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+--- Thread: Diary of Aubrey McKnight (/showthread.php?tid=177118)
Diary of Aubrey McKnight - Jayce - 02-24-2020
"Laid off? I mean, really? Seriously?" Aubrey stormed through his Newark apartment, thoroughly trashing the place while gathering up his few important belongings and stuffing them into a surplus Navy seabag. First to go was a small Ageira-made hold-out pistol, perfectly sized for his (admittedly small) frame. "How many years did I bust my ass with Synth, just to get laid off because some corporate stiff decides the Hotshots aren't making enough money? Bunch of dicks." Wandering eyes caught a glimpse of his two "Employee of the Month" certificates, and a quick swipe of well-manicured hands sent them to the floor in a crumpled mess. "Assholes."
Quick on his feet, the svelte young man turned on his heels, bringing a pair of raised middle fingers to bear at the datapad propped up on his desk, currently set to 'record' mode. He'd always kept a diary, originally in a pad of paper, and then, once gainfully employed, an interactive tablet. His second brain, he called it, and right now it was receiving the full ire of a recently-fired Synth Foods employee. He'd been called to the local office on Anaheim earlier that morning, to be informed by the regional manager that his services were no longer required. Of course, he'd given the older man an earful, and was escorted (rather roughly) by a pair of private security contractors off the premises before things got too violent. They'd even taken his Garanchou, the one that had carried the young man through dozens of pirate encounters, including a particularly hairy interaction with Mildred Wolfe of the Lane Hackers. "So much for my severance package. Cockweasels."
Following the pistol were a few sets of clothes. The apartment closet tended to be mostly devoid of personal effects, occupied primarily by Synth Foods uniforms. Aubrey couldn't help himself as he dumped the uniforms, hangars and all, down the garbage chute recessed into one wall. "Didn't even fit right..." He grumbled, tucking a pair of high heels into the bag as well, before turning to the still-recording pad. "So yeah, here I am. No job, no real appreciable savings... No idea where I'm going once I'm off this station. Rochester? Buffalo? If I knew where it was, maybe I could schmooze my way into a deal with the Rogues. Nah, we'll try Rochester, a trip there shouldn't be too expensive."
Last into the bag was a picture of Aubrey's parents, after a quick breath removed most of the dust from the glass. Oddly enough, he'd always been proud of having parents that were still alive. It was a strange thing to take pride in, but every Navy and LSF pilot seemed to have a family that was killed by Outcast scum 3 seconds after their birth. "Probably shouldn't tell them I lost my job. They'll get worried." Slipping the picture between his socks and panties for safekeeping, the noise of a zipper being done up echoed through the devastated apartment. "Guess that's all of it, 'cept for you. I'll record something else when I get to Rochester."
He spared one last glance at the datapad before powering it down and tucking it under his arm, the heavy seabag straining his back as he began the short trot to the landing bays. Once there, the young man spent a few nervous moments tapping at one of the arrival and departure consoles, and after some aggressive negotiation, chartered with a visiting Junker for a trip to the slightly less-legal parts of Liberty.
RE: Diary of Aubrey McKnight - Jayce - 02-24-2020
"I'll take it." Aubrey said, feigning more than a little bit of confidence. "Stevo" looked a touch taken aback, seemingly rather shocked some kid would spend his... Her? He eventually decided on their, money on the rusty, festering pile of Bactrian resting on the pad. One of the landing legs bent out at an odd angle, held together by a Frankensteinian arrangement of springs and hinges and scrap metal. "You'll never catch me denying someone a great purchase!" The Junker ship-resalesman replied after a few moments, still getting over his shock. He'd been sitting on this ship since it struck a mine trying to skirt Zone 21 nearly two years ago, having put the absolute bare minimum into repairing it. Any Junker or Rogue familiar with buying used ships would have passed it over in a heartbeat, but the recently-unemployed Synth employee knew nothing of the sort. He'd knocked the price down so many times that the sale value would barely cover the cost of the raw materials he used to haphazardly weld the control surfaces back on.
"That'll be, ehrm... four-hundred-thirty-five thousand and... Three credits, and I'll even throw in those shiny new weapons up front!" Said guns were hardly shiny, nor were they new, nor could he even remove them from the ship. Not for lack of trying, the weapons were worth more than the ship itself, but they were so rigidly-mounted to the frame of the vessel that he couldn't remove them short of lopping the poor craft in half. That idea had crossed his mind as well, and Stevo had promised himself that a buyer didn't show up this month, he'd take an oxy torch to the vessel for scrap. Well, that buyer just waltzed in the door, passed over a half-dozen Hyenas, CSFs, and Eagles, and made a beeline straight for the decrepit freighter.
"Brilliant, I guess." The young man blurted out, the false bravado waning slightly. Aubrey fished out his datapad, hesitating slightly before transferring the payment to the shady, one-armed Junker. A nervous Aubrey contemplated his now rather empty bank account, biting his lip nervously. A few tense moments passed before a chime from Stevo's own pad registered the receipt of the funds. "Congratulations on your purchase! I'm pretty sure you won't regret it!" Stevo said as he turned and briskly walked off to do literally anything else.
Aubrey pretended not to hear the muttered word in the salesman's last sentence, trotting over to his new purchase. It was true, he didn't know the first thing about buying used ships, but he did know a few things about Z-line freighters. He'd run into plenty of them while flying as a Hotshot delivery pilot, and he knew that they were tough nuts to crack, tough enough that it was usually better to just leverage his Garanchou's maneuverability and speed to be elsewhere. Untrained but inquisitive eyes ran over the exterior of the vessel as he trotted towards the cargo bay, settling for just a few moments on the stenciled image of a cartoon bear wearing a Liberty Police patrol cap, paw caught in the jaws of an ancient trap. Gentle fingers tapped the external release switch for the rear cargo bay, and when nothing happened, he tapped it again. And again. And again. Just as he was lining up to slam his fist into the offending button, the cargo bay door swung down and crashed into the deck with a thunderous clang, drawing the attention of more than a few other pilots in the bay. Some looked on with disapproval, others quietly snickered before turning back to their own ships.
"Gotta' get that fixed first, I think." Collecting himself, Aubrey took a few tentative steps into the ship. The Bactrian definitely had one upside over his trusty Garanchou: an interior cargo bay. The GMG freighter used detachable cargo pods, rather than an internal bay, making it nigh-impossible to actually use the ship as a living space. With the new vessel, however, Aubrey could actually live in the ship, at least after a thorough hosing-down. Minutes passed as Aubrey explored his new vessel, occasionally wiping dust and grime off a console with a rag that was slightly less disgusting than the rest of the ship, until he was greeted with the cockpit. It wasn't confidence inspiring, to say the least, with a jagged crack through the reinforced glass of the cockpit dome. Still, though, he'd come to be rather fond of the vessel as he explored, though whether or not that was simply a refusal to admit he'd wasted his money was still up for debate. Fishing out his pad once more, the record function was activated.
The tiny camera panned throughout the cockpit and cargo bay, dim light filtering in through the cockpit glass, bolstered by the freighter's own internal lighting arrangement, before focusing once more on Aubrey's youthful face. "I guess this is home, for the time being. A real fixer-upper, like Mom used to say." The video shook slightly as he slumped down into the pilot's chair, looking around. "Oh, it even comes with a helmet..." That same youthful image was soon half-hidden as the Hotshot traded his trademark red ballcap with the helmet, a prominent Rogue devil-head adorning one side, and the word BEARTRAP scrawled on the other. "Guess I'm a real pirate now, huh, diary?" Out of view of the camera, obscured by the mouthguard of the helmet, a tiny smirk tugged at the corners of Aubrey's mouth.
RE: Diary of Aubrey McKnight - Jayce - 02-25-2020
Aubrey stood from his night-long task, heaving a breathy sigh and tossing another filthy, rust-stained rag into the bucket of water at his feet. He'd been at it for close to 9 hours, and it was finally over. Hundreds of Credits spent on water, soap, "Stevo's Magik Rust-B-Gon," and shop rags eventually bought his new home some semblance of cleanliness. The ship still needed a new coat of paint, obviously, but at least it wouldn't cost a set of clothes every time he accidentally bumped into a rusty fin or brushed against a landing strut. The majority of the station had been asleep while Aubrey was working, and more than a few gave a subtle nod to the impressive work that had been accomplished as they wandered to their ships to start the day's work. Aubrey's muscles ached, and a few unsightly bruises marred his usually-fair skin, though their pain was entirely overwhelmed by the relief of finally having a clean place to sleep. In all honesty, the inside of the ship was more difficult to clean than the outside, since he dared not use the pressure washer on the interior. Water doesn't tend to mix well with electronics, even those as robust as on the Z-line.
"Fuh... I'm beat." The now-Freelancer mused as he dumped the last bucket of water into a disposal drain at the corner of the hangar. "Makes me wish I was out delivering pizzas again." Upending the bucket and resting it on the deck, Aubrey seated himself to admire his handiwork. The last of his funds had gone towards a full load of fuel, food, and a few other odds and ends to spruce up the otherwise-Spartan interior of his new vessel. A string of Christmas lights hung from the roof of the cargo bay, adding a bit more light and color to the interior of the drab vessel. In all honesty, they weren't really needed, and they were expensive to obtain and wire in, but they added a certain je n'ais ce quoi to the ship. He'd had a similar set strung up in the "Kefir", his faithful Garanchou, and their dancing colors helped to keep him awake during those long, silent runs across space.
Stevo watched from the far side of the hangar bay with amusement. After all the work his customer had put into the Bactrian, it almost resembled a functioning ship, and he almost resembled a functioning Junker. And, as the saying goes, a Junker takes care of his own. Most of the time, at least. "Hey, Aubrey!" He shouted, shocking the young man from his daydream. "Over here!" Waving with his one good arm, he beckoned his new "friend" over.
"What's up, Stevo?" Aubrey replied in a half-yell across the landing bay, wearily taking to his feet to close the gap between himself and the ship salesman. Stretching his shoulders back slightly, his back popped in a startlingly loud manner. "I'm too young to be too old for this shit."
"Hey, listen." Stevo replied once Aubrey had entered conversational range. "I'm impressed with the work you put into that thing. Damn impressed, and that hunk of sh-... Ship. Hunk of ship, cost you more than a pretty penny." The Junker coughed into his one good hand, eliciting a cocked-eyebrow reaction from Aubrey. "And, well, I know you just got laid off from some big soulless corporation. Happened to a lot of us, really. I feel for you. Anyway, I've got some cargo that needs to make it's way to Nagano. Specifically, to Planet Tomioka. Should be a total milk run, long as you stay off the lanes, anyway."
"Uh huh. Off the lanes. So smuggling, then?" While taking a few-minute break between cleaning the inside and outside of his ship, Aubrey had done some digging on house laws and regulations. He wasn't entirely happy with the fact that the Liberty government wasn't in the habit of issuing titles for Pirate ships, and Interspace Commerce is even less keen on issuing insurance for said ships. A rather loud facepalm and the realization he just might have wasted a whole pile of money washed over him in that moment, though that glumness retreated once he caught sight of the NO REFUNDZ sign hanging next to Stevo's office. No sense in crying over spilled milk, after all. "Lots of 'milk' references today..." Aubrey muttered under his breath, eyes wandering through the hangar again.
"Aubrey. Hey. Manhattan to Aubrey!" Stevo waved his hand (singular) in front of the young one's face, retrieving him out of his daydream. "Huh? Oh, sorry! Just a little tired, that's all. You mentioned cargo, right?"
"Yeah, I mentioned it. Listen, I've got some business to do here for the next week or so, and my client would really like to have this cargo before then. You get it there on time, and we'll split the money, fifty-fifty. Sound alright?" Aubrey had just opened his mouth to protest, since he wasn't even sure what the cargo was, before Stevo interrupted. "Good! You go on ahead and get some shuteye. Me and the boys, well, just the boys really, will get all the goods loaded for you." Aubrey held up a hand and opened his mouth once more, and again, he was interrupted by a piercing whistle from Stevo. "Hey, boys! Let's get them crates loaded up, this guy's got a run to make!"
Letting out another sigh, Aubrey turned his back to the now-smiling Stevo and trudged his way back into the ship, before flopping down on a hastily-hung hammock in the walkway between the cargo bay and the cockpit. A few welded bits of scrap formed a shaky shelf just to his left, where he'd stored his pistol and datapad. Fidgeting around for a moment, he eventually fingered the plastic rectangle to life, and activated the record function. "Well, diary, I guess I'm finally self-employed. Stevo just saddled me with god-knows-what going to who-the-hell-cares. For all I know, I'm going to be schlepping around someone else's drugs or guns or drug-guns for the rest of my life." Rolling onto his side, Aubrey continued. "Not that it matters what I'm hauling, since this ship is liable to get impounded wherever I go, anyway. If I manage to actually make a bit of money, maybe I can pay off the rent-a-cops here in Liberty if I get caught, but Lord help me if the State Police sniff me out." The sideways image of his face darkened as the lights were dimmed and the airlocks between the cargo bay and flight deck were closed and sealed. "Whatever. Here's hoping Stevo and his boys don't make too much noise. I'm gonna' need a solid 12 hours of beauty rest after last night. Night, diary."
RE: Diary of Aubrey McKnight - Jayce - 02-25-2020
Skilled fingers danced over the control consoles of the Bactrian, expertly running through the start-up sequence. Well, as expertly as a pilot that is utterly and entirely untrained in the operation of a ship can be, anyway. "Alright girl, let's see if all that work is gonna' pay off..." One last button press, and the ship sputtered, grumbled, and rumbled to life. The pilot seat shook violently, and Aubrey finally understood why it was so heavily padded. A quick puff of exhaust gases coughed from one of the oversized and overpowered engines, singeing the deckplates and reinforced walls of the landing bay. Aubrey's eyes went wide for a moment, filled with a desire to be elsewhere, lest the junkers demand he clean up his mess.
"Rochester control, this is Synth Foods freighter Kef-..." He paused, pondering the last few words, the realization that he was on his now on his own coming crashing down. "Rochester control, this is Beartrap, requesting departure clearance." A blaring alarm echoed through the landing bays, the few Junkers still meandering around quickly piling into their ships, or evacuating to the airlocks. A minute or so later, Rochester control responded.
"We read you, Beartrap. You're cleared for departure. Take it easy out there." It seemed every flight controller had that same, monotone, comforting voice, regardless of what group they belonged to. The comms channel went quiet as the massive bay doors swung open, the last vestiges of air in the bay quickly escaping, taking a few scraps of paper and food wrappers with it. The floating scrapyard that was the Jersey field soon came into view, the vast expanses of New York proper looming in the background. "Off we go, I guess." Aubrey mused quietly, the Bactrian rising shakily off the landing pad with a few uncertain bursts of the maneuvering thrusters. "Easy, girl, easy..." Another few puffs from the main engines sent the vessel drifting slowly outwards, between the bay doors, and into the inky black of space.
The next few minutes quickly turned to hours as Aubrey checked and re-checked his ship, and spent a good long while familiarizing himself with the controls. Compared to his Garanchou, the Bactrian was significantly less graceful, but what it lacked in fine control it more than made up for in raw power. The main engines thrummed with energy as the aged vessel brute-forced it's way to cruise speed, knocking shards of scrap metal off the armored frontal plate. He'd normally have weaved around and through the field with his last vessel, the slim frontal profile making the task seem like childsplay. With this ship, though, such deft control was simply not possible. The designers, if he dared to call them that, simply made sure the front of the ship was sturdy enough to stand the impacts. "Over the river and through the woods." Aubrey sung as he settled back in his seat, shutting his eyes for just a moment.
During that moment, a massive section of a half-demolished Hegemon loomed into view, directly in the path of the freighter. The piercing wail of the collision alert siren echoed through Aubreys helmet, and in a fit of pique, he yanked the control stick harshly to port, sending the maneuvering thrusters into overclock and spinning the craft in a twirling arc around and past the piece of debris. "Holyshitthatwasclose!" Was Aubrey's sputtered reply as he eased the vessel back onto the path towards the Colorado jumphole, his chest heaving inside his form-fitting flight suit. "God, that would have been a bad way to go, huh diary? Spend my money on a new ship, and crash the thing right out of the gate." He turned to face his datapad, taped down onto one of the support beams in the cockpit, and mimed wiping the sweat from his brow. Aubrey had elected to record the first flight of his new ship, since it was such a momentous occasion, after all. "Maybe dad was right, I might just be a narcoleptic."
A few anxious minutes of travel passed, the pilot paying a whole lot more attention to the debris field, before the glowing red orb of the Colorado jumphole loomed into view. Just prior to setting off on his trip, Aubrey had paid one last visit to the Rochester bar, and spent the few remaining Credits left to his name on a map of the holes he'd need for most of his route. Throttling back out of cruise speed, he brought the ship to a stop, the yawning maw of the jumphole just a few hundred meters ahead.
"Here goes nothing!"
The vessel creaked and groaned as it passed the event horizon of the anomaly, building speed in the last few seconds it remained in "real" space, before being eagerly sucked in.
RE: Diary of Aubrey McKnight - Jayce - 02-26-2020
The restraints of the pilot seat bit deep into Aubrey's shoulders, his Bactrian tumbling end-over-end as it was disgorged from the jumphole like a dog vomiting up a rancid meal. A quick input on the stick and throttle eventually brought the tumbling to a halt, but not before the pilot had an internal struggle against his own breakfast. "Oh god, I hope that doesn't happen every time." Aubrey complained to nobody in particular, shaking his head clear before prodding the navigation display. He was right where Stevo said he'd be, in the middle of some desolate cloud in Colorado. Next stop: Kepler. Jerry Rigg, one of the big-time independent pirates aboard Rochester, mentioned a rumor that the Xenos operated a base just on the other side of the Colorado hole, but as long as Aubrey "stayed cute" and was "real nice and polite," they wouldn't be any bother.
"Alright, Freelancer. Cut 'em." A crackly voice dripping with a country drawl echoed through the comms systems, and a single Falcon-class fighter drifted into view, weapons trained on the freighter.
"U-uhh, yeah, sure thing, chief!" Aubrey replied, eyeing up the fighter. It was in a condition not unlike his own ship. A few panels were missing, the paint was flaking, and it had its own special nose art: a massive, red, coiled viper. "What, uhh, what can I do for you?"
"First, ya'll can tell me where you're from." The Xeno ship drifted from side to side lazily, maneuvering thrusters puffing now and then as the pilot took stock of the Rogue-produced freighter. "You sound like you're from 'round here, so that's a point in my book."
Aubrey cleared his throat as he checked the scanner: no other targets. Looks like it's just the one Xeno, probably why he isn't floating around in his EV suit already. "Well, yeah, I'm from Liberty. Denver, actually. Same as my mom and dad." A light illuminated on another screen, indicating that his ship was being scanned. Undoubtedly, the Xeno would want a chunk of whatever it was that Aubrey was carrying.
"Good, 's real good. What brings a nice Denver gal all the way out here? And in a Rogue ship, to boot." The Falcon disappeared from view for just a moment, drifting under Aubrey's vessel and out of sight, before reappearing in a puff of maneuvering fuel. The Xeno pilot had evidently circled the vessel, taking a nice, long look at the craft, before completing the maneuver and ending up right back where he started.
If Aubrey was going to play it slick, now was his chance. "Well, I actually just bought it off a guy on-." He paused for just a second, racking his brain for ideas. "Freeport 2. Saw a good deal, and I just couldn't pass it up. I got laid off from my job with Synth Foods, and I needed to figure some way to afford something to eat. Thought I'd keep doing what I was doing before, just with a different flag." Aubrey flashed a toothy grin, knowing full-well it'd never be seen.
"Hey, I can understand, really. Listen, I'll cut'cha a deal. I know you're carrying some very, very nice weapons, but they're sidearms, and as much as us Xenos like the 'gun-toting redneck' image, we ain't in any real need formore pistols. We need food. Nothin' too fancy, surplus rations would work out just fine. I got a guy on Ames that can get that food where it needs to go, it just needs to get to him first. Give me your word you can make that happen, and I'll make sure you won't find no bother from us." As if to emphasize his point, the Xeno ship waggled those damaged, rusty wings. "How's that sound?"
Aubrey was shocked. He'd always been told the Xenos were bloodthirsty killers, without an ounce of mercy in their body. After collecting his jaw from the deck, he keyed the mic to respond. "Yeah, I think I can make that happen, maybe. I know a guy, he knows a guy. Ex-Synth employee, y'know?" Aubrey didn't know the first thing about knowing a guy who knows a guy, but he knew that if he didn't find a guy who knew a guy, this guy would put the guy in the Bactrian on the Xeno list of guys to shoot. He didn't want to be on that list. "Is your man on Ames in a hurry, or can it wait, I don't know, a week or so?" He shook his head. What an absolutely moronic train of thought.
"Mmh..." The Xeno gave a protracted pause, before continuing. Aubrey swore he could hear a hand scratching thoughtfully against chin stubble. "I reckon we can wait a week or two. We're not starving to death or anything, but, y'know, an army marches on its stomach. Not that we do much marching."
"Oh, I'm sure you will, eventually!" The nervous freighter pilot replied, trying his best to sound encouraging, though the statement sounded more awkward than anything else. With a gentle throttle input, the Bactrian scooted past the Falcon and off towards the Kepler jumphole. Peering back over his shoulder, Aubrey could see the Falcon turn to see him off, though it made no attempt to chase. It looked like he was free, at least for the moment.
"Oh, Freelancer! One more thing, you got a name I can give to my man on Ames?" The voice in his ear crackled to life once more, though static had begun to cloud the transmission as the distance between the ships increased.
"Beartrap!" Aubrey replied through the same shit-eating grin from just prior, as the comms channel fizzled into nothingness.
RE: Diary of Aubrey McKnight - Jayce - 02-27-2020
"They all said I'd best give it up, what a fool, to believe their lie-ie-ies!~"
Aubrey sung along to the throbbing beat of the music playing via the datapad as the ship bopped down his route through the Kepler system, a course laid in for Galileo, and then a quick hop skip and a jump to Shikoku. All seemed to be going well, and Aubrey had seen nary a soul since he parted ways with his new Xeno friend. The familiar sight of Ames presented itself to his left, and he couldn't help but give a little wave at the Zoners aboard.
"Now they've fallen, I'm at the top, are you ready now to die-ie-ie?!~"
The pilot used a support strut as an impromptu drumkit as he half-danced along to the music, the Kuryo Cloud looming off in the distance. His next connection was just past it, and then it was a short cruise to Kusari proper. Preoccupied with his enthusiastic singalong, Aubrey failed to notice a pair of Avenger-class fighters slotting in on his tail, both of them emanating some rather odd sensor readings.
"I came up from the bottom, and into the top, for the first time I feel- AH, SHIT!"
Once again, Aubrey was catapulted forward with the rapid deceleration, and warning klaxons began to sound as his cruise engines were disrupted. Reflexively jamming the throttle to "FULL THRUST" as quickly as he could, a volley of purple energy blasts sailed past his vessel, momentarily bathing the interior in a spooky glow. His instincts took over as he juked the Bactrian in a quick (as quick as possible, anyway) roll to left, then back to the right, adding a smattering of side-to-side shimmying for good measure. The two fighters stuck to him like glue, those deadly purple lasers beginning to crash into his shields. They held, for the moment, giving Aubrey a few precious moments to consider his situation. He keyed the mic, opening a channel to the pair of vessels. "Hey, assholes, didn't anyone ever tell you to ask before you fuck someone? Christ!" The music in his ears continued, albeit without his sub-par karaoke.
"One more turn and I'll settle the score, a rubber fire screams into the night! Crash and burn is what you're gonna do, I am the master of the asphalt fight!~"
Decoupling his engines from his thrust vector, Aubrey flicked his ship end-over-end and powered straight towards the attacking ships. His eyes shut tight, a button on his flight stick was depressed, and out of the rear of the ship popped one of the 5 Screamer-model mines he'd been able to afford. The lead ship avoided it by the narrowest margin, but the second ate it head-on, the blast dissipating on its shields before they shimmered and failed. "Yeah, suck this dick!"
"They all said I'd best give it up, what a fool to believe their lie-ie-ies! Now they've fallen, I'm at the top, are you ready now to die-ie-ie?!~"
With the pilot hopefully disoriented, Aubrey took the chance to return the favor, and lined up behind the offending vessel, his weapons offering their own scathing rebuke. Bright yellow streams of plasma slammed home against the thick wings of the Avenger, armor plate melting and sloughing off like butter in a pan. "Not so fun when you're catching, huh?!" His aim was true, and with the volume of fire the Bactrian could pour on, it took only moments before one wing snapped off wholesale.
"I can fly like an eagle, and strike like a hawk! Do you think you can survive... The top?~"
With his attention focused solely on the fighter in front of him, Aubrey failed to take notice of the lead craft once again lining up from the rear, nor the knife-bladed shape momentarily illuminated by the lightning in the cloud the brawl had drifted into. Ever true to its reputation for toughness, the Avenger kept flying, a great gout of flame replacing the one birdlike wing to port. The pilot had gone full evasive, causing many of Aubrey's shots to fly wide, or just barely shave past the fuselage and tail fin. Placing his full faith the shoddily-repaired ship and attendant shield generators, he ignored the jarring impacts of Nomad weaponry. Tightening his groups and closing the gap between the ships, one final volley sallied forth, impacting directly against the engines of the Avenger and sending it twirling off in a pillar of fire. "Gotcha!"
"You want to see what I've done with this place; this whole thing? You want to see that I changed the game? No, I AM the game!"
Aubrey's exultation was short-lived as the fireball splashed against the armored prow of an Interdictor-class Assault Battlecruiser, leaving a black scorch across the lettering on the bow. He had just a moment to read the word "WYOMING" as he screamed past, before the new arrival let loose with a volley of gunfire. Biting his lip, Aubrey pitched the Bactrian over onto its back and pulled around the Battlecruiser, hugging it tightly in the hopes of outrunning their turret traverse. He did, only just, point-defense volleys searing away his rear shielding as the freighter pitched up into the rocky field once more. A plume of flame and smoke trailed him all the way, missile warning sirens blaring into his ears.
"...I made this something way bigger than you're ever gonna be! I made it this far, and I'm taking it to the top!"
"Ohgodohgodohgodthisissuchabadidea!" Pitching his nose down, Aubrey aligned his poor, abused ship to skim along one of the softer-looking asteroids and yanked the throttle back to "FULL REVERSE". A great crunch echoed through the vessel as the lower control fins dug deep into the asteroid and, aided by the retrothrusters, brought the craft to a sudden stop. The pursuing Avenger sailed clean past, dropping speed rapidly and attempting to spin around to regain a firing solution, the pilot blissfully aware that he'd become the only valid target in range for missile's tracking system. With a minor adjustment in trajectory, the missile tracked true, utterly immolating the offending ship. Before the dust had even begun to settle, Aubrey reefed the throttle forward again, engines belching great bursts of superheated gas as he accelerated back to cruise speed, leaving chunks of asteroid and debris in his wake.