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+--- Thread: A Son of Rust (/showthread.php?tid=158775)
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A Son of Rust - Galaxian - 03-05-2018
The ship.
My dad is giving me the ship he's been flying since around or before the Nomad War.
A ship every bit as old as me, or older. Which, me being 27 years old, makes it a relic of a ship to me.
At first I was far from thrilled, but I couldn't afford a new ship.
That's sort of a thorn in the side of any person with a pilot's license.
So as to not be ungrateful, I followed my pops to the hangar.
It was a beautiful, but foggy Manhattan morning, I don't know why I remember that bit so vividly.
"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with her, Ian." he said in confidence.
"I..uh..I guess." was all I could manage in reply as we walked.
My dad has been a Junker my entire life, but my mother and I are just civilians....
So I was really unsure what good a CSF was going to do me.
He threw the manual at me and said "Read that! Then, take 'er for a spin! The Galaxian's yours now, boy. My friends on Rochester are expecting you. You'll find she's got coordinates in the nav-system. Hell, you'll also find she has a lot of nice surprises for you."
I caught the keys, but stood there, just looking at him. I felt apprehensive. "Hey, pops? Is it really okay for me to just jump in a ship registered to you, and take off like that? I mean..."
He cut me off. "I damn told ya son, she's yours. I said you'll find a lot of nice surprises. One of them's that she's registered to you under a Junker ID. Now go, boy. You're always blabbering on about finally getting your wings back. So go, and this time don't get your ship all filled with holes!"
So I strapped in and made for Rochester.
Systems checks revealed that my dad had apparently much loved this ship.
She had armor that ate up most of the cargo bay, useless in a freighter.
Is this a damn combat ship?
Earlier days. - Galaxian - 03-05-2018
Earlier days.
My recollection of childhood and my teen years has always been bittersweet.
My dad was a kind man, at least in my eyes, however rough and greasy he was.
He was home frequently but he was also often to be found roaming Sirius in search of scrap and riches.
Sometimes when he returned he would seem weathered, though his spirit stayed the same.
I didn't like him being a Junker, because my mother was right in saying he could die.
She'd always tell him that it was dangerous business, and he'd always shrug her off.
There was certainly plenty of money, who'd complain?
There was no question if he loved us, his actions at home spoke volumes.
We ate well, and were housed and clothed comfortably.
Education wasn't a question as it is for some, though I shirked most of it.
Reading was fun, though Sirian history and Mathematics just bored me.
Mother was a warm soul, but she is not worthy of my praise.
If only my dad knew what she did when he wasn't around.
The various men, the deceit.
Not my problem.
Life on Manhattan was okay, but I as I got older, I wanted more.
I got my pilot's license as soon as I was old enough.
The joy I felt in the cockpit is unmatched by any other.
But I made the mistake of crossing and refusing the wrong pirate.
I barely made it back planetside, a scary experience when you're only 18.
RE: A Son of Rust - Galaxian - 03-08-2018
Welcome to Rochester.
The guys on Rochester greeted me well when I arrived flying the Galaxian...
"Ahoy, callsign Galaxian! We've been waiting for you! You're cleared for port one." Said the traffic controller when I came into range.
So, without question I executed docking protocols and prepared to meet whoever was expecting me.
I was greeted by quite the sight upon exiting my ship and leaving the docking areas; it was as though everyone on Rochester had come to meet me.
They were all lined up side by side, and bowed politely when I made eye contact with their group. Except for one man, whom did not bow.
"A-all of this for me?" I said, my voice skeptical and my mind wondering why that guy didn't bow.
I'm not used to this sort of thing, at all.
The man who hadn't bowed stepped forward from the group.
This was when I noticed how large and imposing he was. I imagined he could easily lift a gun into place without much help.
He looked me up and down then held out his hand, his expression becoming warm.
"Pleased to meet ya' 'Wolf', I'm 'Bear'. Don't ask me if that's my real name 'cause I ain't tellin no-damn-one!"
I looked at his outstretched hand for just a second, and then firmly shook it. "Likewise, sir. But my name is Ian."
"No need for formalities!" He laughed, shrugging it off. "You're just 'Wolf' to us now."
Well, okay, I can live with that.
After everyone had introduced their-self, the activity waned.
The guys were going back to their posts, or to whatever they had been doing before I showed up.
But 'Bear' motioned for me to walk with him, and began walking toward the bay my ship was in.
So I followed him.
"You're probably wondering why I wanted you to come here on such short notice, and why your dad gave you his old ship."
He stated politely, but matter-of-factly.
Before I could respond, he went on. "But that can wait until tomorrow, for now let's chat a bit.
I'll have someone show you to the bunks later, if you need some rest."
I nodded, feeling I shouldn't quite yet ask questions.
"The Galaxian!" He exclaimed like he was running into an old friend. "Been years since I've seen her!
I was thinkin' she was gonna look like hell after all this time, but looks like old 'Tar-ball' kept her well."
His voice lowered to nearly a whisper. "Does she still have the...er...weapons systems?"
I tilted my head, a quizzical look likely pasted on my face.
"Weapons systems? Well, of course she has guns! Although, some of their names are unfamiliar to me."
'Bear' squinted at me after I said that, but I continued.
"I know the Barrager Turrets well, dad always bragged about how good he was with repairing them, and taught me some too.
But three of the guns here...The systems register them as TWILIGHTs...never heard of them."
There was the sound of somebody dropping a wrench nearby.
'Bear' looked a bit surprised, and a bit fearful. "NOT SO LOUD BOY!" He whisper-shouted.
"Don't want the wrong ears hearing that!" He looked around before continuing.
"Ya mean to tell me he kept them? Dangerous and troublesome things, those.
Experimental. No data sheets to speak of."
No data sheets?
I still didn't understand where they came from, so I pushed a little.
Keeping my voice low, I asked.
"But what exactly are they?" A visible wince at my question made me suspicious, and I kept on.
"Like I said, I really have no clue about them, but you seem to."
His face contorted into an ugly, displeased look.
"Well boy, the thing is, I told you all I know about them. Nobody knew where your dad got those naughty, nasty things."
He turned around to avoid looking at me and spoke a little rougher.
"All I can say is he went off into the Omegas, then the Omicrons looking for...who knows what. He had them when he came back..."
The atmosphere seemed somewhat tense now, so I backed off...a bit.
"Sorry man, I just wanted to know what was up with my ship." I said apologetically.
'Bear' nodded, but said nothing. His back still turned to me
"There's armor and weaponry on her that defeat her purpose as a freighter. I can't understand."
He then turned to me again, and grinned wide before saying proudly.
"Your dad never used the Galaxian to move cargo, boy. Never. He liked to brawl, silence Xenos, kill aliens. Sometimes even just spar with his pals. He didn't want to move cargo, he wanted to push it to the limit. Dunno if he ever found his limit, but I s'pose so. What, with givin' you the Galaxian and all."
I hadn't imagined my dad to be that into fighting, though he'd spoken fondly of one or two dogfights he'd had.
I stared in disbelief, shaking my head as I asked.
"Who treats a freighter as a combat vessel?"
To which 'Bear' couldn't help but laugh as he replied.
"A Junker, who else? Welcome to Rochester, ignore that smell."
RE: A Son of Rust - Galaxian - 03-11-2018
...wait, what?
I had just fallen asleep, after laying for what seemed hours, full of thought.
I was shaken awake by 'Bear', it was obvious that most of the station was still quiet, and asleep.
Aside from the late-shift crew, everybody was in bed.
The other guys all snored away in their bunks, 'Bear' leaned close to my ear and whispered.
"Follow me, dude. Quickly, quietly."
"Wh...wha? Okay..." Was all I could muster at the moment.
He slunk for the door as I got myself out of my bunk as quietly as I could, and followed.
Once in the corridors, 'Bear' lead me to an office just off of the control room, saying nothing.
He looked around before opening the door, and quickly shut it behind us.
"It's time that I tell you why you were asked to come here, 'Wolf'. You may want to take a seat."
He indicated to a couple of ratty armchairs with a small table between them.
He took a seat, and so did I, wondering what he would have to say.
"I really find it weird that the Junkers wanted me to come, whether or not you know my father...
And for his old ship to quietly be registered to me, flying a Junker flag so to speak. I don't get it. Makes no sense."
I said, a bit forcefully, before 'Bear' could speak.
But 'Bear' just laughed a little bit, and took a flask from his pocket.
"Care for a swig boyo?" He asked, to which I replied. "No, thanks, I'd rather be asleep...
Can we get to the point? I'm tired. Better yet, can it wait?"
"Alright, alright. I'll get to the point. It can't wait."
'Bear' huffed, then swigged his flask.
He continued.
"See, Ian, the thing is...It's traditional for Junkers to pass the torch to their offspring...
The biggest difference is that you were born a civilian. You can say no, of course.
But grease and rust run in your veins."
"If I accept?" I asked, my interest piqued.
'Bear' replied.
"If you accept, you become a Junker and your father gives you his business account.
You'd become a very wealthy boy overnight."
I was speechless, and could only say.
"I'll take that flask now..."
Needless to say, I later accepted.
RE: A Son of Rust - Galaxian - 03-13-2018
Becoming bored.
March 12, 825 A.S.
Present day.
This culture has grown on me, and twined with my being.
Well, mostly. I'm not nearly as rough as these guys.
It got me teased a lot. "Proper boy! How'zit goin'?"
"Oh-ho lookit mister fluffy-puff over here."
Until I punched some dude in the mouth, and broke his jaw.
I seriously thought I had made a massive miscalculation...
But the moment my fist connected with his jaw, there was a loud crunch.
Everyone around cheered "Got him! That'll show him!" and the like.
Oh, yes, because none of you were ever guilty?
Idiots. At least they respect me now. Or they know better.
I don't care which, really.
Yet, this culture has grown on me.
I've even begun to like getting rusty and greasy.
Yet, part of me is nagging, going stir-crazy.
I have to get out. Find some scrap fields....
Some wingmates, friends? Enemies even?
Perhaps...some adventure.
One can only take so much of the cold lighting and stagnant air on Rochester.
The off-putting smells that emanate from around most corners.
Eating dull and tasteless synth paste day after day.
It's a little better when we get synth gel.
Everyone goes insane when some perfectly legal transport or another brings totally not stolen luxury food items.
These are only some of the reasons why Junkers are found all over Sirius, really.
With my inheritance I can go anywhere I want, so why do I stay here?
'Bear' left for the Omicrons, and I'm not really close with anyone here.
I can't take another tasteless tube of paste, or another mystery smell.
I've grown bored of training with the guys, now that I can defend myself.
From now on, I'm gonna spread my wings where I want.
RE: A Son of Rust - Galaxian - 03-14-2018
Hobbies.
For as long as I can remember, my pops was always yammering on about Xenos.
One day, I learned why.
I was just out for a short flight to Manhattan to visit pops.
I thought it good to let the Galaxian spread her wings a bit.
Plus it was a good excuse to pick up a few things.
My scanners picked up roughly 5 Xeno ships on an intercept vector.
Warning systems began screaming "Incoming Missile!"
Cruise engines down.
No warning, and the scumbags were pummeling me with full force.
So, I killed my engines completely and engaged with all my might.
Time to find out what pops' crazy loadout can do!
A few minutes later and I was well pleased.
However, thank god for shield batteries, because Xeno tech hurts!
I whittled the pack down to two.
By the time I got them down to one, I was hailed, and the punks surrendered.
I tractored in their life pods, because I do not like the thought of senseless killing.
So what if you just tried to kill me? I'm not letting you drift forever and die.
I made way for Manhattan again, and upon arrival was hailed by a Navy vessel.
Of course, cargo scan. Typical. Sorry man, I don't carry that kind of crap.
"Hold it! Aha! I see!" Said the pilot over the comm system.
"Nabbed you some nasty Xenos! Should give those cretins to me, or...."
"Or?" I asked, apprehensive.
"Or you could take them to Battleship Gettysburg in Pennsylvania!"
He grinned. "It's right by Erie. You'll be rewarded well."
I heaved a sigh of relief.
"I thought you'd say 'or you can be vaporized'. That sounds good!"
He laughed. "Oh no, I don't like them either. Do whatever with them. Well, be safe pilot!"
And he was off, and I was docking.
My visit was mostly uneventful, but seeing my dad was nice.
I got everything I needed, and made way for Gettysburg.
Boy, I was surprised how well I was rewarded.
Back at Rochester, and it was time to rest.
But I had picked up a new hobby, along with a grudge, in the process.
Nobody comes at me like that and gets away clean.
No sir, no ma'am.
RE: A Son of Rust - Galaxian - 03-21-2018
Betrayal.
I made the mistake of falling in love with a cardamine dependent woman.
This was back when I was still just a civilian.
At first, I thought very little of it. She was warm and kind, and we shared many good times.
But, in time, her true colors showed.
On one particular outing was when things went south.
She managed to talk me into bringing a small load of cardamine back home with us.
A pirate ship stopped us, and demanded we drop the load.
I gladly would have, but a certain little lady begged me to run instead.
So I engaged the cruise engines, which was a bad idea.
"Incoming missile!" cruise engines down, and gunfire barraging us.
It was a damn sight lucky some police came by.
We barely made it out alive. I told her to never speak to me again.
Haven't seen or heard of her since.
This experience gave me a deeply ingrained hatred of cardamine.
After seeing what it can do to someone who claims they love you...
After nearly dying over a drug I wouldn't even touch...
I will mark cardamine carriers as enemies nearly every time.
Can you blame me?
RE: A Son of Rust - Galaxian - 04-18-2018
"Boredom."
April 17, 825 A.S.
Evening.
Lost in thought, unable to sleep.
My mind racing and nagging at me.
I should have slept in one of my ships...
Why did I take a bunk on Beaumont again?
It's never comfortable, and I always think too much here.
Somehow I'm still in Liberty.
I thought I was going to roam?
The occasional scrap run to Dresden isn't what I had in mind.
Sure, I cut through the Omegas on my way back, but it has become monotonous.
I'm beginning to feel like a caged animal.
Funny thing is, the cage is an illusion.
I got out of my bunk and made for the bar.
"I need a whiskey" I said, as I walked up to the barkeep.
He nodded and set up a shot glass, turning around to get the bottle.
I tapped the shot glass on the bar and said.
"I'm gonna need a bigger glass, and...and maybe leave the bottle, thanks."
"Rough time?" the barkeep asked in a raspy drawl, setting up a bigger glass for me.
I poured a nice drink and replied, "Yeah...no, I don't know. Boredom mostly."
"Ah," he said, "I know what you mean."
An unexpected guest, in the form of a depressed looking 'Bear' walked into the bar.
"Oh...Hey man." He said, and took a stool next to me. "Another glass please..."
He didn't say much else, but it was obvious he was bummed.
We sat there and drank until that bottle was gone.
Then 'Bear' got up and stumbled off, without a word.
I found him sleeping in a corridor as I stumbled to where my bunk was.
I left him be, and kept going.
I crawled back into my bunk, and promptly passed out.
Of course, this morning as I write this log, my head is pounding.
Never drink Whiskey with 'Bear' on Beaumont...
RE: A Son of Rust - Galaxian - 04-25-2018
"Wrong Turn"
In light of my recent boredom, I have taken two ships into the Omicrons.
Getting the Galaxian there was easy.
Taking a shuttle back to Liberty to pick up the Gearhead, was not.
I hate being a passenger in a small shuttle.
However, something a bit more interesting happened.
During my initial travel to Omicron Theta, I took the wrong jump hole.
Where I ended up, was mesmerizing.
This was the view from my cockpit.
![[Image: lsjfH8L.png]](https://i.imgur.com/lsjfH8L.png)
This place seemed to stare into my soul.
I could stare back until I wasted away.
Its beauty captured me, and I plan to some day return.
Until then, I will see what I can find in the Omicrons.
RE: A Son of Rust - Galaxian - 04-27-2018
"Further"
The Omicrons are proving to be if nothing else, breathtaking in beauty.
The sights are unlike any others I know of.
From the stunning anomaly which stared at me in Omicron Sigma...
To the strange tunnel-like appearance of Omicron Kappa, where I now rest.
Such strange beauty.
![[Image: 5TtUmkp.png]](https://i.imgur.com/5TtUmkp.png)
As I stared down the "tunnel" I felt content.
Yet, there are those who see this every day.
Do they still think of it as special?
Are they still mesmerized by the beauty?
I was unsure of how long I stared into the void.
Though I didn't think it was all that long.
Until my rapture was broken by Corinth Research Station.
Traffic control came across my comm system.
"Mr. Howler, sir, are you okay? You've launched over two hours ago,
but you came to a stop and haven't moved." The voice sounded worried.
I promptly responded. "Y-yeah...it's just...so beautiful..."
Traffic control laughed a bit, sounding relieved.
"It sure is! Don't get too lost."
It struck me as a sort of warning.
So feeling hungry, I docked.
As I sat down to eat, thoughts flooded me.
I began to wonder what is further out there.
Does the "tunnel" have an end?
I'm not sure if I want to find out.
What is deeper in the Omicrons?
Will I encounter alien life?
It is said that aliens roam freely out here.
The same aliens we had a war with some 25 years ago.
Was my father this mesmerized when he came out here?
My nav systems already seem to know right where some things are.
Why did he come out here? Was he in the war?
I'll ask him as soon as I can.
These thoughts continued until I finished eating.
They continued as I occupied myself with a book.
They continued until I sent a long-distance comm to my father.
Communication with far-off places is a bit different than I am used to.
In the houses, you can just directly call someone.
You can see and hear them, no problem.
Out here, that doesn't work so well.
There is heavy interference, sometimes you never even connect.
Most of the time it's suggested you use a text-mode only.
![[+]](/forums/images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
COMMUNICATIONS LOGFor now, I will enjoy myself.
Perhaps a message from father will come soon.
Or perhaps my message to him got swallowed by the aether.
Either way, there's no turning back at this point.