05-16-2013, 01:21 PM
635 A.S
“I saw you drifting through my club-”
“Fighter wing...”
“turnin' heads with your roguish charm.
I got lost in your deep brown eyes and-”
“That's not bad...”
“like every girl I want to be on your arm...
You looked at me and my heart went supernova..”
“A power signature...Let’s have a look-see.”
“now only you can stoke my fire, you dark haired Casanova.”
The song ended, drifting slowly into silence.
“That was the chart topper by Halfway Lounge and Dark Haired Casanova. Coming up next, Twisted Soul by Credits for the Hellbound but first the latest from the Colony News Network. Don't touch that transceiver, you're tuned in to the SoundWave.”
The voice of the newscaster began to fade, the lights inside the cockpit dimmed, flickered, died and spluttered back to life. Jim Carron didn't care. A little thing like flickering lights was standard fare if you were flying a scrapper. Besides these grapplers drain a bit of extra juice at times he reassured himself, nothing to worry about.
He bashed the top of the transceiver twice with his fist, keyed in a number and pressed the scan button. A small antenna outside rotated as it scanned the FTL comms, the cheesy jingle of SoundWave poured through the speakers.
“Today's top stories. In Bretonia an unnamed eco group have claimed responsibility for the recent attacks upon transports in the Leed's system. The Bretonian government has issued a warning for ships passing through the area to be on the alert and to report any suspicious craft to the Police Authority at once.
Sigma 19 may be the next system in line to receive a jumpgate. If given the greenlight by the Kusari government Sigma 19 will be connected to Okinawa opening up the dense helium clouds for industrialization.
Three bodies have been removed from a water treatment facility outside the Washington spaceport on Manhattan. Liberty officials have yet to release the names of the victims but their deaths are being treated as suspicious and investigations are underway.
In other news the rock band Silverback Gold have cancelled their tour of Rheinland, lead singer Cortney Litlow issued a statement earlier today condemning the war between Rheinland and the GMG which has entered it's fortieth year as 'Pointless slaughter and self destruction.' The Reichstag has refused to comment.
That's the top stories so far, more news in an hour.”
Jim scratched his five o'clock shadow absent-mindedly. Those three murders near Washington hung in his thoughts as the grapplers attempted to salvage the power sig he'd picked up. The scream of shearing metal sent a shudder up his spine as one of the arms severed itself from the ship, it’s hydraulic fluid morphed and distorted in the vacuum beyond the cockpit glass. He watched it twist and bob with childlike fascination as it drifted into the void. Annoyed and interested in equal measure, Jim analysed the signature. It certainly wasn't a weapon capacitor, or a shield generator. He'd heard rumours of the ‘Landers using prototype ships against the GMG, perhaps for once his luck would hold. Setting the cutter on auto he allowed himself to daydream of a high rise condo on Manhattan and that olive skinned actress from the latest spy thriller wearing nothing but a set of knee high boots.
The pained whine of an alarm snapped him back to reality. He began frantically clearing the various consoles of clutter seeking the source. It can't be a ship, he thought, he knew that alarm all too well. Praying it wasn't life support, he continued to thrash around the cockpit sending old food wrappers and adult magazines soaring behind his chair finally locating it under an issue of Busty Beauties.
“Engine four coolant supply depleted?!” He slammed his fist down in frustration. “You idiot machine” he punctuated every word with another blow “We – Don't – Have – Four – Engines!” The alarm fell silent as the last strike robbed the machine of it's only functioning part. Jim threw himself back in his chair thoroughly annoyed. This damned ship would be the death of him.
Closing his eyes, Jim attempted to relax and bring back the woman with the knee high boots. It was not to be as another alarm brought his blood to boiling point again. Opening one eye, he prepared to rip whatever was causing the noise forcibly from the cockpit. Realising it was the plasma cutter signalling the end of it's task, he relaxed, grateful that something on this deathtrap worked properly he guided the bit of scrap into the cargo hold. He had no clue what he'd just salvaged but if it generated as much power as the scans indicated he really didn't care, this could be his ticket to a better life or in the very least, a better ship.
Jim suddenly froze as an unknown voice crackled through his speakers.
“Unmarked vessel, you are conducting illegal salvage of Rheinland property. Remain at your position with your engines and weapons powered down. Any attempt to flee will be met with force. This is your only warning.”
“Listen here chump” Jim replied with swagger “If you're going to impersonate Rheinland navy you should know they never give warnings.” He checked his scanners, two contacts had entered the gas cloud heading towards him. Their winding flight paths avoiding the explosive gas pockets littered throughout the cloud.
Only two kilometres out and closing Jim kicked his engines into full. He launched three EMP mines as the two contacts entered the scrapfield which detonated in a plume of energy, knocking out one of the fighters completely leaving it adrift amongst the twisted wreckage. The second fighter may of lost its shielding but none of its purpose. He spun his top turret to finish it off when his scanners resolved the two contacts as Rheinland Navy fighters. ‘Great’ he thought sarcastically ‘I’ll be charged with two counts of assaulting an officer and illegal salvage.’
A salvo of weapons fire buckled his shields. Fearing for his life Jim banked wildly to avoid more fire and a large piece of scrap. The dull thuds on his unprotected hull rattled his nerves. He didn't have armour like those navy fighters.
Shutting down all but his top turret, Carron dived into the gas clouds. Would that navy goon follow him unshielded into a maze of explosive pockets? He certainly hoped not.
The navy pilot was either brave or foolhardy as he plunged into the gas cloud firing salvo after salvo. A pocket exploded off Jim's port side scorching the hull and tearing off a large piece of stabiliser.
This was suicide he thought even a Rheinland prison is better than being vapourized by a wacko with a deathwish. He opened his comms to surrender as a high pitched scream assaulted his ears. The contact had dropped from scanners.
All around him the pockets of gas began to explode setting off a massive chain reaction. Throwing all his weapon power into shields, Carron hurtled towards the edge of the cloud. A familiar buzzing told him the shields had mercifully recharged. However each explosion chipped away at the newly established energy barrier.
Forty one percent...
Thirty...
Twenty three...
The edge of the cloud was barely a kilometre away.
Fifteen...
Nine...
Zero...
“Oooh, chart me a course for that... Inky black.
Those glittering diamonds... Are calling me back.
Oh I crave for that velvet embrace,
Of that ice queen called space.
I was a sucker for a sweet thing like you,
But your sweet lips can't ground me for-ever.
The wiggle of your hips might be my heaven.
Yes I'd be lyin' if I said I weren't keen.
Girl my heart is stuck...in between.
“Oooh, chart me a course for that... Inky black.
Those glittering diamonds... Are calling me back.
Oh I crave for that velvet embrace,
The frigid touch of the ice queen called space.”
He was cold... Fire... Gas fire. No gas clouds... Why would gas be in clouds? He need to open his eyes... But he was so sleepy...
Slowly Jim opened one eye, his other eye had swollen completely shut. He touched it gingerly, the pain was dull and throbbing. His fingers were covered in something warm and syrupy. A sense of panic slowly bubbled up inside him.
There's a button he need to press... Life... Something. It was blue. The cockpit swam in front of his eyes. There was a blue button on his left. He stretched out a shaking hand. The lights of the cockpit flickered into existence. Warm air circulated around the pilots chair but the panic was still rising. He needed to call for help but he couldn’t make out the consoles.
His mind felt fuzzy and disorganised. Odd flashes of fire and pain leapt into his thoughts. He’d been hurt like this before, back in basic training.
“Autopilot” Jim said in a strangely slow and monotone voice “West Point Academy. Emergency dock.”
The ship stopped spinning. Several times the engines attempted to charge before propelling the ship to it's unknown destination.
Struggling to keep himself awake, Carron concentrated on the music. Time lost all meaning for him as he passed through jumpholes and tradelanes. Everything blurred together. He was getting colder. The blood on his face had dried. A light was flashing on the console above him. He pressed it.
“Incoming fighter, this is West Point Academy. Identify yourself.”
“This is Private Carron. Requesting emergency dock clearance.” he replied automatically “Security code... Kappa kappa zero... Nine nine golf one.”
“One moment Private.”
The dock operator called out to his superiour “Sir we have a ship attempting an emergency dock. The code is valid but inactive, it's registered to a Corporal Carron.” The general stopped dead in his tracks “Did you say Carron?” The operator nodded “He sounds in bad shape sir. Listen.”
Jim was struggling to stay conscious, every part of him was screaming for sleep. The cold was consuming him. Someone was speaking but he couldn't make out the words. “This is Private... Carron. I need... To dock.”
“Carron, this is Wills, can you hear me?” The General's gravelly tone roused him slightly. “Sarge. Help... I can't stay awake.”
“Do not fall asleep. That's an order Carron.”
“I’m so cold...”
Wills' turned to the operator “get him inside now!”
Raising to his full impressive height he called to the room at large. “We have injured soldier coming in at docking bay F. I need the sawbones ready for a serious concussion and god know what else. And it seems seems we have a problem with our electronics. It looks like the logs for the past five minutes have been lost... Do I make myself clear?”
Consciousness, horrid consciousness. Jim fought against it. Willing himself to remain as far from reality as possible. A strange sensation began to spread rapidly from his arm, a curious feeling, as though he was being submerged in pleasantly warm water. The feeling reached his heart, sending it shooting over the entire of his body. Light pressure built up at the base of his skull as if a small bubble had formed there, rising slowly to centre of his mind. It was electrifying.
His spine began to tingle. Brushing the covers with his hand made his hairs stand on end. The beating of his heart settled in his ears. This must be how it felt to be born Jim thought, bombarded by new found senses and sensations. The bubble reached it’s destination sending a wave of euphoria crashing throughout his body. His eyes bulged as they were thrown open. The smallest of sighs escaped his lips.
“I see the morphine ‘as kicked in.”
The wave receded, leaving a fuzzy feeling in it’s wake. Jim had suddenly become aware of his surroundings, he attempted to sit up only to find a strong hand on his chest, pinning him down.
“Oh no you don’t Jim lad. Keep your head down, you’ve had a pretty nasty knock.”
Standing above him donned in light blue scrubs was a face he’d never expected to see again. “Well if it isn’t Long John Silver.” he said grinning from ear to ear. “In the flesh.” Replied Gregory Johnson, patting his old squadmate on the shoulder “sit tight, Wills wanted to know the moment you were awake.”
Jim dragged himself into a sitting position as Johnson headed into his office. He dredged his memory trying to piece together what had happened previously. He remembered trying to outrun the gas explosion and the assumed demise of the Rheinland pilot who’d started it. His head started to ache as he plumbed further into his memories. The shield had gone down as he reached the edge of the cloud then... He bullied his brain to ignore the morphine... The ship was thrown violently forward... Broken fingers on his right hand... His last vivid image was him flying head first at the cockpit glass. Well that’d explain it.
He closed his eyes resting his head gently on the wall behind him, allowing the cold metal to ease the throbbing. Approaching footsteps told him Johnson was on his way back, taking his head off the wall he awaited the bad news.
“The General is on his way now” the news really must be grim. “Jim” Johnson began, his face stark and serious “before Wills gets here, you should know-”
“What should he know Doctor?” That voice still gave him goosebumps “The football scores?” A massive grey haired figure had filled the door “Go ahead.” With every step the dozen medals that adorned his chest rattled. Johnson remained stony faced and silent. “Good. I should have the pleasure of telling this stupid jackass what he’s done.”
General Wills towered over Jim’s bed like a monolith, everything about Wills made him think of war. Adopting what he thought to be a winning smile he said “Nice to see you too Sarge.” Somewhere to his left he heard the distinct sound of a groan.
Wills dragged a chair from the bed opposite and sat. “Still as cocky as ever Carron. Thought you’d of fixed that by now.” Jim opened his mouth to respond as the General cut across him “Now tell me Corporal, why are you wanted by Rheinland for questioning? I’d like to hear your side of events since I’ve already had theirs and I sure as hell know that you’re not a killer.”
“I’m wanted for murder?” He’d expected it from the moment that navy pilot screamed but it did nothing to cushion the shock “Sarge. Johnson. I didn’t kill that pilot. I was salvaging. Thought it was a couple of hoods so I mined the place.”
The look of horror on Johnson’s face shook him further “EMP mines Johnson! It was that other pilot, the wackjob. Starting taking pot shots at me in the gas pockets.Both our shields were gone so I started rabbiting. But that wacko kept shooting. I was going to give up and all of a sudden. Boom. I only just outran the explosions.”
“That’s more like it” Wills nodded as he spoke “You may be a cocky son-of-a-bitch but you’re not stupid.”
“Gee, thanks for the peptalk Sarge.” He said sarcastically. Wills cracked a smile as he massaged his temples. “Listen Carron, the ‘Landers aren’t going to buy your story even with your blackbox recording as proof. They just want to use you to keep up the war effort. Mark my words it’ll be the GMG’s fault once they spin it.”
“Nothing like a good bit of propaganda.” The General didn’t smile this time. His iron jaw was clenched and his eyes flashed dangerously. Quelling under his stare Jim abandoned the wit “I’ll need to lay low for awhile then, maybe Bretonia. Leeds always needs more workers.”
Wills gave a curt nod “You need to be outa here by oh eight hundred,-” he held up a hand to silence Johnson “the only ally you have right now is bureaucracy and that thin red tape only holds for so long.”
Johnson waited impatiently for Wills to finish “Sir” he blurted out “with all due respect, Jim isn’t fit enough to fly. He lost a lot of blood getting here. A single night of rest isn’t going to cut it!” The general surveyed him with an unfamiliar stare “I’m sorry, if Carron stands any chance of escape it’s better sooner than later. You have my permission to give him any supplies for the journey. Make sure they’re unmarked supplies Johnson I don’t want to see Liberty Navy stamped over the damn things. Now if you’ll excuse me” he rose out of the chair “I’ve got a fire to plan.” Touching the peak of his cap, the general marched out of the medbay calling to several students as he disappeared down the network of corridors.
“It goes against medical practise but Sarge has a point” he patted Jim on the shoulder “get some rest Jimmy, you’ll need it.” Johnson stalked off, leaving him alone in the medbay.
Pain began stabbing at the edge of his senses. The effects of the morphine had started to wear off, with great apprehension he turned off the drip and allowed the pain to become clearer. If he was going to be shipped out the next morning he’d need to know exactly what shape he was in. Steadily the rhythmic throbbing of pain increased until each nerve in his body screamed wordless warnings. Wave after wave crashed over him until his overloaded mind could no longer bear the stress. Alarms were buzzing above him as he leant over the side of his bed to wretch. The medbay rippled before his eyes as someone laid him back against a pillow. “You damned idiot, what did you do that for!”
“Just testing the waters” Jim groaned “here there be sharks.”
Johnson looked furious, his fists were clenched tightly and his knuckles blazing white “If you weren’t in my medbay I’d sock you one. It’s bad enough trying to rush your treatment without it killing you and here you are trying to do it anyway! What the hell were you thinking?”
Jim attempted to shrug but found it too painful, settling for a noncommittal grunt. Johnson sighed “Just stay here and try not to die, think you can handle that?” Without waiting for an answer he reactivated the drip, sending two extra doses down the tube. The rush hit Jim like a truck. His brain turned to a delightful mush as he watched with fascination as the walls began to melt.
The next morning past in great lumps, he’d only just finished breakfast when he found himself seated in his scrapper preparing to depart. Hauntingly many of the ship’s consoles were stained with his own blood, as were the walls and floor. All of Johnson’s instructions swirled around in his heavily medicated head. The small bag of med supplies sat on his left contained enough painkillers to keep a pill popper happy for weeks.
The hangar doors crept open in front of him revealing the vast emptiness of the New York system. Streaks of light flashed past and emerged as ships at the end of the huge tradelane network that connected the various stations, bases and jumpgates. Jim eyed the lanes with suspicion. He’d heard far too many stories of ships being lost in those things, coupled with the fact that no one knew who they worked did nothing to allay his fears. Every time he activated one he was reminded of the story his grandfather told, the tale of test flight thirty one and it’s pilot Roger Mckay. At first he assumed it was just a good ghost story his grandfather made up to scare him. Until he did a little research on the neuralnet one night and discovered there had indeed been a test flight thirty one. Whose pilot was named Roger Mckay. The old report simply listed it as an accident during testing which resulted in the loss of both. No details on the accident made him suspicious, either they didn’t want anyone to know what happened or more likely, didn’t know themselves.
A cold shiver trickled down his spine. This time there could be no avoiding them, he needed to be out of Liberty in a hurry. He threw a quick thumbs up to the control room and launched himself into space. The moment he was clear Jim swung his ship towards the California gate.
“What do you think his chances are Sarge?” Johnson enquired as he watched Jim’s ship propelled down the tradelane.
“A lot better now” replied Wills who stood like an admiral on the deck of an ancient ship “So long as he keeps his head down and off the radar, he’ll be just fine.”
Johnson’s rested his head on his palm and in an exasperated sigh said “He won’t make it past Cortez.”
Jim had made good time passing through California, Cortez and Manchester, reaching New London shortly after midday. Far in the distance he could see planet New London cold and cloudy as ever, the tiny pinpricks of light blinking as cargo ships swarmed the docking rings.
‘No wonder the Bretonian’s never smile, they get the ass end of the galaxy and a planet that’s constantly raining.’ he thought ‘Sucks to be them.’ He had no intention of sitting on a trainwreck of a planet and doing nothing, stagnation wasn’t his style. That bit of scrap would be his meal ticket, all he needed was a fence, preferably one who could find out what the hell it was and move it. Leeds was filled with folks who’d sell anything for a cut. He flipped through his contacts
‘Flitch...Little Jeff... Madhead Mitchell, not a chance. Ah Brunswick.’
It took a little over two hours to finally reach planet Leeds. The majority of it was spent sat in a queue for the jumpgate, he’d never seen so many transports at a single gate before. Sure rush hour at Newark was busy but this was something else, at least three dozen ships in all with more arriving every few minutes.
Eco terrorists or not, Bretonia was booming.
Jim abandoned the mass of traffic in orbit, skirting around the planet towards a smaller dock near the edge of the largest continent. As he was lowered down through the atmosphere Jim could see thousands of construction sites piercing the skyline. Chimney stacks were being erected across the planet, some had already begun belching great plumes into the clouds turning them faintly orange. He could feel his hands beginning the shake on the controls, he’d never passed through so many lanes and gates in a single day. The meds Johnson supplied had helped suppress the anxiety for a time but now it all came flooding back like a tsunami. Jim leant back in his chair taking deep soothing breaths until the shaking subsided. He cursed the lanes and their effect on him. After a few minutes he felt like his old self again, though still aching from the injuries. He raked around in the med supplies for more painkillers hoping to minimise the suffering slowly creeping through his body. He dragged out an injector with a note taped around it, handwritten by Johnson no less.
“Jim lad, here’s something to help if the pain gets too much. Just ut it to your neck like this (He’d drawn a small diagram of the right side of a neck and a small circle highlighted several inches below the ear) and press. Don’t try to inject yourself twice, it’s on a four hour timer to stop you going into orbit.
Drop me a line when you land.
Long John Silver.”
Jim grinned as he placed it on his neck feeling the tiny needle tickle his flesh. Closing his eyes he pressed, sending the needle and a dose of it’s contents into his bloodstream. A blissful numbness spread instantly through his body “Ahh, just what the doctor ordered” he said, slowly melting into his seat. He no longer had arms or legs in fact he didn’t have a body at all. He was a pool of tranquillity named Jim. Sadly the effect was short lived, grudgingly he contacted Brunswick just as the sun began to set.
“Terry, it’s Carron” he said “I’m on the Hornsea dock with an interesting bit of cargo, think you could take a look?”
“Jim? I’ll send Rob out with the lifter, hold tight.” Replied a gruff feminine voice.
Hold tight? What the hell does that even mean? He shook his head sending the entire planet spinning. His stomach didn’t appreciate the sudden shift forcing him to stagger out the airlock and across the landing pad to a chain fence overlooking the ocean.
“Alright ‘der Jimmy?” Rob asked as Jim’s lunch finally freed itself from the confines of his stomach. He gave a weak thumbs up. “I’ll grab yer cargo while you give regards to tha’ sea. You know where the workshop is don’t ya?” All he could do was give another thumbs up as the rest of his lunch made a bid for freedom.
Ten minutes later he managed to drag himself to Terry’s workshop where he found her already pouring over the mysterious scrap. “What do you think Terry? Can you find a buyer for it?” He asked collapsing in the nearest chair feeling drained and exhausted. “It’s incredible is what it is” Terry replied without looking up “it’s some kind of energy conduit, god knows what it was from but whatever hit it packed a wallop.” She beckoned him over without looking “See that” indicating a melted chunk of metal “That used to be part of a ship and what’s more, it’s not the same metal as this baby. Whatever took this conduit out, it went through another ship to do it.”
Unable to stand any longer Jim eased himself into a chair next to her. “All I can tell you is I found it in a scrapfield up in Sigma thirteen, so it’s either GMG or Rhienland.” Terry shook her head “Kusari then?” he asked.
“No this isn’t Kusari, it doesn’t look like any House tech I’ve seen...Judging by the metal I’d say it’s probably from Liberty.” Jim furrowed his brow “Liberty? You sure Terry?”
“Positive, this casing is so riddled with impurities it could only of come from Liberty. Wish I could tell you what’s inside this easter egg but I don’t have the tools to cut through something this tough... Bloody hell Jim you lose a fight with a food blender?” Terry had looked at him for the first time since Jim arrived. Mouth agape and eyebrows threatening to merge into her hairline, she began barraging him with questions. By now Rob had reappeared from the house, so, with a rapt audience Jim recounted his fight in Sigma and subsequent escape to New York. He was careful about dropping Sarge and Johnson into the story, glossing over their parts as casually as he could, ending with his arrival on Leeds. “So now I need to get rid of my ship before the ‘Landers get their mits on me, but shipping that conduit is my first priority, same cut as usual Terry? Twenty percent?”
Terry nodded but didn’t speak, Rob on the other hand was giving him a searching look “Tell ya what Jimmy, you gaff ‘ere tonight an’ I’ll get your ship sorted. I know a geezer who runs a scrapyard, doesn’t ask questions, an’ I might be able ta’ score you a mining ship from ‘im.” Jim nodded slowly, his eyes would barely stay open. “Rob be a love” Terry said casting a concerned look at Jim “take Jim upstairs would you, he looks dead on his feet.” Rob obliged, carefully guiding him up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. “Rest up lad” he said compassionately, as Jim toppled onto the bed and fell instantly to sleep.
He’d only been asleep a few minutes, at least it felt like minutes. There was something cold on his aching wrists, must be the headboard, whatever it was it felt nice. Someone was talking, he caught snippets of words like ‘article’ and ‘law’ then something about a rain land? Must be the news. Two words struck his ears like the hammer to a bell ‘under arrest.’
With tremendous effort he fought off the chemically induced grogginess. Fully alert he wrenched his eyes open and found himself staring into the face of a smiling dark skinned man with hair tied in rows.
“Good mornin’ sleepin’ beauty” the stranger said with delighted relish, grinning as if his birthday had come early. “You’ve been bountied me ol’ son an’ I’m ‘ere to collect.”
Jim’s head starting pounding, the meds had worn off during the night bringing each injury back into a sharp, painful focus. “Listen” Jim groaned “Before you cart me off to wherever, could you grab the medkit from my ship, I’ve got a killer headache.”
The bounty hunters dragged him outside as they loaded up their respective ships with evidence including Jim’s blackbox recorder. Before he was thrown in the back Rob walked up and shook his hand firmly. He could feel something sticky meet his palm. Rob gave him a meaningful look and said “Take care mate” his eyes darting down to their clasped hands quickly and grinning. Without a word of goodbye he was thrown unceremoniously into the lockup as the hunters chatted with Rob, he had the distinct impression that credits were being exchanged. Moments later they were rising through the atmosphere and out into open space. Jim had no idea what awaited him but as he looked down at the backwards grease written '20%' on his palm, he couldn’t help but feel that somehow it’d be worth it.
“I saw you drifting through my club-”
“Fighter wing...”
“turnin' heads with your roguish charm.
I got lost in your deep brown eyes and-”
“That's not bad...”
“like every girl I want to be on your arm...
You looked at me and my heart went supernova..”
“A power signature...Let’s have a look-see.”
“now only you can stoke my fire, you dark haired Casanova.”
The song ended, drifting slowly into silence.
“That was the chart topper by Halfway Lounge and Dark Haired Casanova. Coming up next, Twisted Soul by Credits for the Hellbound but first the latest from the Colony News Network. Don't touch that transceiver, you're tuned in to the SoundWave.”
The voice of the newscaster began to fade, the lights inside the cockpit dimmed, flickered, died and spluttered back to life. Jim Carron didn't care. A little thing like flickering lights was standard fare if you were flying a scrapper. Besides these grapplers drain a bit of extra juice at times he reassured himself, nothing to worry about.
He bashed the top of the transceiver twice with his fist, keyed in a number and pressed the scan button. A small antenna outside rotated as it scanned the FTL comms, the cheesy jingle of SoundWave poured through the speakers.
“Today's top stories. In Bretonia an unnamed eco group have claimed responsibility for the recent attacks upon transports in the Leed's system. The Bretonian government has issued a warning for ships passing through the area to be on the alert and to report any suspicious craft to the Police Authority at once.
Sigma 19 may be the next system in line to receive a jumpgate. If given the greenlight by the Kusari government Sigma 19 will be connected to Okinawa opening up the dense helium clouds for industrialization.
Three bodies have been removed from a water treatment facility outside the Washington spaceport on Manhattan. Liberty officials have yet to release the names of the victims but their deaths are being treated as suspicious and investigations are underway.
In other news the rock band Silverback Gold have cancelled their tour of Rheinland, lead singer Cortney Litlow issued a statement earlier today condemning the war between Rheinland and the GMG which has entered it's fortieth year as 'Pointless slaughter and self destruction.' The Reichstag has refused to comment.
That's the top stories so far, more news in an hour.”
Jim scratched his five o'clock shadow absent-mindedly. Those three murders near Washington hung in his thoughts as the grapplers attempted to salvage the power sig he'd picked up. The scream of shearing metal sent a shudder up his spine as one of the arms severed itself from the ship, it’s hydraulic fluid morphed and distorted in the vacuum beyond the cockpit glass. He watched it twist and bob with childlike fascination as it drifted into the void. Annoyed and interested in equal measure, Jim analysed the signature. It certainly wasn't a weapon capacitor, or a shield generator. He'd heard rumours of the ‘Landers using prototype ships against the GMG, perhaps for once his luck would hold. Setting the cutter on auto he allowed himself to daydream of a high rise condo on Manhattan and that olive skinned actress from the latest spy thriller wearing nothing but a set of knee high boots.
The pained whine of an alarm snapped him back to reality. He began frantically clearing the various consoles of clutter seeking the source. It can't be a ship, he thought, he knew that alarm all too well. Praying it wasn't life support, he continued to thrash around the cockpit sending old food wrappers and adult magazines soaring behind his chair finally locating it under an issue of Busty Beauties.
“Engine four coolant supply depleted?!” He slammed his fist down in frustration. “You idiot machine” he punctuated every word with another blow “We – Don't – Have – Four – Engines!” The alarm fell silent as the last strike robbed the machine of it's only functioning part. Jim threw himself back in his chair thoroughly annoyed. This damned ship would be the death of him.
Closing his eyes, Jim attempted to relax and bring back the woman with the knee high boots. It was not to be as another alarm brought his blood to boiling point again. Opening one eye, he prepared to rip whatever was causing the noise forcibly from the cockpit. Realising it was the plasma cutter signalling the end of it's task, he relaxed, grateful that something on this deathtrap worked properly he guided the bit of scrap into the cargo hold. He had no clue what he'd just salvaged but if it generated as much power as the scans indicated he really didn't care, this could be his ticket to a better life or in the very least, a better ship.
Jim suddenly froze as an unknown voice crackled through his speakers.
“Unmarked vessel, you are conducting illegal salvage of Rheinland property. Remain at your position with your engines and weapons powered down. Any attempt to flee will be met with force. This is your only warning.”
“Listen here chump” Jim replied with swagger “If you're going to impersonate Rheinland navy you should know they never give warnings.” He checked his scanners, two contacts had entered the gas cloud heading towards him. Their winding flight paths avoiding the explosive gas pockets littered throughout the cloud.
Only two kilometres out and closing Jim kicked his engines into full. He launched three EMP mines as the two contacts entered the scrapfield which detonated in a plume of energy, knocking out one of the fighters completely leaving it adrift amongst the twisted wreckage. The second fighter may of lost its shielding but none of its purpose. He spun his top turret to finish it off when his scanners resolved the two contacts as Rheinland Navy fighters. ‘Great’ he thought sarcastically ‘I’ll be charged with two counts of assaulting an officer and illegal salvage.’
A salvo of weapons fire buckled his shields. Fearing for his life Jim banked wildly to avoid more fire and a large piece of scrap. The dull thuds on his unprotected hull rattled his nerves. He didn't have armour like those navy fighters.
Shutting down all but his top turret, Carron dived into the gas clouds. Would that navy goon follow him unshielded into a maze of explosive pockets? He certainly hoped not.
The navy pilot was either brave or foolhardy as he plunged into the gas cloud firing salvo after salvo. A pocket exploded off Jim's port side scorching the hull and tearing off a large piece of stabiliser.
This was suicide he thought even a Rheinland prison is better than being vapourized by a wacko with a deathwish. He opened his comms to surrender as a high pitched scream assaulted his ears. The contact had dropped from scanners.
All around him the pockets of gas began to explode setting off a massive chain reaction. Throwing all his weapon power into shields, Carron hurtled towards the edge of the cloud. A familiar buzzing told him the shields had mercifully recharged. However each explosion chipped away at the newly established energy barrier.
Forty one percent...
Thirty...
Twenty three...
The edge of the cloud was barely a kilometre away.
Fifteen...
Nine...
Zero...
* * *
“Oooh, chart me a course for that... Inky black.
Those glittering diamonds... Are calling me back.
Oh I crave for that velvet embrace,
Of that ice queen called space.
I was a sucker for a sweet thing like you,
But your sweet lips can't ground me for-ever.
The wiggle of your hips might be my heaven.
Yes I'd be lyin' if I said I weren't keen.
Girl my heart is stuck...in between.
“Oooh, chart me a course for that... Inky black.
Those glittering diamonds... Are calling me back.
Oh I crave for that velvet embrace,
The frigid touch of the ice queen called space.”
He was cold... Fire... Gas fire. No gas clouds... Why would gas be in clouds? He need to open his eyes... But he was so sleepy...
Slowly Jim opened one eye, his other eye had swollen completely shut. He touched it gingerly, the pain was dull and throbbing. His fingers were covered in something warm and syrupy. A sense of panic slowly bubbled up inside him.
There's a button he need to press... Life... Something. It was blue. The cockpit swam in front of his eyes. There was a blue button on his left. He stretched out a shaking hand. The lights of the cockpit flickered into existence. Warm air circulated around the pilots chair but the panic was still rising. He needed to call for help but he couldn’t make out the consoles.
His mind felt fuzzy and disorganised. Odd flashes of fire and pain leapt into his thoughts. He’d been hurt like this before, back in basic training.
“Autopilot” Jim said in a strangely slow and monotone voice “West Point Academy. Emergency dock.”
The ship stopped spinning. Several times the engines attempted to charge before propelling the ship to it's unknown destination.
Struggling to keep himself awake, Carron concentrated on the music. Time lost all meaning for him as he passed through jumpholes and tradelanes. Everything blurred together. He was getting colder. The blood on his face had dried. A light was flashing on the console above him. He pressed it.
“Incoming fighter, this is West Point Academy. Identify yourself.”
“This is Private Carron. Requesting emergency dock clearance.” he replied automatically “Security code... Kappa kappa zero... Nine nine golf one.”
“One moment Private.”
The dock operator called out to his superiour “Sir we have a ship attempting an emergency dock. The code is valid but inactive, it's registered to a Corporal Carron.” The general stopped dead in his tracks “Did you say Carron?” The operator nodded “He sounds in bad shape sir. Listen.”
Jim was struggling to stay conscious, every part of him was screaming for sleep. The cold was consuming him. Someone was speaking but he couldn't make out the words. “This is Private... Carron. I need... To dock.”
“Carron, this is Wills, can you hear me?” The General's gravelly tone roused him slightly. “Sarge. Help... I can't stay awake.”
“Do not fall asleep. That's an order Carron.”
“I’m so cold...”
Wills' turned to the operator “get him inside now!”
Raising to his full impressive height he called to the room at large. “We have injured soldier coming in at docking bay F. I need the sawbones ready for a serious concussion and god know what else. And it seems seems we have a problem with our electronics. It looks like the logs for the past five minutes have been lost... Do I make myself clear?”
* * *
Consciousness, horrid consciousness. Jim fought against it. Willing himself to remain as far from reality as possible. A strange sensation began to spread rapidly from his arm, a curious feeling, as though he was being submerged in pleasantly warm water. The feeling reached his heart, sending it shooting over the entire of his body. Light pressure built up at the base of his skull as if a small bubble had formed there, rising slowly to centre of his mind. It was electrifying.
His spine began to tingle. Brushing the covers with his hand made his hairs stand on end. The beating of his heart settled in his ears. This must be how it felt to be born Jim thought, bombarded by new found senses and sensations. The bubble reached it’s destination sending a wave of euphoria crashing throughout his body. His eyes bulged as they were thrown open. The smallest of sighs escaped his lips.
“I see the morphine ‘as kicked in.”
The wave receded, leaving a fuzzy feeling in it’s wake. Jim had suddenly become aware of his surroundings, he attempted to sit up only to find a strong hand on his chest, pinning him down.
“Oh no you don’t Jim lad. Keep your head down, you’ve had a pretty nasty knock.”
Standing above him donned in light blue scrubs was a face he’d never expected to see again. “Well if it isn’t Long John Silver.” he said grinning from ear to ear. “In the flesh.” Replied Gregory Johnson, patting his old squadmate on the shoulder “sit tight, Wills wanted to know the moment you were awake.”
Jim dragged himself into a sitting position as Johnson headed into his office. He dredged his memory trying to piece together what had happened previously. He remembered trying to outrun the gas explosion and the assumed demise of the Rheinland pilot who’d started it. His head started to ache as he plumbed further into his memories. The shield had gone down as he reached the edge of the cloud then... He bullied his brain to ignore the morphine... The ship was thrown violently forward... Broken fingers on his right hand... His last vivid image was him flying head first at the cockpit glass. Well that’d explain it.
He closed his eyes resting his head gently on the wall behind him, allowing the cold metal to ease the throbbing. Approaching footsteps told him Johnson was on his way back, taking his head off the wall he awaited the bad news.
“The General is on his way now” the news really must be grim. “Jim” Johnson began, his face stark and serious “before Wills gets here, you should know-”
“What should he know Doctor?” That voice still gave him goosebumps “The football scores?” A massive grey haired figure had filled the door “Go ahead.” With every step the dozen medals that adorned his chest rattled. Johnson remained stony faced and silent. “Good. I should have the pleasure of telling this stupid jackass what he’s done.”
General Wills towered over Jim’s bed like a monolith, everything about Wills made him think of war. Adopting what he thought to be a winning smile he said “Nice to see you too Sarge.” Somewhere to his left he heard the distinct sound of a groan.
Wills dragged a chair from the bed opposite and sat. “Still as cocky as ever Carron. Thought you’d of fixed that by now.” Jim opened his mouth to respond as the General cut across him “Now tell me Corporal, why are you wanted by Rheinland for questioning? I’d like to hear your side of events since I’ve already had theirs and I sure as hell know that you’re not a killer.”
“I’m wanted for murder?” He’d expected it from the moment that navy pilot screamed but it did nothing to cushion the shock “Sarge. Johnson. I didn’t kill that pilot. I was salvaging. Thought it was a couple of hoods so I mined the place.”
The look of horror on Johnson’s face shook him further “EMP mines Johnson! It was that other pilot, the wackjob. Starting taking pot shots at me in the gas pockets.Both our shields were gone so I started rabbiting. But that wacko kept shooting. I was going to give up and all of a sudden. Boom. I only just outran the explosions.”
“That’s more like it” Wills nodded as he spoke “You may be a cocky son-of-a-bitch but you’re not stupid.”
“Gee, thanks for the peptalk Sarge.” He said sarcastically. Wills cracked a smile as he massaged his temples. “Listen Carron, the ‘Landers aren’t going to buy your story even with your blackbox recording as proof. They just want to use you to keep up the war effort. Mark my words it’ll be the GMG’s fault once they spin it.”
“Nothing like a good bit of propaganda.” The General didn’t smile this time. His iron jaw was clenched and his eyes flashed dangerously. Quelling under his stare Jim abandoned the wit “I’ll need to lay low for awhile then, maybe Bretonia. Leeds always needs more workers.”
Wills gave a curt nod “You need to be outa here by oh eight hundred,-” he held up a hand to silence Johnson “the only ally you have right now is bureaucracy and that thin red tape only holds for so long.”
Johnson waited impatiently for Wills to finish “Sir” he blurted out “with all due respect, Jim isn’t fit enough to fly. He lost a lot of blood getting here. A single night of rest isn’t going to cut it!” The general surveyed him with an unfamiliar stare “I’m sorry, if Carron stands any chance of escape it’s better sooner than later. You have my permission to give him any supplies for the journey. Make sure they’re unmarked supplies Johnson I don’t want to see Liberty Navy stamped over the damn things. Now if you’ll excuse me” he rose out of the chair “I’ve got a fire to plan.” Touching the peak of his cap, the general marched out of the medbay calling to several students as he disappeared down the network of corridors.
“It goes against medical practise but Sarge has a point” he patted Jim on the shoulder “get some rest Jimmy, you’ll need it.” Johnson stalked off, leaving him alone in the medbay.
Pain began stabbing at the edge of his senses. The effects of the morphine had started to wear off, with great apprehension he turned off the drip and allowed the pain to become clearer. If he was going to be shipped out the next morning he’d need to know exactly what shape he was in. Steadily the rhythmic throbbing of pain increased until each nerve in his body screamed wordless warnings. Wave after wave crashed over him until his overloaded mind could no longer bear the stress. Alarms were buzzing above him as he leant over the side of his bed to wretch. The medbay rippled before his eyes as someone laid him back against a pillow. “You damned idiot, what did you do that for!”
“Just testing the waters” Jim groaned “here there be sharks.”
Johnson looked furious, his fists were clenched tightly and his knuckles blazing white “If you weren’t in my medbay I’d sock you one. It’s bad enough trying to rush your treatment without it killing you and here you are trying to do it anyway! What the hell were you thinking?”
Jim attempted to shrug but found it too painful, settling for a noncommittal grunt. Johnson sighed “Just stay here and try not to die, think you can handle that?” Without waiting for an answer he reactivated the drip, sending two extra doses down the tube. The rush hit Jim like a truck. His brain turned to a delightful mush as he watched with fascination as the walls began to melt.
The next morning past in great lumps, he’d only just finished breakfast when he found himself seated in his scrapper preparing to depart. Hauntingly many of the ship’s consoles were stained with his own blood, as were the walls and floor. All of Johnson’s instructions swirled around in his heavily medicated head. The small bag of med supplies sat on his left contained enough painkillers to keep a pill popper happy for weeks.
The hangar doors crept open in front of him revealing the vast emptiness of the New York system. Streaks of light flashed past and emerged as ships at the end of the huge tradelane network that connected the various stations, bases and jumpgates. Jim eyed the lanes with suspicion. He’d heard far too many stories of ships being lost in those things, coupled with the fact that no one knew who they worked did nothing to allay his fears. Every time he activated one he was reminded of the story his grandfather told, the tale of test flight thirty one and it’s pilot Roger Mckay. At first he assumed it was just a good ghost story his grandfather made up to scare him. Until he did a little research on the neuralnet one night and discovered there had indeed been a test flight thirty one. Whose pilot was named Roger Mckay. The old report simply listed it as an accident during testing which resulted in the loss of both. No details on the accident made him suspicious, either they didn’t want anyone to know what happened or more likely, didn’t know themselves.
A cold shiver trickled down his spine. This time there could be no avoiding them, he needed to be out of Liberty in a hurry. He threw a quick thumbs up to the control room and launched himself into space. The moment he was clear Jim swung his ship towards the California gate.
“What do you think his chances are Sarge?” Johnson enquired as he watched Jim’s ship propelled down the tradelane.
“A lot better now” replied Wills who stood like an admiral on the deck of an ancient ship “So long as he keeps his head down and off the radar, he’ll be just fine.”
Johnson’s rested his head on his palm and in an exasperated sigh said “He won’t make it past Cortez.”
* * *
Jim had made good time passing through California, Cortez and Manchester, reaching New London shortly after midday. Far in the distance he could see planet New London cold and cloudy as ever, the tiny pinpricks of light blinking as cargo ships swarmed the docking rings.
‘No wonder the Bretonian’s never smile, they get the ass end of the galaxy and a planet that’s constantly raining.’ he thought ‘Sucks to be them.’ He had no intention of sitting on a trainwreck of a planet and doing nothing, stagnation wasn’t his style. That bit of scrap would be his meal ticket, all he needed was a fence, preferably one who could find out what the hell it was and move it. Leeds was filled with folks who’d sell anything for a cut. He flipped through his contacts
‘Flitch...Little Jeff... Madhead Mitchell, not a chance. Ah Brunswick.’
It took a little over two hours to finally reach planet Leeds. The majority of it was spent sat in a queue for the jumpgate, he’d never seen so many transports at a single gate before. Sure rush hour at Newark was busy but this was something else, at least three dozen ships in all with more arriving every few minutes.
Eco terrorists or not, Bretonia was booming.
Jim abandoned the mass of traffic in orbit, skirting around the planet towards a smaller dock near the edge of the largest continent. As he was lowered down through the atmosphere Jim could see thousands of construction sites piercing the skyline. Chimney stacks were being erected across the planet, some had already begun belching great plumes into the clouds turning them faintly orange. He could feel his hands beginning the shake on the controls, he’d never passed through so many lanes and gates in a single day. The meds Johnson supplied had helped suppress the anxiety for a time but now it all came flooding back like a tsunami. Jim leant back in his chair taking deep soothing breaths until the shaking subsided. He cursed the lanes and their effect on him. After a few minutes he felt like his old self again, though still aching from the injuries. He raked around in the med supplies for more painkillers hoping to minimise the suffering slowly creeping through his body. He dragged out an injector with a note taped around it, handwritten by Johnson no less.
“Jim lad, here’s something to help if the pain gets too much. Just ut it to your neck like this (He’d drawn a small diagram of the right side of a neck and a small circle highlighted several inches below the ear) and press. Don’t try to inject yourself twice, it’s on a four hour timer to stop you going into orbit.
Drop me a line when you land.
Long John Silver.”
Jim grinned as he placed it on his neck feeling the tiny needle tickle his flesh. Closing his eyes he pressed, sending the needle and a dose of it’s contents into his bloodstream. A blissful numbness spread instantly through his body “Ahh, just what the doctor ordered” he said, slowly melting into his seat. He no longer had arms or legs in fact he didn’t have a body at all. He was a pool of tranquillity named Jim. Sadly the effect was short lived, grudgingly he contacted Brunswick just as the sun began to set.
“Terry, it’s Carron” he said “I’m on the Hornsea dock with an interesting bit of cargo, think you could take a look?”
“Jim? I’ll send Rob out with the lifter, hold tight.” Replied a gruff feminine voice.
Hold tight? What the hell does that even mean? He shook his head sending the entire planet spinning. His stomach didn’t appreciate the sudden shift forcing him to stagger out the airlock and across the landing pad to a chain fence overlooking the ocean.
“Alright ‘der Jimmy?” Rob asked as Jim’s lunch finally freed itself from the confines of his stomach. He gave a weak thumbs up. “I’ll grab yer cargo while you give regards to tha’ sea. You know where the workshop is don’t ya?” All he could do was give another thumbs up as the rest of his lunch made a bid for freedom.
Ten minutes later he managed to drag himself to Terry’s workshop where he found her already pouring over the mysterious scrap. “What do you think Terry? Can you find a buyer for it?” He asked collapsing in the nearest chair feeling drained and exhausted. “It’s incredible is what it is” Terry replied without looking up “it’s some kind of energy conduit, god knows what it was from but whatever hit it packed a wallop.” She beckoned him over without looking “See that” indicating a melted chunk of metal “That used to be part of a ship and what’s more, it’s not the same metal as this baby. Whatever took this conduit out, it went through another ship to do it.”
Unable to stand any longer Jim eased himself into a chair next to her. “All I can tell you is I found it in a scrapfield up in Sigma thirteen, so it’s either GMG or Rhienland.” Terry shook her head “Kusari then?” he asked.
“No this isn’t Kusari, it doesn’t look like any House tech I’ve seen...Judging by the metal I’d say it’s probably from Liberty.” Jim furrowed his brow “Liberty? You sure Terry?”
“Positive, this casing is so riddled with impurities it could only of come from Liberty. Wish I could tell you what’s inside this easter egg but I don’t have the tools to cut through something this tough... Bloody hell Jim you lose a fight with a food blender?” Terry had looked at him for the first time since Jim arrived. Mouth agape and eyebrows threatening to merge into her hairline, she began barraging him with questions. By now Rob had reappeared from the house, so, with a rapt audience Jim recounted his fight in Sigma and subsequent escape to New York. He was careful about dropping Sarge and Johnson into the story, glossing over their parts as casually as he could, ending with his arrival on Leeds. “So now I need to get rid of my ship before the ‘Landers get their mits on me, but shipping that conduit is my first priority, same cut as usual Terry? Twenty percent?”
Terry nodded but didn’t speak, Rob on the other hand was giving him a searching look “Tell ya what Jimmy, you gaff ‘ere tonight an’ I’ll get your ship sorted. I know a geezer who runs a scrapyard, doesn’t ask questions, an’ I might be able ta’ score you a mining ship from ‘im.” Jim nodded slowly, his eyes would barely stay open. “Rob be a love” Terry said casting a concerned look at Jim “take Jim upstairs would you, he looks dead on his feet.” Rob obliged, carefully guiding him up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. “Rest up lad” he said compassionately, as Jim toppled onto the bed and fell instantly to sleep.
He’d only been asleep a few minutes, at least it felt like minutes. There was something cold on his aching wrists, must be the headboard, whatever it was it felt nice. Someone was talking, he caught snippets of words like ‘article’ and ‘law’ then something about a rain land? Must be the news. Two words struck his ears like the hammer to a bell ‘under arrest.’
With tremendous effort he fought off the chemically induced grogginess. Fully alert he wrenched his eyes open and found himself staring into the face of a smiling dark skinned man with hair tied in rows.
“Good mornin’ sleepin’ beauty” the stranger said with delighted relish, grinning as if his birthday had come early. “You’ve been bountied me ol’ son an’ I’m ‘ere to collect.”
Jim’s head starting pounding, the meds had worn off during the night bringing each injury back into a sharp, painful focus. “Listen” Jim groaned “Before you cart me off to wherever, could you grab the medkit from my ship, I’ve got a killer headache.”
The bounty hunters dragged him outside as they loaded up their respective ships with evidence including Jim’s blackbox recorder. Before he was thrown in the back Rob walked up and shook his hand firmly. He could feel something sticky meet his palm. Rob gave him a meaningful look and said “Take care mate” his eyes darting down to their clasped hands quickly and grinning. Without a word of goodbye he was thrown unceremoniously into the lockup as the hunters chatted with Rob, he had the distinct impression that credits were being exchanged. Moments later they were rising through the atmosphere and out into open space. Jim had no idea what awaited him but as he looked down at the backwards grease written '20%' on his palm, he couldn’t help but feel that somehow it’d be worth it.