Honor. It was never a word he really counted on or put much stock in. Orson was a Liberty boy, born and raised in Colorado. Denver was a decent place to live, and that he got a nice trade set-up from pops early on was all the better. Set up with a nice, beautiful woman not long after.
A Startracker exploded in a flower of fire and fusing metal slag on his port side. Another person not going home. There were going to be a lot of those today. He jerked his Hawk hard up, taking a vertical escape vector to avoid the sweeping fire of the gunboat that had slagged the tracker. He didn't want to die here. Not after everything he'd been through. It took two years to get to this point and so many people had come and gone with and for him. He wouldn't let it end this way.
He never guessed he was the son of a mob boss. He wished it hadn't come to be that way, but he dismissed that sentiment as he rolled to port over the still smoldering fireball of the tracker. He engaged his tractor and snagged the few nanos and shield energy cells from the wreck. The pilot would have wanted him to use them anyway. The gunboat fired two twinned missile salvos his way. He cut his engines and spun 180, dropping a spread of flares and rapid photon fire. The missiles didn't make it to him quite, but he had to strafe right to avoid the last of the 4. It detonated behind him in a furious storm of energy and heat, sending a shudder through the light fighter. He was glad he was who he was, because it had brought him into the lives of so many good people. Even if he died here, he was proud of where he'd been.
The commander of the gunboat was his father, Jaque Young, head of the Young Ring of smugglers and corporate infiltrators. Probably the most despicable type of people, stealing from the lawful and killing the outlaw to remove the suspicion of their 'benefactors'. The most corrupt kind of men. Once Orson found out about his family's treacherous ways and he was nearly sold out as a scape goat to the Big Three Liberty corps, he turned on his esteemed father. Escaping into the outlaw territories he found the people who could help him topple his family and keep him safe. He met many friends, many who died in the ensuing struggle. The man in the star tracker had been a good drinking buddy.
Fighters darted to and fro around the gunboat; some firing on it, some defending it. A barrage of turret fire cut the space between the gunboat and another Hawk. A woman's pained scream filled the comm wave as her fighter imploded. Orson's gut wrenched. He'd really liked Diane. But his father cut short the possibility of a 3rd date with the feisty mercenary. A pair of missiles shot into the gunboat. Orson gunned his engine. Diane's parting favor had knocked the power grid of the Rheinland gunboat into a fit. The EMP gave him an opening to fly a pass overhead the gunboat, firing photon and plasma guns, and dropping a spread of mines for good measure. The damage wasn't terribly substantial, but it was enough. The mines tore into the hull with fire and metal, venting atmosphere from the aft quarter. Orson didn't rejoice. He knew some of the men who were sucked out into the void.
Sirens rang out as turret fire impacted his shields. His father wasn't going to hell alone if he could help it. Another missile salvo, this one slamming into a dromedary escort. The ship bucked under the impact, but responded with punishing fire. The Outcast equipped vessel was no push-over to be burned down, as it proved with a twin missile response and a hail of particle fire. A torpedo erupted on the underside of the boat's forward section. Suddenly the Gunboat wasn't looking so intimidating. Something dropped out of the bottom of the flaring hulk and jetted away. For a moment, Orson didn't think on it as the bomber pilot responsible for the last shot offered the death stroke to Orson. He hit his thruster hard and dove down below the gunboat as it continued it's paltry attempts at defense, focusing on the Freighter as the bomber knocked the forward gun right off the ship.
Orson saw it, a modified Defender HF. Pop's pride and joy. It swiveled around like the turrets of the gunboat and poured plasma and laser fire into his forward shield. The Hawk bucked angrily and a warning siren sounded as a hull breach in the cargo bay blew open. He set auto repair and boosted power to his shields as he jinked the ship around to avoid the plasma bolts and some of the laser fire. He fired back. For a moment, everyone looked on as the ships orbited an invisible point between them, breathing death and hate at each other like beasts of hell. The guns fell silent for all but them as any further combat was useless until this feud was over.
Luckily Orson remembered the load-out of dad's prize fighter. The shield was the same on his scans as it had been before his father had ratted him. The custom load-out of the Hawk was in place just for this occasion.
Jaques' Defender erupted in fire all along the aft engine compartment. The fighter spiraled and detonated. That's when the last boss of the Young Ring was finally silenced. That's when the naval cruiser jumped in, a Liberty border patrol. His friends never saw it coming, and neither did Orson. He hit his engines into the red in a blind run for cover as the capital ship blew away the bomber on entering the battle. The freighter actually fared worse, and the remaining fighters were swept into the fire of the escorts. A turret shot blew off one of Orson's wings and his entire weapons array fried out as he barreled into a nebula in half controlled flight.
Long minutes passed. Systems starting shutting down. Everything died around him. Everyone he'd met was gone. His whole life he'd never done anything worthy, and this one accomplishment was so bitter in the face of the loss of good men and women. He found a jump point, an anomaly the computer didn't recognize. It was the only chance at life...
The nav computer barely got him through. It fried on exit of the hyperspace window. His fighter drifted, dead as he would soon be. This space...it was different. Very far from where he'd been. It would make a lovely grave. The life support system sputtered in its noble attempt to sustain his vital functions. And then he saw the crimson angel's come to take him away to his final rest. Since he'd left the Outcast base, he spoke for the first time. "Rest friends, the deed is done..."
His nav was frozen on it's last entry, and the comm beeped. "This is the Blood Dragons..."