bend and twist to divert power to wherever it might need to go. The heel rested ever so gently on the throttle control with my thumb ever present over the afterburner button. Everything was here, so why did it all feel so alien?
I told myself it wasn't because of her. It wasn't because of what she told me. There was no way.
“Going somewhere?” a voice asked from outside of the pit. I looked up, even though I recognized Mask's voice instantly.
“Yeah,” I told him as he approached, hanging his arms over the sides of the opened cockpit. Suddenly the hangar bay felt much more like home now that it wasn't just me and the ships.
“You know that Comp doesn't like the idea of its pilots working freelance without them knowing, right?” Mask's wry eyes gave away that he didn't follow the Company's often-spat-out rule either, or at least didn't want to.
“Don't worry. They know. It's just a simple escort from here to Titan. Nothing dicey.” When Mask's gaze lingered I continued, “And top Corp knows about it. The amount of red tape to go through just to escort mining supplies for a few hours is unreal.”
Mask just nodded and glanced over his shoulder.
“I should get going,” I lied to him. “I need to refit the Trident so I won't be left behind.”
“Because those mining freighters are such speedy devils, I know,” Mask said with a grin. “I'll get out of your hair. Let me know if things get interesting.” Then he turned and left.
“I will,” I said, and I would if I needed it. Mask was a good pilot when it came down to it, and he was another ex-freelancer.
It wasn't until much later that I even wondered why Mask was in the hangar that afternoon.
For another few moments I sat in the cockpit almost wishing I hadn't sent Mask away. Then I fired up the engines and made the short flight over to the refit station. It had been a total lie. I kept the Trident light already; I never liked the feeling of sluggish over sized fighters. I had to sacrifice a lot of firepower but it was worth not being shot down because a missile caught me before I could maneuver away. Besides, the ship still had a thick skin.
I walked around the refit station, eying the goods that was only available to mercenaries and freelancers for no particular reason. As a company man I had access to better stock and reduced prices. I wasn't shopping anyway, just killing time. I actually had at least three hours until the target would arrive, so I browsed the stock of second hand junk that the company sold and remembered when I used to think they were all treasures I could never afford.
- - -
“I don't know why you're even looking,” Sarah said scoldingly. I was standing in the exact same spot that I would years from now, looking at the displays, half of which would still be there. “We're dirt poor. With the economy in the shit like it is we wouldn't be able to afford anything here even with the next three jobs. We'll be lucky if they'll even pay for the fuel we need to get around, let alone repairs.” She paused for a moment. “Are you even listening?”
I was, but I didn't tell her as much. I always assumed if I gave her the silent treatment enough she would eventually stop chattering. I was wrong. She kept talking, so I said, “I'm just browsing. Does it kill a guy to look at things he wishes he could afford?”
“Yes,” she said, “Especially when he has a glint in his eye that makes it obvious he's already calculated how what he's looking at would effect his outputs down to the hundredth decimal.” She was wrong, I hadn't even gotten to the ones place.
“Just browsing,” I repeated.
“Lord, you'd think you're marveling at a new display. Or avoiding your wife.”
I didn't tell her she was right. I knew all to well that making your wingman of a wife angry when she was already upset at you was a very bad idea. In fact, I didn't even tell her anything. My eyes continued to stare at the price tag of a particularly nice looking thruster until she wandered off to find someone else to annoy.
I watched her go with a long drawn out sigh. I wonder If she knew ever had any idea what was coming.
- - -
My communicator went off. I looked at the woefully slow thruster as I flipped it open. “Reynolds here,” I said.
“We're ahead of schedule,” an unfamiliar voice said back at me. Will you be ready in about...” the voice trailed off, said something to someone else, then came back, “About now,” the stern sounding man said.
“Sure. I was just looking at a thruster I was thinking about buying. I'm on station now.” It was a joke. My contractor didn't see it that way.
“You're actually thinking of buying that company junk?” There was a pause, more voices speaking to each other. “You don't have time to install any new hardware. We're leaving in five minutes, an d if you're not with us consider the contract terminated.”
“I'll be there,” I told him. I cut the communication. Damn bureaucratic under-appreciated miners always thought that they could boss us little company pilots around. In another moment I was back in the Trident, and in another I was flying out to meet the target. I wish I could have seen the contractor's face when he realized a company fighter was coming out to meet him.
“Not funny,” the contractor said as I came into ship to ship communication range.
I didn't laugh even thought I really wanted to. The lights of the ships slowly came into view. Three freighters. Nothing else. I was the only escort. I scanned the targets as was protocol.
“Things have changed, if you didn't know. You don't just scan ships that you feel like scanning. If we wanted to we could press charges, I hope you understand.”
I shrugged, then remembered that we weren't using video communique. “But you won't because company lawyers are the best in the system. Besides, you need me. I'm seeing more than just mining supplies.”
“And you're seeing nothing harmful, either,” the contractor said, telling me my bluff was a success. They only knew that I had scanned, not that the Trident's scanners were complete garbage that would only tell me the ship's shield power with around a 65% degree of confidence. “Let's go.”
The engines of the freighters roared into life. When we neared the gate the freighters' on board subspace engines kicked in. The Trident was large enough to carry one but I had long since stripped it for improved speed. Besides, I never minded using the jump gates.
I arrived on the other side first. The Jupiter sector came to life on my long range sensors. Jupiter was an even greater cultural hub than Mars. Not much of a surprise, the company controlled most of Mars space these days.
The Freighters appeared in space not far from me. The minutes ticked by into two hours of silent travel. There was no communication as we approached the gate to Saturn space. That was where things could get hairy. The freighters jumped and in another minute I was through the gate. They were rushing. Was someone following us?
I came through the other side and the freighters were nowhere to be found. I looked at my sensors. Nothing was to be found. That wasn't right, at least I should have been picking up pathing beacons. “Anyone out there?”
No reply. “Damnit,” I said, punching the console. It didn't help. Panic didn't set it. I knew what had happened, and when I was back to Mars I had every intention of sending a very angry communication to Sol Gateways. I oriented myself and kicked on the afterburners. No doubt the contractor was going to be very pissed at me.
They came into sensor range. “Escort, what the hell happened out there?”
“The Jupiter-Saturn gate is a piece of crap. Always sends me too far to the left.”
“This will be reflected in your pay,” the contractor said. I scowled. It wasn't my fault, but I knew better than to argue. “We are running out of time.”
I wanted to ask for what, and I almost did, but my answer found me. “...you'd get away so easily?” a heckled voice came in through one of the freighter's communication lines. They were patching me through. A group of three fighters came into short sensor range. “Damnit, hand over that cargo.”
“Escort, I hope you are paying attention,” the contractor said. “You know the rules, if they fire a shot then it's your job to destroy everything with the same call tag.”
Of course I knew that. I wasn't an idiot.
“Any further damage after the first shot will be reflected in your pay.”
Bastards, I thought.
“We paid for this cargo and you know it,” a voice said over the communication ring. I recognized it as the one the contractor had been speaking to earlier. My systems told me it was from one of the other freighters.
“Damn that noise,” the pilot of the speaking advancing fighter said. “That gear wasn't Arman's to sell. You know that.”
“He had all of the proper IDs. They were his to sell. Legally. Morality is not a part of the law.” the contractor said.
“If we have to take it from you we will. Saturn space is open, it's not part of the law either.” That wasn't true, it was just far away from the law, since the closest authority stations were at least two jumps away in any direction.
“In case you were to stupid to look at your scanners,” the second freighter pilot said, “We have an escort.” My system alerted me to three ships scanning me almost simultaneously.
I used my intimidating thug voice. “Better cut those scans before they finish.”
The fighter pilot laughed. “A single Trident can't hold a candle to us. You won't even know what hit you. Slag him.”
