Memories. Sometimes theyre tinted with happiness. A warm meal after trudging home through a cold Manhattan winter, listening to the rest of the family talking, even if youre too young to understand what theyre talking about. Sometimes, fear is what is most readily associated. A slip, falling and breaking something, spending the rest of the day fearing the potential punishment, becoming too frightened to explain what happened when the questions finally arrive. A belt, perhaps, draped over the arm of a chair, waiting. The clasp looking almost like a viper, ready to strike and leave its red bite on unprotected flesh. The promise of more to come, not being finished, and the urgent need to escape, to disappear somehow before the punishment comes. Years, maybe even decades in the gutter, begging, thieving, counting each credit as if it was your last, which, in most cases, it was. The mind has a way of shielding itself, blocking those memories, hiding them away and forgetting them. However, when such memories make up your life, is something lost? Years of life, vanishing, leaving only the few remnants of happiness gleaned from an unwanted childhood. A mind unable to comprehend the concepts of lying, a mind unable to empathize with other peoples feelings, a mind prone to obsessions and phases, the selfish mind of a child, in the capable body of a man.
It was a regular north sector street. Grey offices huddled along its length, second homes to grey men with grey lives. The occasional passer by hurried past office 192, the only office to be any different to the others. In the past, some manager had decided that attracting business would be easier if it stood out from the near-identical offices on either side. Naturally, with only the inspiration that a life in an office could bring, hed had it painted duck egg blue. A figure entered the street. Unlike the scurrying workers trying to get out of the drizzle, he seemed perfectly content. His hair was already plastered to his head and his eyes became fixed on office 192. A smile tugged at his lips, and he turned and walked across the road, never taking his eyes off the peeling blue paint on the walls. A low sound came from his mouth, gradually resolving itself into words:
Ooh! Thats a nice pretty thingy!
He paused for a second, peering through a window at the dingy interior.
I think I could make it prettier, he whispered to himself. Fire is pretty too.
He opened the door into the office lobby and wandered in. Apparently, the manager had decided that once someone had entered the building, they were likely to stay in it, and so the interior was drab, a bland, nondescript colour, somewhere between milk and off-white. An empty desk stood at one wall with a sign saying: Mavis Hurlstone, Secretary. A large clock on the wall was shining the numbers 23:07:19 onto the polished wooden surface, giving it a green tint. A sheet of paper had been tucked hurriedly under the sign. From where the man was, not much was visible, the light of the clock only illuminating a few words: Mr. Bletchley, I resignoverworkedunderpaidlong hourslock it up after yourselfnew life. The letter ended with a spidery signature. The man, however, seemed more interested in the clock.
Ooh! Pretty numbers! Maybe there are more pretty numbers up there!
He walked past the desk to a small, badly lit staircase and began to climb.
The stairs led to a short hallway with a few doors leading off it. Most of them were dark, but one, more prestigious looking than the rest shone a soft glow onto the tiled floor outside. The man made his way towards it, once again starting to talk to himself in his slightly sing-song voice.
HmmI wonder whats behind there. Maybe some shiny thingies!
The door swung open under his touch, revealing a threadbare dark red rug, a wall comprised of filing cabinets, a large, imposing desk with neural net equipment cluttering it, and a large, high backed chair, facing the wall. The room smelt of damp and the first stages of decay, but this was drowned out by the stench of liberty ale and cigarette smoke coming from the chair. The door clicked shut, and the chair moved slightly. A groan came from whoever was sitting on it.
Go away, Mavis, Imbusy, yes, thats right, Im busy.
The man stopped for a moment, looking confused, then Mr. Bletchley hauled himself upright.
I thought I told you to go He turned around. Wait. Youre not Mavis. Who the hell are you? How did you get in?
Ooh! Youre a talky person. Are you a nice talky person? came the reply. I like nice peoples, theyre nice
Are you completely mad? He fumbled backwards, pulling an intercom from its holder and activating it. Mavis, why did you let this idiot in? Mavis? Put down whatever youre doing and answer me Goddamit!
He paused, then a combination of realization and fear crossed his face.
You killed her, didnt you? Youre a bloody murderer, probably sent by one of my rivals to take me out! He reached into one of the drawers of his desk, pulling out an old laser pistol. Put your hands up where I can see them, or Ill shoot!
The man took a step forward.
I think youre a nasty person, arent you. I dont like nasty peoples
Mr. Bletchleys hand tightened on his pistol
Dont come any closer. Ill shoot, I mean it!
The man took another step. Mr. Bletchley pulled the trigger. There was a soft noise as the beam was produced, missing the man entirely and creating a rather charred patch on the wall.
That was a warning shot. Any closer and Ill shoot for real, Im warning you
The man paused for a second, then a scowl crossed his face.
Youre a nasty shooty person. Youre nasty and horrible
The man rushed forward, taking Mr. Bletchley by surprise. He flinched backwards, and this movement caused his chair to overbalance, his shocked face plunged backwards, his hands trying to reach the table. His chair smashed against the filing cabinets, jolting Mr. Bletchley into unconsciousness. His half smoked cigarette tumbled to the floor, smoking gently.
Chapter 2. Pretty fire.
The man poked Mr. Bletchley a few times, noticed he was unconscious and took the pistol. He then started rummaging through the equipment on the desk. It didn’t seem like he was looking for anything of value, as he completely ignored the expensive equipment, nor did it seem he was looking for records or anything of that sort, in fact, every record he’d encountered had been thrown off the desk, with a muttered “Boring thingy”. The desk much clearer, and the floor strewn with pieces of paper and smashed equipment, the man turned his attention to Mr. Bletchley again. He rifled his pockets, managing to find a Sirius credit card, which he tucked away in an inside pocket. With the contents of Mr. Bletchley’s pockets now on the floor around his feet, the man decided to check through the drawers of the desk. One was already hanging open, an open pistol case inside. The others were mostly full of Liberty ale, which the man poured out onto the floor, saying to himself “Nasty smelly alcothingies. They burn prettily though.” The last drawer, however, had a lock keeping whatever was inside closed. Pointing his newfound laser at the lock, the man took aim and shot. The desk shuddered slightly, as a perfectly circular hole appeared in the lock. The man opened the drawer, and his eyes seemed to light up as he gazed on what was inside. A small reflective piece of card, sparkling slightly in the light. The man picked it up, smiling, and walked towards the door. “A shiny thingy!” came the sound of his voice from the corridor.
The threadbare carpet began drinking up the ale, the puddles expanding gradually towards the still smoldering cigarette…
The man was about to head back down the stairs when something made him turn. He looked back and saw that there was another staircase, this one leading up. He walked back towards it, still holding the card he’d found, and began to climb.
The liberty ale was reluctant to burn at first, the cigarette almost went out, swamped by alcohol, but then a tiny spark flared on its surface, and began to spread around the puddle. For a few seconds, the flame was the exact shape of the puddles, but then like a river bursting its banks, it began to spread outwards.
The staircase led to a flat roof. The man peered over the edge, watching water sluice gradually into the gutters. A crackle of lightning illuminated his features for a second, and thunder seemed to shake the rooftops. The man’s face seemed to crumple slightly.
“Nasty scary thunder! I don’t like it!” He whimpered.
He searched what was left of his memories. How did you escape nasty thunder? One option presented itself. Hide under a blanket. Hiding under a blanket had helped him several times before. When he was under a blanket he could sometimes forget the pain…His train of thought faltered as his memories ebbed away from his fingers again. He tried to bring them back, but the more he grabbed at, the further away they seemed. He looked around.
There was a gentle “whumph” as the paper strewn across the floor began to burn. The room began to fill with choking grey smoke. Tongues of flame played in the desk, and began licking at the fancy trousers of Mr. Augustus Bletchley.
The roof was mostly empty. However, some kind of large object was hidden under a waterproof sheet. His mind clicked slightly. Maybe a waterproof sheet would work as well as a blanket. He pulled it upwards with one hand and stepped inside. His other hand clunked against some sort of object. The card was illuminated by a thin green beam, and then there was a noise of something opening, and with a soft click, there was light. A square opening in one side of the object drew the man’s attention, and he stepped inside. Inside was a small bed, a table fixed to the wall, and a ladder. The man scurried up the ladder and came out in another tiny room. This one had a large window obscured by the sheet, a seat facing it and, the man paused for a moment, panels covered in blinking lights set up to be used from the seat. The man rushed over, threw himself into the seat, and jabbed at a glowing blue light. There was a sound of something closing. Intrigued, he started poking lights. Music started playing, a small slot in one panel opened and something launched the waterproof sheet from the object. A feminine mechanical voice started to speak. “You appear to have no idea what you are trying to do. Would you like a refresher course?”
The man seemed to think for a moment, then he smiled broadly, and replied “Ooh! Yes! I wants one! What is it?”
“All right then, refresher protocols engaged. Now then, first you put your hand on the right stick. It can be found…Yes, that’s right. Now place your left hand on the internal controls. Insert your card into the slot below the blue button to enable the systems. Oh, I’m forgetting something. Welcome to the C-101 Starflier. The C-101 has several advantages over its sister, the C-100. Firstly, it comes with navigational aids, a table in the rest bay, easier access to the cockpit and a friendly, perfect, and very modest semi-sentient AI tutorial system”
The man pushed the card into the slot, whispering “goodbye shiny thingy” as it slid in.
“Card accepted. All systems are fully functional. Now, place your feet on the throttle and rotational pedals, and your left hand on the left stick. The trigger on the right stick is currently set to firing defensive weapons systems during interplanetary travel. Please bear in mind that using these while in an atmosphere is against Liberty law and will result in the LPI hunting you down. The trigger on the left stick activates the afterburners. Kindly do not use these within 50 metres vertically of buildings. The right stick turns your ship, the left strafes it. Rotation and impulse speeds are set by using the pedals under your feet, and the tutorial is now over. Your warranty is now invalidated. Remember to use a seatbelt”.
The fire was ravaging the room, doing a far better job than the man had done. It was flowing out through the open door and across the corridor, making it seem as if all the windows were lit.
The man smiled. This was better than a blanket. It was a floaty thingy! He’d watched them as they flew in their droves when he was young. He’d always dreamed of seeing space, not knowing that his life would have been one of hard Manhattan labour in the omnipresent factories. Now, he had the chance to see it. “Now then, right thingy to turn, left thingy to go sideways, and this pedal thingy to…oops.” The ship fell over sideways. “Hmm…other pedal then!” The ship lurched forward, rushing towards the edge of the roof, and the low wall around it. There was a smash, and the ship crashed through the wall, one wing bent and scratched, but flying. The man pushed the rotational pedal back into its original position, and the ship righted itself. “Now then, left trigger thing was go fast, wasn’t it?”
The starflier sped away from the burning building. Fire surged out of the windows, and from inside came the sound of crumbling masonry.
All the news thats fit for you, this is the Colony News Service.
Lets have a look at the latest headlines, shall we? Cardimine use up 50% among young teenagers. Gateway gold shipment worth 7 million credits seized by rogues, Rheinland will be easily defeated, assure senior government officials, and the latest on the fire which destroyed office 192 in the Northern sector and severely damaged the surrounding offices, back to you, Steve
Do you reckon this is the work of our Uncatchable arsonist again Kathryn?
Well, if it is, its likely to be his last, eyewitness reports say that there was one person who entered the building less than an hour before it burnt down, and nobody seems to have seen him leaving. Although only the remains of the manager, Augustus Bletchley, were found, the LPI are still searching. If they find another body, it means our Uncatchable arsonist, who, for those of you who have been under a rock for the past few months, has been linked to no less than 12 cases of arson, has finally been hoisted by his own petard.
Well, good riddance I say
Thank you for listening to CNS, sponsored by ♪LPI Donut Suppliers♪, bringing you the tasty snack that the men who defend our homes enjoy. Well be back at 7:30, with the latest news, views and a special report on the Order
Im Kathryn Dobbs
And Im Steve Miller, goodbye
Up next, its the Kyle McAlaistair show, sponsored by Sunbucks
4. Flight
The starflier wove quickly through the traffic, passing by both other small spacecraft and intraplanetary vehicles. He jinked past a hover-bus, getting several confused looks from the people within, for several reasons. Firstly, there were mere centimeters between the flank of the bus and the starfliers wing, secondly, the wake from the starfliers afterburners in the atmosphere made it appear cloaked in flame, and thirdly, it was being piloted upside down by a madly laughing pilot. Bloody kids these days and their cardimine, said one of the passengers, turning back to his neural net newspad, which was displaying the latest headlines. He skimmed through the top one, then suddenly jerked his head back towards the window. The starflier was already past the bus and joining the line of craft heading towards the north sector docking rings. The news title on his screen, in glowing green letters, said Latest on Office 192 fire: Culprit believed to have escaped in Managers personal starflier
Nearby, an LPI hover-car was hanging in mid air, its driver and passenger on traffic control duty, which had been nicknamed Sit around drinking sunbucks and eating doughnuts duty. The cars radio was blaring the latest hits, and the driver was telling a rather rude joke to the passenger. A movement caught the drivers eye. Something seemed to be burning in the outbound lane towards the docking rings. The driver activated the engines of the hover-car and directed it on a course that would allow it to stop the object. He quickly switched off the radio and activated the loudhailer.
Civilian ship, it appears you have some engine trouble. I request that you pull over and
The driver executed a perfect emergency dive as the upside-down starflier rocketed a few millimeters above the hover-cars roof, dislodging the loudhailer, which fell from the car and plummeted towards the ground.
Officer, man the gun, weve got a lawbreaker to take down!
The conventional spacefaring thruster is designed for use in space, and so was created and tested in a zero-g environment. It was designed for unparalleled speed in space, at the expense of it being rather bulky and heavy. Since mass matters more in an atmosphere, the spacefaring thruster isnt exactly optimal while planetside. A similar methodology could be applied to the C-101 Starflier, whose bulky life support and heating systems add greatly to its mass. The P-10 LPI intraplanetary corvette, on the other hand, uses a turbine thruster, which although useless in space, is far more efficient in atmospheric conditions and also, its lack of spacefaring capability, and the life support requirements that entails, means it is much lighter and more maneuverable. The direct relevance of this to the current situation is that despite the Starfliers head start, its pilot is going to have a hard job of evading the Corvette.
The mans fists clenched on the joysticks, eking as much power as he could from the already straining thruster. His starflier turned, a trail of thick smoke following it, and following that, the rapidly gaining corvette. The corvettes mounted gun opened fire, aiming at the center of the smoke trail. A freighter captain, panicked by the sight of the combat, activated his own thrusters, leaving a similar trail of smoke. His pair of escorts did the same, creating a smoke cloud and chaos in their wake as captains, unable to see, halted their ships for fear of crashing into one another. The LPI corvette, its turbine filled with smoke, began to plummet towards the streets. The freighter captain sighed with relief as the docking rings came into full view, their launching zones visibly filling even at this early hour of the morning. He deactivated his thrusters, his escorts doing the same. Looking out to his left, it seemed like one of them had taken a glancing hit from the corvette. Its left wing was slightly bent, but everything seemed functional. He looked out to his right, to check over his other escort, and sighed with relief as the other escorts ship was fine, not a scratch on her. His formation entered the launching zone. With the tension rising in his gut as it always did when he was about to use the rings space elevation system, he checked over the usual are all of these your ships? protocol. Barely glancing at it, he pressed the accept button and waited. A notice flashed up on screen. 5 seconds till launch. 4 seconds. 3 Starfliers and one Rhino class freighter, ready to be launched. 3 seconds. Hang on, I only had2 Seconds two escorts before. One second. Bugger. Launch.
The ships flashed towards the docking rings as if drawn by an invisible hand. The enormous clamps parted, and the windows on the rhino auto-tinted themselves to avoid the pilot being blinded by seeing the New York sun without the protective layer of the atmosphere. The ships slowed rapidly as they passed through the rings, lowering themselves to little more than standard impulse speed as they exited. The captain quickly opened his comms and sent a quick message to his escorts. Who is in the third starflier?
A response arrived quickly.
What third starflier sir?
Damn, I must be going crazy then He replied. I guess I misread the launch list
The two undamaged starfliers and the rhino moved off in the direction of Pittsburgh, the mining machinery in their holds destined to be used in exploiting the newest boron vein.
Nobody noticed a third starflier, which, unlike the bustling flotillas of freighters, escorts and police patrols, was totally still, admiring the first real view it had had of space.
Chapter 5. Welcome to Space.
The starfliers occupant turned his ship slowly, amazed with the new sights. He could see both the stars and the New York sun together at the same time. In the distance on his right side was a floating scrap field, glinting in the sunlight. He turned his ship to the left, and another scrap cloud met his eyes, with a strange dark cloud hovering in its center. However, the celestial object which held his attention completely after that was neither of these. A massive deep purple cloud on the other side of the sun, taking up a sizable sector of the sky, became his new objective. A robotic humming came from his starflier, and the tutorial AI kicked in once again.
It appears that you have left the atmosphere for the first time since the tutorial protocols were reset. Now that you are out of the atmosphere, your weapons systems have been enabled, and also your cruise engines. These will allow you to move faster, however for maximum speed, docking with trade lanes is advised. To fire your primary weapons, press the trigger of your right hand joystick. To activate your cruise engines, press the flashing red button. To dock with a lane or station, press the yellow button near your left hand.
AI person thingy? Whats the big purple cloud over there?
That is the badlands. It is home to many criminals and very dangerous. The LPI warn pilots not to enter the badlands under any circumstances.
Ooh! That sounds interesting!
The mans hand reached for the flashing red button, pressed it and he smiled as a gradually rising hum came from the cruise engines as they charged. The starflier shot forward once again, faster now that it was in its element, not to mention the fact that its cruise engines were operational. The fact that one of the wings was now hanging on to the rest of the ship by a thread was barely acknowledged by the pilots he passed. They had seen the swarms of Just passed manhattanites with their new starfliers, and to their eyes, he easily passed for one of those. The man watched in awe as a massive transport maneuvered itself carefully into position in front of a trade lane, then gasped as the lane activated, a halo of light rapidly extending into a tunnel into which the transport accelerated. Almost too fast for the eye to see, the ship was gone. A small sigh passed his lips, and as if in a trance, he guided his ship gently towards the lane. He pressed the docking button and watched the ring light up as the starfliers AI instantly transmitted the access codes. The ship slid forwards, and the ring extended as before. With a sudden rush of acceleration, the starflier was winging its way along the lane, passing by a field made entirely of lumps of scrap, as it headed to West Point. A red gleam caught his eye. It was next to one of the lanes and growing fast. It split into three and tiny flashes could be seen between the gleams and the lane. The tunnel created by the lane seemed to shudder, and without warning broke into fragments as the mans ship was spat out of it. The source of the gleam was clearly visible now, a trio of ships, their engines spilling red light, and weapons bristling. The three ships spread out, surrounding the starflier, and the starfliers comms crackled into life.
Now then, what have we got here? Came a voice
Looks like some little manhattanite out for a spin replied another, laughing.
Heh. Looks like his Daddys fortunes will be taking a turn for the worse
Now then, lets check the name so we know who to send the pieces to
Gotcha. Bletchley. I reckon I remember that name from somewhere
Yeah, me too. Someone the boss wanted dealt with?
Nah, definitely somewhere else
Oh, I got it, the News! Splashed all over the place. The guys dead, I reckon
Come off it, how does a dead guy pilot a starflier?
Maybe its his family or something
Nah, said on the news he didnt have any
Then whos this git with his flea?
Ya know what? I reckon hes the guy what done it
Done what?
Burnt that office. Didncha read the news?
course not. I was too busy getting smashed on my last haul. When was your last one hmm?
Shut it, both of you. This one hasnt got anything worth taking, so lets push off before we get the law coming down on us?
Another voice entered into the conversation
Ooh! The funny green button next to crackly talky box thingy made a light go on next to it!
Sounds like a right nutter, dont he?
Hmm? Ooh! Funny red glowy thingies can hear me!
Yeah, we can, and were not funny red glowy thingies, were Liberty rogues, and dont you forget it
Hmm? Are Liberty rogue peoples nice?
The three rogues laughed harshly. Nice wasnt exactly the word youd associate with the sort of people who would gladly kill their own grandmother just for the sake of it.
Yeah, were nice, all right
Ooh! Nice Liberty rogue peoples!
Hey, Jim, you reckon hed make decent fodder?
Just what I was thinking, but were gonna have some fun with him, hes completely cracked in the head, so lets make the most of it
All right matey, whats yer name?
Im Rex. Rex Mullins!
Right, Now then, Mullins, were off hunting cabbages
Good one Jim, cabbages. The rogue laughed, in the same sort of way that he laughed when small children fell out of high windows.
Ooh! What do we do when we find them?
We go up to them and we steal their loot
Why? Isnt stealing nasty?
Not this sort. Its what these cabbages are designed for. They exist to be hunted and have their loot stolen, ok?
Really?
Yeah, really. Now then, lets move before the police decide to hunt us
