08-31-2010, 07:47 PM
Aug. 31, 817 AS
Shasta Orbital Skyhook, Goddess Geode, Baffin System
Richard Sykes had been in many places throughout his thirty-some years of life. He'd been as far to the Systemic North as Omicron-80, his progress only impeded when he ran headlong into the infamous Omicron-80 Minefield, and as far to the Systemic South as Omega-47, where he frequently dropped off a hold of Red Hessians for his daily bread (if bread was translated as "ammunition and repairs"). He'd basked in the sky-blue heavens of Tau-37, fought Kusari patrols in Leeds and broken at least one blockade with the Bretonian Armed Forces. He'd seen many strange things and met many strange people.
Yet one thing consistently baffled him. That thing was the Baffin System. Half-shrouded in a fragment of The Barrier that had been cut off from Coronado, half-lit by its reddish-orange sun, the home system of the Temporary Autonomous Zoners was still a new place to him; despite his having travelled through it several times. As a matter of fact, Sykes hadn't ever bothered to turn his ship around and inspect the myriad planets in the system until the previous day. Sonoma Station and the Shasta Orbital Skyhook were completely unknown to him until a chance encounter with a Zoner convoy put them on his map.
Now, he was a regular. Shasta Orbital Skyhook, and especially Club Discordia (subtitle Sin's After Hours), became one of his favorite "points of fortification" (read: bars/restaurants/rest stops) before heading into the Taus. Not because the food was particularly remarkable - he still attributed the prestigious title of "Best Damned Restaurant in th' Sector" to one of the numerous steak joints on Houston - and not because he understood and connected with the people, but because of its closeness to forbidden Kusari systems. He rarely found himself venturing through them, but when he needed to head into the Taus or - god forbid - make the rare trip into the central Kusari systems, he docked in Shasta.
As he was right now.
Sykes guided his battle-scarred Spatial, the Seeker Six One (the original callsign of the vessel, now immortalized in stencilled white paint on the massive starboard delta wing), to an empty airlock on Shasta. The hiss of the ship's airlock bonding to the station's made Sykes' mountainous shoulders slump in relief - docking the behemoth of a Deep Space Explorer was a hassle on a whole new level. He stepped down off the bridge of Seeker Six One, releasing the clasp that kept his helmet secure to the pressure suit that he always wore "just 'n case ah need it". The face behind the obscuring helmet was that of a well-tanned Texan, with a well-kept, short shock of dark brown hair and a heavy growth of beard. He removed the pressure suit and dressed himself in his usual station attire - calf-length brown logging boots, blue jeans, a white t-shirt and black leather vest.
The COMM unit on his right wrist pinged. A reminder scrolled acrossed the screen - "meeting with girl" - and he grinned. For once, he didn't need the reminder. As he hauled himself through the circular airlock and into the umbilical connecting Seeker to the Shasta, Sykes raised the watch-like device to eye level and tapped on the "Send Message" button. A recording program buzzed to life, and Sykes spoke, his heavy Houston drawl coating every sentence.
"Message goin' t' Popess Concordia, a' th' Temp'rary Autonomous Zoners; vessel name Devil Unicorn," He grunted, clarifying the address of the message to the COMM unit. "Concordia, this's Richard Sykes. Ah'm glad t'see y'all're still alive, seein's this message says yer ship's recievin' th' signal." Here he guffawed briefly. "Anyhow," he continued, "Ah'm on th' Shasta Skyhook if'n y'all wanted t' come along an' visit like y'all said ya would. Ah'll be around fer a good while, so take yer time gettin' here. Sykes out."
He closed the COMM and sent the message, then stomped off down the docking arm, following direction signs to Club Discordia. He passed through several bazaars and shopping places, evidence of the mixed cultures that Zoners accomodated - men and women of every color, creed and walk of life had come to hock their wares at this station, and it created a brilliant set of contrasts that left Sykes a little dumbstruck and a little amazed every time. Ignoring the bazaar, Sykes made his way through several sets of elevators, stairwells and security checkpoints before he finally claimed a seat at Club Discordia.
Shasta Orbital Skyhook, Goddess Geode, Baffin System
Richard Sykes had been in many places throughout his thirty-some years of life. He'd been as far to the Systemic North as Omicron-80, his progress only impeded when he ran headlong into the infamous Omicron-80 Minefield, and as far to the Systemic South as Omega-47, where he frequently dropped off a hold of Red Hessians for his daily bread (if bread was translated as "ammunition and repairs"). He'd basked in the sky-blue heavens of Tau-37, fought Kusari patrols in Leeds and broken at least one blockade with the Bretonian Armed Forces. He'd seen many strange things and met many strange people.
Yet one thing consistently baffled him. That thing was the Baffin System. Half-shrouded in a fragment of The Barrier that had been cut off from Coronado, half-lit by its reddish-orange sun, the home system of the Temporary Autonomous Zoners was still a new place to him; despite his having travelled through it several times. As a matter of fact, Sykes hadn't ever bothered to turn his ship around and inspect the myriad planets in the system until the previous day. Sonoma Station and the Shasta Orbital Skyhook were completely unknown to him until a chance encounter with a Zoner convoy put them on his map.
Now, he was a regular. Shasta Orbital Skyhook, and especially Club Discordia (subtitle Sin's After Hours), became one of his favorite "points of fortification" (read: bars/restaurants/rest stops) before heading into the Taus. Not because the food was particularly remarkable - he still attributed the prestigious title of "Best Damned Restaurant in th' Sector" to one of the numerous steak joints on Houston - and not because he understood and connected with the people, but because of its closeness to forbidden Kusari systems. He rarely found himself venturing through them, but when he needed to head into the Taus or - god forbid - make the rare trip into the central Kusari systems, he docked in Shasta.
As he was right now.
Sykes guided his battle-scarred Spatial, the Seeker Six One (the original callsign of the vessel, now immortalized in stencilled white paint on the massive starboard delta wing), to an empty airlock on Shasta. The hiss of the ship's airlock bonding to the station's made Sykes' mountainous shoulders slump in relief - docking the behemoth of a Deep Space Explorer was a hassle on a whole new level. He stepped down off the bridge of Seeker Six One, releasing the clasp that kept his helmet secure to the pressure suit that he always wore "just 'n case ah need it". The face behind the obscuring helmet was that of a well-tanned Texan, with a well-kept, short shock of dark brown hair and a heavy growth of beard. He removed the pressure suit and dressed himself in his usual station attire - calf-length brown logging boots, blue jeans, a white t-shirt and black leather vest.
The COMM unit on his right wrist pinged. A reminder scrolled acrossed the screen - "meeting with girl" - and he grinned. For once, he didn't need the reminder. As he hauled himself through the circular airlock and into the umbilical connecting Seeker to the Shasta, Sykes raised the watch-like device to eye level and tapped on the "Send Message" button. A recording program buzzed to life, and Sykes spoke, his heavy Houston drawl coating every sentence.
"Message goin' t' Popess Concordia, a' th' Temp'rary Autonomous Zoners; vessel name Devil Unicorn," He grunted, clarifying the address of the message to the COMM unit. "Concordia, this's Richard Sykes. Ah'm glad t'see y'all're still alive, seein's this message says yer ship's recievin' th' signal." Here he guffawed briefly. "Anyhow," he continued, "Ah'm on th' Shasta Skyhook if'n y'all wanted t' come along an' visit like y'all said ya would. Ah'll be around fer a good while, so take yer time gettin' here. Sykes out."
He closed the COMM and sent the message, then stomped off down the docking arm, following direction signs to Club Discordia. He passed through several bazaars and shopping places, evidence of the mixed cultures that Zoners accomodated - men and women of every color, creed and walk of life had come to hock their wares at this station, and it created a brilliant set of contrasts that left Sykes a little dumbstruck and a little amazed every time. Ignoring the bazaar, Sykes made his way through several sets of elevators, stairwells and security checkpoints before he finally claimed a seat at Club Discordia.