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+--- Thread: Aboard the Visione Ricordato (/showthread.php?tid=126640)
Aboard the Visione Ricordato - The Mendes Family - 02-24-2015
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(OOC - The beginning of this story is on the faction page for the Mendes family - link at the bottom of the page.)
One hour.
One stinking hour.
That's how long the engines had lasted under cruise duration. Arturio Mendes, his family, and his hired crew had worked on this ship for two years in the void near Cartagena Shipyard. Two years bleeding over it, sweating over it, skipping meals sometimes for days over it, forcing his children to suffer while cramped into the bridge....and the engines had lasted one stinking hour.
Arturio slammed his hand on the armrest of his chair. "Engine room, bridge. Oster. How long until we are underway again?"
Below in the engine room, the man known as Oster wiped sweat off of his thick brow. Standing at 6'2", pale skin, with bright blonde short-cropped hair, Zachary Oster was the furthest thing from your typical Hispanic Outcast - but the orange dream had erased all borders between race and forever united his Rheinlander junker parents to Malta. They had emigrated there permanently when he was an infant during the Nomad Wars.
He straightened up and reached for the wall comm. His voice carried next-to-no accent from his homeland, and now reflected the more native tones of Maltese lower middle class. "Bridge, engines. We've got a rupture in plasma containment and we are venting to space. Boys and I are suiting up to go EVA in just a few." Behind him two other engine crew members were already halfway into the bulky suits, and were headed for the nearest airlock.
Meanwhile, back on the bridge, Miguel had overheard turned around at the helm. "Are you kidding me, Father? We did EVERY-"
Arturio cut him off with a gesture, perhaps more viciously than intended. "Miguel you will respect decorum on this bridge while I am present or I will find a crewmember who can is that clear?" Miguel gave him a look, but finally nodded without comment since the line was still active and returned to his console. Arturio then turned his head slightly to better address the comm built into the chair's arm. "Oster, take anyone else you need from the flight crew. Get this ship underway! Good luck." EVA was always dangerous even under the best circumstances, and frankly the Visione Ricordato was being held together by prayer and bailing wire. The shields could fail at any time, for instance, and they'd be exposed to radiation and micrometeorites. Not a pleasant way to go.
Arturio cut the connection and sighed. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.
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Two days later.
The Ricordato came to a stop roughly twenty clicks away from Rochester Base in New York. After exchanging comms traffic with the dockmasters on the base and ensuring that no LPI patrols were nearby, the go-ahead was given to begin a quick freighter shuttle with the CSFs docked there. Within less than ten minutes the cardamine canisters were emptied from the holds of the Ricordato and they had almost finished loading up black market munitions. The Junkers ran a brisk business, especially under the nose of the law in the heart of Liberty space.
With a quick signoff to the station, Miguel directed the Ricordato laboriously back towards the jump anomaly to Colorado for the return trip to Alpha. With fully a fourth of the maneuvering thrusters on the ship having failed since the containment rupture, her turning was even more...ponderous...than usual. Miguel rolled his eyes at the console, and took a deeper breath than he needed to in exasperation. In addition to the thruster troubles, they'd suffered two spontaneous hull breaches, a fuel reservoir ruptured and, with the help of a spark from that same container caught the (fortunately empty!) flight deck on fire, the loading arm had somehow gotten stuck behind one of the external pressure canisters, the radar dish over the bridge module had simply fallen off (which was fine since modern sensors didn't really use external dishes) and finally, Esmund had somehow accidentally jettisoned Miguel's secret stash of vodka that he had hidden inside one of the auxiliary airlocks. All in all, it had been a pretty crappy week - and was not set to get any better. His father's vision had so far resulted in them hauling cargo like a merchant; only slower, riskier, and with far less vodka. He loved his family - especially Tomas - but this was not what he imagined for his life. His brother had told him stories of the wonders of the deep Omicrons, of encounters with the divine from the bridge of the MNS-Espadarte, of nebulae and stars...and then, of course, there was the military. Maltese naval forces in defense of the homeworld, 101st guard doing...whatever it was they do, the Contari Lance rising up for themselves and carving a name for themselves in the history of Malta, regardless of how their coup ended...and most recently, the Crimson Cross taking the fight away from the core systems and to those who would harm the spirits and their emissaries. Yes, there were much better things to be doing for the Nacion than hauling illegal munitions back to Ibiza...
Arturio entered the bridge from the lift in the back, and the first thing he noticed was Miguel staring off into space, as it were. "Miguel! Snap out of that reverie and pay attention to your board! Honestly, if your brother was here..."
Miguel jumped, and then sighed angrily to himself. Yes, Tomas was the sterling son, the perfect heir to the family and all its riches...hah. Tomas was also not here...and Spirits willing, Miguel wouldn't be either. At least after this run...right?
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