Fishing /ˈfɪʃɪŋ/
Noun. The activity of catching fish, either for food or as a sport. Going by the conventional definition, the first image in one’s mind is some old guy wearing a raincoat with khaki overalls, sitting on a foldable chair which can barely hold his weight. That, or some blokes on a weathered motorboat looking over at least six fishing rods.

Nathan had a slightly different idea when it came to fishing. Towing a small fighter craft that vaguely resembled a fish was as far as he got. The Paladin now sat in one of the hangar bays of Leyte. Parts of the Bretonian ship now gutted, hull panels removed here and there. The cockpit kept wide open by what appears to be a combination of a crowbar and some duct tape. The only noise coming from the ship at this very moment, was the hijacked communications equipment. The speakers roared with great distortion, as they were forced to regurgitate some old rock tune;


Nathan was humming along to the tune, albeit missing most of the notes. A character that’s hard to miss, even in a crowd. Rather tall, with an impressive stature. His head was shaved bald for the most part, but not enough for his head to reflect the dim lights of the hangar. Just above his right eyebrow was the signature tattoo most everybody recognized on the station: n∞
He was hunched over the engine cowling, tinkering with some of the equipment. There was no real purpose to the disassembly, other than getting to know this weird catfish he has managed to bring home.

"They did shoot at me. Even though I specifically contacted Leyte in advance." Contrary to his actual words, the tone revealed that he was not surprised in the slightest by that. Followed by a nod in the direction of his trademark spatial. A few nasty burn marks present from the not so friendly fire. "Nothing this ship couldn't take."


"I bet crew on board were ecstatic to hear about your arrival. Haven't seen the hangar this empty in weeks." A friendly jab from Nathan, as he straightened up to offer a handshake.

"Do you want the long version, or the short version?"

‌"Oh, that's not a hard task to achieve, even if it'll be longer just by a hair." Nathan usually left these horrible puns scattered along his dialogues. Let that be an awfully outnumbered combat scenario, or just a patrol sortie in Ontario. The man leans against the side of the ship, describing his flight in detail.


"Had a sortie from Leyte. Scoured around the asteroid field for a while, then took the Spatial along the lanes. Got a word that there's a Junker Salvager out and about." He paused, taking a cigarette out of his uniform's front pocket, offering Damien one. "Ship is pretty much built to handle the heat from one, so I followed the route it might have passed. That being the Leeds jumphole. Pretty sure you can see where this one is going."

After lighting the cigarette and taking a short drag from it, he continued. "Chased the fucker till it fled through the hole. Once on the other side, I blasted it with everything, cutting the Junker into two equally rusted parts. God those ships look like cockroaches on the inside too. I flipped my ship around to go back towards the gate, and this thing was looking right at me." He patted the side plate of the Paladin, which echoed with a hollow thud. With the parts laying around, he probably took some of the ship apart already.

"I was a trigger pull away from blasting it with a shower of plasma, if not for the guns being a bit too overheated after scrapping the Junker. Realized it's empty, did a few loops around it. Seemed remarkably intact, figured I could lug it back. Worst case, it'll be good for scrap, or as a once-off unguided missile. The hardest part was to direct it through the jumphole. If there was a crack, or the structure was fractured, it would come out in pieces on the other side. Since it got through, I towed it home." He soon put out the cigarette by pressing it against the Paladin.

"Since it followed me home, figured I'd keep it."

His enthusiasm seemed strictly limited to the fact that he managed to tow this ship all the way here without being shot. The ship itself was in a remarkably good condition, only missing the escape pod. At one point it probably had the guns attached to it, as evidenced by the fact that the guns were laying around in a pile labeled as "trash". Nathan didn't know much about particle weapons, nor did he care for that specific brand of bretonian garbage. "You think? I can come up with a different story every time. Found it in a nebula. Defected. Traded it for a corn chip. Came with the subscription for Xeno weekly. Need I say more?"

He was just about to turn around and get back to the disassembly when he heard the word "tea pot".

"That reminds me of the whole reason I called you here. Hop on, you'd want to see this." Added Nathan as he got to the cockpit by the use of some rather makeshift scaffolding. Inside the cockpit was the whole reason why this ship ended up on this rock of a station. A boiling vessel. A glorified kettle. A pathetic metal box.

‌
An uninvited voice cheerfully inquired before a chuckle escaped from him, "Could I get one of these with my Xeno Weekly subscription?"

The rather tall individual, better known as 21 walked forward with a skip and a hop, observing the looted vessel from the top to the bottom back to the top. His eyes bouncing from one missing panel to the other rapidly whilst whistling a Bretonian tune quietly, if it was any quieter in the hangar, perhaps even the other two pilots would hear it.

The news of a Bretonian fighter ship being at the station was enough to bring him all the way from Ouray to have a look or two at it. The Xeno pilot was known for liking all kinds of ships, especially those that he would only rarely see. A grin crossed his face as he noticed kettle's guns in the 'Trash' pile.

"Throwing out her Majesty's finest tools?" Another brief cackle left 21 as he directed his rather sarcastic question at Nathan. Of course, the man himself did not believe that Bretonian tech was any better than what he was used to, after all, Phantoms could use all of the technology available. He had a taste of just about everything.