07-23-2010, 11:37 PM
The only sound in the hallway that can be heard is footsteps, made by a ridiculously expensive pair of fine leather shoes. Johnny Vega was walking over this personal hangar bay on Barrier Gate. He dressed himself in his usual fine black suit light pinstripes on top of a black Kusari silk shirt. A silver tie with a light diagonal stripe pattern lay around his neck, worn just loose enough for comfort.
A quick swipe of a card and the door hissed as it slid open.
The hangar bay was large, but the sheer amount of materials inside made it seem small. The ceiling stood 20 metres into the air, lined with cranes and other machinery whose purpose was a mystery to him. The walls were packed lined with shelves contained all sorts of electronic tools and parts, and tucked into the corner was a gun storage locker filled with weapons save for two. The fact that a Sabre class fighter was housed inside didn't help matters. H-Fuel, ammunitions and spare parts littered the surrounding areas as mechanic droids were finishing uninstalling the Outcast weaponry that the ship once sported. Strewn beside the fighter were prototype weapons primed for installation.
It wasn't a lap of luxury, certainly not what he was used to. He was a wanted man in Liberty; returning home was not a possibility. His estate on Malta was no more. He sold it, and much of his other holdings to aqcuire what he was about to give away. However, what it lacked in luxury it made up in security and practicality. No one could get in without access codes, and the station's security cameras spied oppressively on all entrances to personal hangar bays.
He didn't come to this decision lightly. After spending years working for the Maltese, what he was about to would make him a hunted man. But, that was something that he was used to. During nearly all of his adult life there was at least some sort of bounty on his head. Another one wouldn't matter much.
Things change. He was in fine health, and not addicted to a substance that has twisted his genetic structure to the point where it didn't know which way to go. All that could keep him alive was a liquid form of cardamine, and he was about to give much of his stock. It seemed like a terrible idea, but he was a dead man anyway. What's another few months?
One of the droids walked over to where he was standing, its heavy metallic feet clanking on the hangar bay's floor.
"We have finished removing the Kraken class weapons and are about to proceed installing the prototype weaponry," the droid spoke in a crudely synthesized voice.
"Good. Take the Outcast guns, fry the circuitry and toss it out the airlock," Vega said.
"Understood," the droid replied and pivoted before walking away to do as it was told.
Vega strolled over to one of the walls and removed a collapsable table and two chairs. He walked over to a large clearing in front of his fighter and set the table. He placed his chair so that he would face the door and his back would be turned to the blue skinned Sabre. The other chair he placed directly accross from him.
In the distance, a red strobe light flared as the airlock's outside doors de-pressurized and its contents were ejected into space. The droid that did the handywork trodded over to Johnny.
"The assigned task has been completed," it said.
"What I want you to do now is stand over by the door and pretend as if you are de-activated. You're going to record everything that happens in here from when my guests arrive, understood?"
"Understood," the droid replied and proceeded to stand by the door.
Johnny sat down in his chair, clasped his hands and leaned on his elbows, waiting for his guests to arrive.
A quick swipe of a card and the door hissed as it slid open.
The hangar bay was large, but the sheer amount of materials inside made it seem small. The ceiling stood 20 metres into the air, lined with cranes and other machinery whose purpose was a mystery to him. The walls were packed lined with shelves contained all sorts of electronic tools and parts, and tucked into the corner was a gun storage locker filled with weapons save for two. The fact that a Sabre class fighter was housed inside didn't help matters. H-Fuel, ammunitions and spare parts littered the surrounding areas as mechanic droids were finishing uninstalling the Outcast weaponry that the ship once sported. Strewn beside the fighter were prototype weapons primed for installation.
It wasn't a lap of luxury, certainly not what he was used to. He was a wanted man in Liberty; returning home was not a possibility. His estate on Malta was no more. He sold it, and much of his other holdings to aqcuire what he was about to give away. However, what it lacked in luxury it made up in security and practicality. No one could get in without access codes, and the station's security cameras spied oppressively on all entrances to personal hangar bays.
He didn't come to this decision lightly. After spending years working for the Maltese, what he was about to would make him a hunted man. But, that was something that he was used to. During nearly all of his adult life there was at least some sort of bounty on his head. Another one wouldn't matter much.
Things change. He was in fine health, and not addicted to a substance that has twisted his genetic structure to the point where it didn't know which way to go. All that could keep him alive was a liquid form of cardamine, and he was about to give much of his stock. It seemed like a terrible idea, but he was a dead man anyway. What's another few months?
One of the droids walked over to where he was standing, its heavy metallic feet clanking on the hangar bay's floor.
"We have finished removing the Kraken class weapons and are about to proceed installing the prototype weaponry," the droid spoke in a crudely synthesized voice.
"Good. Take the Outcast guns, fry the circuitry and toss it out the airlock," Vega said.
"Understood," the droid replied and pivoted before walking away to do as it was told.
Vega strolled over to one of the walls and removed a collapsable table and two chairs. He walked over to a large clearing in front of his fighter and set the table. He placed his chair so that he would face the door and his back would be turned to the blue skinned Sabre. The other chair he placed directly accross from him.
In the distance, a red strobe light flared as the airlock's outside doors de-pressurized and its contents were ejected into space. The droid that did the handywork trodded over to Johnny.
"The assigned task has been completed," it said.
"What I want you to do now is stand over by the door and pretend as if you are de-activated. You're going to record everything that happens in here from when my guests arrive, understood?"
"Understood," the droid replied and proceeded to stand by the door.
Johnny sat down in his chair, clasped his hands and leaned on his elbows, waiting for his guests to arrive.