A bleak grey dot strobbed in and out of existence - her hull being periodically shielded from sight by the trade lanes through which it shot into abscurity. It was a dull feature accenting the otherwise gorgeous features of the Newcastle system. Were it not for its violent, linear motion, it could have easily been mistaken for a star shining through the dark confines of the crimson and azure nebulae that surrounded the system.
Aboard the dot, a man lay a simple bunk. The bunk, adorned with a white sheet and thin, scratchy blanket, felt more like a stone with a thick covering of moss than a memory foam cushion. He stared out the small 6-foot by 3-foot window on the starboard wall of the armored transport. This two-hundred thousand credit trip landed him on the side of the transport that had been facing the sun for the past hour and a half. At long last, they were on the final leg of the trip; on the trade lane heading south-east (on the nav. grid) from Planet Carlisle.
The oily sheen, applied to all windows aboard most craft, compounded the effect of the tint and reduced the impact from the sun outside. The fragmented light carried a swirling rainbow to the man's eyes. It seemingly ran circles around itself, different each time, like two young'uns play-fighting. The man had lost track of time watching the unpredictable dance of light and a soft click heralded the voice of the captain.
"Arriving at Scarborough Station in two minutes, brace for rapid sub-luminal deceleration."
Some say I'm foolish, and some say I'm wise for loving the women and whiskey like life, but the son of King David had ten-hundred wives and his wisdom was highly regarded.
I yawned.
The Captain's tin voice had interrupted my day-dream which had been induced by the dancing rainbow. I had perused the various outcomes of my future dealings. I had wondered what would happen if the selling agent of my investment had... Disappeared. If, perhaps, he fell into one of Scarborough's many airlocks and never found a way out until trash day had hastened him on his way.
Or if, perhaps, the agent had tried something similar on me. Would I attempt to pursuade him to holster the weapon? Would I try and redirect the weapon skyward in an attempt to get myself out of the firing line?
These thoughts had all crossed my mind, dashing through the shadows of my consciousness like the sleek oiled rainbow prancing unpredictably across the glassy surface.
I felt a soft jolt. While there was no atmosphere in space, and thus no resistence to create G-Force, decelerating from extra-luminal speeds does take a discernment. The varying gravitational pulls - from the sun, planets, even stations are tugging the ship in any number of directions at all times. When one is traveling faster than light, and thus escaping a great majority of the gravity affecting the system, the ship has minimal stress put on its hull. When, however, it decelerates from such a speed, the gravity retakes its hold on the ship.
This is why I bobbed slightly to the starboard and aft; towards the greatest presence of gravity in the system: Carlisle and the sun.
Once the wild display of streaking yellow-white bars of light ceased, and the trade lane ended abruptly, a field of glittering rubbish met my eyes. The tan, grey, and scarlet debris painted before me the battle that preceded our arrival. The boys of Belfast had launched an assault on the station... And lost, it seems.
A lone drone drifted lightly through the debris field, nit-picking ejection pods from twisted steel and remnant supplies that might be repaired, stored, and used at a later date. A number of the silvery pods shot puffs of their emergency thrusters in a last bid to escape the marauding sentinel of the State. Others drifted lifelessly, holes punched clean through the make-shift coffins, or halves of them missing entirely. Indistinguishable from the maroon scrap floating about were clouds of frozen and crystallized blood. Small, malformed bubbles - billowing in and out like the sporadic growth of a sea sponge.
I was once again lost in a day dream as I analyzed the individual details and tried to recreate the destruction that had paved the way for my arrival.
Ah, but such bliss, such a state of mentality in which you drift through time and space without heed for the physical... Such a state cannot be maintaned and was quickly interrupted by the thud of the mag-locks which leashed our ship to Scarborough. A sharp hiss followed by metallic grinding quickly pursued the initial blast of peace-breaking sound as an airlock passageway was connected to the ship and sealed.
"Now arriving at Scarborough Station, all passengers please disembark immediately. The return flight to Leeds will leave in one hour."
