Cloppenburg Base, BremenAlexander Meier did not consider himself to be a man easily surprised. Cloppenburg's deceptively slight head of security had survived twenty years as a revolutionary, and ten years as a military pilot before that. He had survived the fall of the Volksfront, and the shattered chaos that followed it. Mortar bombardments and ideology clashes alike had shaken the very ground beneath his feet, the weathered revolutionary remaining as steady as the rock that surrounded him. Surprise was something that happened to younger soldiers.
Yet, today, as he exited the narrow corridor that snaked its way to the station's hangar bay, he found his eyes widening alongside those of the marine at his shoulder. Nearly concealed by a circle of Widerstand marines, their mismatched uniforms clashing the paintings of some mad artist, a young woman squatted atop the battered remnants of what may have once been a ship. Tall and lanky, she looked more like a basketball player then a pilot. Block text on the ship's nose, scratches removing chunks of letters, helpfully identified the wreck as an XC-3 DSE Personal Escape Pod ™ with further warnings advising the user to check dampeners before and after launch.
"Ms McFarlen." Alexander strode into the circle of marines, cool eyes tracking the woman's movements. He made a mental note to thank the lieutenant that had possessed the foresight to provide him with the new arrival's name on the walk over. "Quite the entrance you made. I'm told you sent a prison liner into the sun on your way to us."
The woman turned at the sound of his voice, dropping to the hangar bay deck in a clatter of boots and more than one hull panel. Twelve assault rifles hummed in readiness as she took a pace toward the VWA security chief. If she noticed, she gave no sign. "Please. Sarah'll do just fine. We're all friends here, right?" She spoke with a light accent, Libertonian, if Alexander's memory served, though it had been decades since he had last visited the place. "And I heard you're the person to speak to about signing up."
"Signing up?" Alexander's voice could have stripped paint. "Signing up, enlisting, volunteering. Whatever you want to call it." She nodded to reinforce the point, flourishing a data-pad. "I'm not certain you fully understand the gravity of the situation. You arrive on my base, quite literally at the far end of nowhere, dragging a flight of Rheinwehr fighters behind you, and expect not just a warm welcome, but a waiting ship?" Alexander worked to keep the accusation from his voice. A military patrol returning from their attempt to retrieve the remnants of this girl's ship from the corona of Bremen's sun had stumbled dangerously close to one of his supply ships. The captain had been forced to jettison his cargo and run to avoid detection. Thankfully, a second ship had been able to recover the cargo, but it had been a dangerously close call, nonetheless. "What gave you the idea I was after a ship?" She cocked her head to one side, eyeing Alexander like some comically over-sized bird of prey. "Give me two days and a few parts and I can have that-" She waved an arm at the decrepit escape pod, prompting another set of hums from the rifles of the watching marines. "Thing flying again and be out of your hair. If that's what you want.
But I don't think it is."
"And why might that be?" Alexander tapped his hand to his side, and rifle barrels lowered to the floor. The woman had had adequate opportunity to attack him, if that was her plan, and his guards had already checked the pod for explosives. The search had turned up no weapons, personal or ship-grade.
Sarah shrugged. "Because I'm useful, and I want to help. That liner you mentioned, it didn't come apart like that just 'cause I pointed it at sun. Breaking amidships, tears in the bays, fires?" She listed the damage slowly, mournfully, like she was recounting fatal injuries to a family member. "That was me. I rerouted the fuel lines and set them to detonate when my pod launched. There's a reason the patrols won't find anything there worth taking back. I can't fight, but I can fix a ship and I can take her apart again, if I have to." There was no arrogance in her voice. If anything, it carried a tinge of regret. She extended the hand holding the data-pad. "I didn't really expect to end up here either, to be honest with you. But I'm here now, and I want to do what I can. Please, at least look over this before you kick me off. I figured you'd want something, so I wrote it on the... Er... Trip over. That, and while I was waiting for you." The last word was said with an aside glance at the escape pod.
Alexander took the pad, turning it over in his hands. She seemed earnest, yet he had seen far too many supposedly earnest people fade away for the impression to be any more then a passing inclination. For all he knew, she could be lying. The only proof that she had rigged the ship, if indeed she had, was likely little more than ash and radiation now. She had one point right, though. The Wilderstand was always in need of people to maintain their ships, and if she was half as good as she claimed, it was possible there was a place for her. Either way, the decision would be made miles above his head. He tucked the pad into a pocket. "We'll see. I'll take this to the Commandant, and we'll see what he makes of your story. In the meantime, I'd say you've caused quite enough disruption to my hangar bay."
He tapped the shoulder of the marine to his left, a stocky man with a thin scar that stretched along his jawline. "Please see to it that Ms M- My apologies, Sarah, has somewhere to sleep tonight. Within this bay." He raised a hand, cutting off the oncoming stream of protests before they left her lips. "Until we're certain of your intentions, I cannot allow you free reign of the base." The last sentence was added with an apologetic nod to Sarah. She shrugged. "It's fine. I've slept in worse places."
"Then enjoy your stay." Alexander turned curtly, boot-heels squeaking as he retreated into the base's interior. As he walked, he powered on the data-pad the young woman had given him.
Sarah McFarlen Wrote:Name:
Sarah McFarlen
Place and year of birth:
Planet Manhattan, 798A.S
Personal Background:
Oh, where would you like me to start? I guess I fell in poorly from the start. My family were wealthy enough, Dad had made a small fortune designing navigation software for the Navy and transport companies. We had a nice house on Manhattan, I had a little baby brother. Living the dream, right? Guess it's true what they say, you never really do appreciate what you've got until afterwards.
Anyway, I was young and stupid and bored, and I thought I knew better. So, I stole a Junker's ship and set out to find the rogues. Heh. You know, it's funny. I still don't regret it. Sure, it was stupid, but if I hadn't done it, I would never have ended up where I am now, right? I'd probably still be fixing headlights for some tosh on Manhattan.
I never did end up finding the Rogues. It sort-of happened the other way around. Rumours I'd heard said something about attacks in the Badlands, so I figured it was a good place to start looking. Barely left the lanes before I drove the CSV through an asteroid. Just to top it off, I managed to rupture an air tank. It wasn't a fun 48 hours, and I wasn't exactly sing-song fit when the Rogues pulled me out.
To cut a long story short, they decided not to kill me, which was decent of them, I suppose. I hung around fixing ships with them for a while. I liked it. It was bold, and adventurous and, hey, I was even good at it. Even managed to get the Mothers spacebourne again when Ashes vanished that one time. I figure I must have done something right, because I eventually found myself helping run things. I know, shoot the pirate. Hear me out, okay?
I don't like slavery. Never have, really. It's not that I didn't know it was happening, I suppose, but it's really easy to ignore something as long as its outside your door. Maybe too easy. Anyway, I eventually got sick of it and decided I wanted out.
After that, I felt like I needed to get away for a bit. Somewhere to clear my head. I signed on with a Zoner Cruiser, Soliloquy, and kept her engines running while she plumbed the Edge Worlds for a while. Even peace gets boring after a while, though, and I eventually headed back for Core Space.
I settled into freelancer research for a while. Set up an automated crew for that liner you saw using what I'd accrued between the Rogues and Soliloquy and flew around looking for the weird and wonderful. Predominantly K'Hara relics, and the Rheinland military never were too fond of that, were they?
From there, I guess it's not too hard to figure out how I ended up sitting in an escape pod, typing this for you.
What brings you to our cause?
Besides a military patrol with no sense of humour? I suppose I drifted in here. I'm guessing that's how a lot of you do. End up here, that is. The way I see it, when the world throws you somewhere unexpected, sometimes it's worth a look before you run away from it. I... I haven't done a lot of good in the world. I never intended for things to work out like that, but they did nonetheless.
I'm hoping this is a chance to make up for that.
Skype protocol communication code:
Huh. We'll see if I get out of this first. (//You've already got it, Lun.)
"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."
- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.
