“Lieutenant Adam Valdar reporting sir, what's the situation?”
A young man approached an aged, ragged officer in the operations room of San Diego Border Station. His hand flew up in a salute but was quickly put to rest by a nod from the Commander, quietly signaling him to sit down.
“We've got reports of multiple bogeys around the Cortez Jump Gate, transponders read Lane Hackers. Prepare your wing for launch, we need fighters out there fast!”
The young lieutenant was observing the aged officer, eyeing him up and down and glancing at his numerous medals and stripes that the man had achieved. The officer looked in his late 40s, stood six feet five inches tall and weighed around of 200lbs, a true example of a rugged, battle worn officer the young man thought. He wore the dark blue uniform of a Commander in the Liberty Navy, a large Liberty national symbol on the left breast of his jacket.
“How many we got out there, sir?”
“Reports are coming in of four to five Stilettos, your wing should be able to handle it. They're performing hit-and-run strikes on transports in the area. Mostly with Ageira transponders.”
“Roger that, on my way.”
The young Lieutenant rushed to the stairs and ran down them towards the flight deck. As he looked around the launch bay it was utter bedlam, Defenders and Guardians are being towed out into the launch tubes on the side of the station and all around him the deck technicians rushed around, shouting orders at people to get the ships into the tubes. As he runs across the chaotic deck another young man grabs his attention – Michael Simmons.
“You ready to shoot us some bad guys?” He joked as he looked over at Valdar, with a smirk on his face.
“You betcha, time to bring in the prize boys! Get up and at 'em!” Valdar replied with a certain sinister joy in his voice. He climbed into the cockpit of his Guardian very heavy fighter and put on his helmet. Everything went silent as all he could hear was his comms unit. Shouts of excitement burst out of his headphones as his wingmen got ready for space combat. They had to joke about it else they'd probably cry – space combat was a nasty business. You could see the faces and hear the screams of your enemies as your weapons ripped through their hulls and released them into the deep vastness of space.
“All fighters standby for launch, countdown sequence is starting, good luck out there pilots.”
A soft female voice echoed in the helmets of all the pilots, followed by a short countdown and the roar of the engines as they were all being started. A sudden shake as the ships were catapulted one by one into space and they were off.
“Status check, all pilots. Alpha Two?”
“All systems green, good to go sir.”
Each pilot reported to the wing leader, one by one. The tone of their voices indicated they were all excited about the incoming encounter, they had the training, they had the skill, and they had the motivation, now the only thing they needed was a couple of pirates to prove themselves.
They were soaring through the deep, dark space like silent raiders of the night, their weapons primed, engines roaring behind them and the comm chatter on the topic of how many kills they were expecting. Valdar had been through this countless time – the calm before the storm. He was ready for this like he had been the 500 last times he'd gone into combat. Relaxing slightly, he spotted something in front of him – a sleek blue ship spinning out of control, it was headed straight towards him.
“All pilots, enemy ship spotted, weapons free!”, Valdar shouted down the comms at his wingmen as they left flight formation and spun to the sides, ready to engage hostile targets. He engaged manual controls in his Guardian and rolled to the right – feeling the thrill of maneuvering in space at high speeds. As the enemy ship got closer they all began to realise it was not spinning out of control at all, it was fighting. Their short range scanners picked up four or so Ageira Starfliers engaging an increasingly high number of Lane Hacker.
“Uh, San Diego, this is Liberty Navy Alpha One, we're reporting a lot more than four bogeys out here.” There was a certain amount of worry in his voice as his scanner was reading up to 11 hostile targets and more coming by the minute.
“Roger that Alpha One, how many are you reading out there?”
“Twenty-two at my last count. We're gonna need backup out here San Diego!”
“Affirmative, sending a transmission to the LNS Memphis, they'll be there in three minutes. Stay safe out there.”
“You heard San Diego, let's give them hell!”, Valdar screamed into his comms system, doing a full 360 degree roll and firing off a burst of Vengeance shots. The other pilots, in turn, performed the same maneuver and spread out to the sides of him, ready to engage the enemy once the gap was closed a little more.
Simmons was on Valdar's wing, roughly 50m starboard. That grin still on his face as he got ready for what he called “playtime”. He was a very strange man, being the only Guardian pilot to take great pleasure in watching the Lane Hackers ignite and listening to their screams. He had racked up more kills than any Liberty Navy pilot stationed on San Diego and was known for his ruthlessness. Valdar saw another side of him, however, the friendly side. They had been friends since primary school and had done everything together since, they were like brothers to each other.
“Stick with me Mikey and we'll get through these bastards in no time.”, joked Valdar, knowing fully that Simmons would probably cut through half of them on his own before he got a single shot off.
“You bet your ass I will, now let's dance.” As he said this he suddenly jerked starboard and locked onto the closest Stiletto. Using full afterburners he flew straight over the ship, guns blazing directly at it. All anybody could see what a cloud of smoke around it which dissipated a few seconds later to reveal chunks of metal floating around, he'd vaped the ship in one pass.
“Yeeeee haw! That's what I'm talking about!” Came from the comm systems as a hail of jeers and cheers answered it. All around Valdar, Alpha Wing was destroying Stiletto after Stiletto They'd reduced the numbers to around 15 already, they'd surely have this cleared up in no time.
One of them locked onto Valdar's Guardian, tailing him through even the most advanced Liberty Navy evasive maneuvers. The guns on the agile ship suddenly burst to life, launching a hail of tachyon shots at Valdar's Guardian. A warning light came on in his cockpit as a serious of loud clunks shook his hull. His shield generator was malfunctioning, he had no power to it and was taking direct hits from the Lane Hacker. His left wing was almost immediately blown off as blasts of energy ripped through his hull.
“I'm taking hits! Under very heavy fire! Shields failed! Hull integrity dropping! Oh Lord, it's getting hot in here, there's bits of hull everywhere. I need help, right now!”, he screamed into the comms unit with a panic-stricken voice. He was being shot down and he knew it. He was trying his hardest to dodge the fire but the light fighter was just too agile for him. He couldn't shake it. Chunks of shrapnel flew into his right side as the other wing was blown off his Guardian. He screamed in pain as the pieces of metal seared his flesh and burst his space suit. A few more seconds and he'd be nothing but space dust. He thought of the things most important to him in an instant – his wife – Amanda and his son – Felix. How would they deal with his death? How could they survive without any money? Felix wasn't even twenty yet and he still needed fatherly support. In his final moments he resorted to prayer.
It's said that humans are perfectly calm moments before they die. That just beforehand they “let go” and just accept their fate. Adam did not. With one quick push of the controls, his Guardian performed a quick 180 degree turn and faced the Lane Hacker ship. Seeing straight into the eyes of the pirate within, he squeezed the firing trigger as hard as he possibly could – releasing a hail of Vengeance shots directly at the cockpit of the ship. Ship flaming, space suit pierced, bleeding profusely, Valdar flew straight ahead, unfazed by the enemy ship being directly infront.
Luckily for him the Lane Hacker valued his own life more and so made a hasty starboard turn just before they collided but not before Valdar could release his secret weapon – a Sunslayer torpedo. The massive missile tore through the emptiness between them and slammed straight into the Lane Hacker's engine. Valdar couldn't help but have a huge grin on his face as he shouted directly into the comms “Eat that, mother******!” Within moments the Sunslayer exploded, taking out 3-4 Stiletto fighters in the area. Rage, fear, joy, anger, guilt, they all surged through Valdar like a tidal wave. He didn't know what to feel, all he knew was that his ship was in pieces, he was verging on crippling pain and he needed to dock somewhere ASAP.
As if by divine favor, the LNS Memphis cruised into weapons range just a few seconds later. The massive Liberty Dreadnought aimed all it's weapons at the cluster of Lane Hackers and Guardians.
“This is Captain Richard Black of the LNS Memphis, all Alpha Wing fighters retreat and dock on emergency bay two immediately. If you remain in the area you will be shot.”
“Roger that Captain Black, en route. Have a medical team wait for Lieutenant Valdar if you please, he's got himself in a bit of trouble out here.”, came the familiar voice of Mike Simmons. Valdar was now in a state of mind where almost nothing mattered. He sat in the heavily damaged cockpit of his ship in a trance, not bothering to try to save himself or react to his extreme physical pain. His ship was drifting through space and he didn't care. Oxygen was being vented from the holes either side of him and the crippling pain in his side was intensifying as the material of his jacket cooled and welded itself to his bare flesh. The pieces of metal stuck in his right arm were pinning it to his seat and he couldn't feel anything from the shoulder down. He was floating, helplessly, in the firing line of the Memphis.
“What the hell are you doing man? Get your engines going, let's go!”, Simmons came over the comms again, insisting Valdar get moving towards the Memphis. He didn't care anymore. Maybe it was the significant blood loss or the trauma or what he'd just been through, all he knew was that he was finally at peace with himself. He was happy.
“Engaging anti-fighter barrage in fifteen seconds, get out of there!” The LNS Memphis had come about to show a broadside to the cluster of Stilettos. They were now re-organizing and preparing to flee, even the most inexperienced pilot could see the signs of charging cruise drives coming from their engines.
“If you're not gonna get out of here yourself, I'll do it for you!”, shouted Mike down the comms, desperation in his voice. With a great roar he put on full afterburners and stretched his engine to it's maximum. He was thundering towards Valdar's crippled wreck. Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw the Guardian flying towards him. Before he had time to react, although he wasn't sure if he would have, there was a great crunch as the two fighters collided. The force from Simmons' fighter sent the wreck of a ship hurtling towards the Memphis. He had done it, he'd saved Valdar. As he approached the great Dreadnought at such speed, Valdar finally let go and fell unconscious.
“Engaging anti-fighter barrage in FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE!” It rang across the comms for what seemed like an eternity. The final “ONE” echoing through Simmons' ears as he realised – he was right in the firing line. Slamming on the afterburners on his Guardian he got a flashing red light directly above his head – he'd malfunctioned. His port afterburner engaged and spun him round in a circle while his starboard one simply failed to engage. The men and women on board the Memphis could only stand and hold their ears as his piercing screams came over the comms. The gun batteries fired salvo after salvo of high-velocity shots in his and the Stiletto's direction.
The shots tore through his hull with ease, venting any and all air in his cabin. Within seconds his shields were down and his hull had been peppered with shots. It didn't take long for the shots to penetrate the fuel tanks as his ship exploded in an extraordinary fashion. Even to this day they remember the screams of Michael Simmons – the man shot by his own backup. Needless to say the anti-fighter salvos obliterated all but one of the Lane Hacker fighters. Nobody on board mourned for them.
Back on board the Memphis, Valdar was plugged into a whole host of different machines. Monitoring every last inch of him, Doctors wandered around reading machines, writing down notes and looking over his charts. His vitals were good but slowly deteriorating. They needed to get him to Manhattan and quickly. The Dreadnought set a course for Manhattan General Hospital and set their engines for full power. His ship was a total write-off. Losing both it's wings, most of it's hull plating and being peppered with Tachyon blasts. It was a wonder It didn't just collapse in space.
An hour into the voyage back to Planet Manhattan, Adam Valdar awoke to find himself lay in a strange place with new people and nothing familiar whatsoever. A tall man in a long white lab coat approached his bed. Valdar eyes him up – he was roughly six feet tall, was quite a thin man, he wore thing black glasses and carried an ID badge on his coat pocket – Dr Williams. He carried a clipboard In his right hand and a pen in his left. Before the man even had a chance to speak, Valdar's military training kicked in.
“What the hell's going on here? Where am I? Who the hell are you? Answer me dammit!” He barked the orders at the Doctor, confused and dazed. In his mind he presumed he had been taken captive by the Lane Hackers. He scanned the room while counting the number of doors, windows, people and possible weapons. It was a simple medical room, full of equipment, there were two guards outside the door and two other doctors using a machine over in the corner.
“Calm down, Lieutenant, you're safe here.”, the man spoke calmly and in a relaxed manner. “I am Doctor Williams of the LNS Memphis. Your ship was heavily damaged in a Lane Hacker raid and you were knocked out. It's been around an hour since you fell unconscious so I'd just like to run some tests.”
“Uh, yeah, alright.”, he stuttered out as he now noticed the Liberty Marine Corp uniforms on the guards outside the door. He knew he was safe. Now checking his own body he found a huge bandage across his right arm, a bandage across the right side of his torso where the shrapnel had dug deep into him. All of his right side from the shoulder down to the knee was numb. Probably anesthetic he thought. His mind flicked back to the battle just before. He could remember it all as if it was happening right this second. Then he remembered something he didn't before – he remembered Simmons coming to save him.
“Hey, somebody, anybody? Where's Michael Simmons? He's an Ensign based on San Diego, he was my wingman. What happened to him? Anybody?”, he shouted at nothingness. Nobody would respond. The doctors in the just looked at him with sorrow and whispered among themselves for a moment. One of them walked over, a young woman. She looked to be in her early 30s and wore the same clothes as Dr Williams. Her short blond hair was tied up In a ponytail but she had left some strands at the front that occasionally came into her eye line. As she flicked them away it was almost like a twitch. She, too, carried a clipboard and a pen. They all seemed identical and had the Liberty national symbol on the back with “LNS Memphis, 522nd” written on the back of them.
“Lieutenant Valdar, I'm afraid that Michael Simmons is dead. His ship entered the firing line of the Memphis just after he sent you towards landing bay 2. We had no chance of saving him, our S&R teams couldn't even find a body.” She spoke with compassion, knowing that this man had meant a lot to Valdar. After a moment or two and a slight rub on his arm, to show that she felt for him, she slowly turned and walked away from the shocked Valdar.
“But ... he was just right there. He could've just afterburned away. Why didn't he!? Why didn't he fly away!?!?” Adam cried out in rage as emotions rushed through him. Mike had been like a brother to him, they always looked after each other. Memories of School, College, University, West Point Military Academy and all those good times on San Diego rushed through his mind. For the first time in years, he cried.
They left him to cry for as long as they could. He just sobbed and sobbed, nobody knew what to do. Even the survivors of Alpha Wing had never seen him like this. They knew that Simmons and Valdar had been friends all their life but they never realised their bond ran this deep. It didn't help that Simmons was a complete idiot most of the time and quite a lot of them didn't like him.
“Lieutenant, we've arrived at Manhattan, we need to get you down to the planet. While your life signs are stable for now we fear they may drop again”, a Doctor spoke calmly to him and signaled the men outside to come in. They brought a hovering stretcher with them and gently eased him onto it. Slowly they walked outside with it and stepped into a Shuttle. Within a few seconds a green light flashed while a klaxon sounded and the Shuttle shot off towards the planet.
“Alright Doc, just do what you need to do.” Valdar was now slumped in his stretcher, still unable to move his left side. “I really hope this anesthetic wears off soon. I could do with my left arm back.”
“We'll see Lieutenant, we'll have to run some more tests first. Your arm was badly damaged when the shrapnel hit you. There may be some long-term damage. If that's the case, you may not get feeling back in your arm permanently.” She tried to break the potential news to him as calmly as she could. He's been through a lot and this would be the metaphorical icing on the cake.
“Just do what you can.” He replied in an exhausted manner. He seemed to just not care any more. He lay back in the stretcher and closed his eyes, replaying the fight over and over in his mind. “What happened to my ship? Is she still flyable?”
“I'm sorry sir, the fight was too much for it. The ship's barely holding together. She's being sent to a scrapyard to await recycling into spare parts.” Yet more bad news. This is never good. The young Doctor just wished that he wouldn't ask her any more questions. She couldn't bear to give him any more bad news. “Alright, we're here” They'd arrived at Manhattan's General Hospital, safe and sound.
“Have you told my family? They should be he-” Adam stopped suddenly as he started to shake violently. He was going into cardiac arrest. The doctors reacted almost immediately. It was almost like slow-motion to them. They tried everything they could possibly think of but something was blocking the blood flow to his heart. Something had gone horribly wrong.
Felix and Amanda weren't told the whole truth. It was their understanding that Adam Valdar had been in a dogfight with Lane Hackers when they got a lucky shot to the cockpit – killing him instantly. Luckily for them the LNS Memphis was nearby and the S&R teams managed to find his body. What really went on would later be revealed to Felix and would change his life permanently.
They grieved for months afterwards. Even now, ten years on, they still remember him and how he died valiantly protecting Liberty from the Lane Hackers. Felix had now joined the Liberty Navy himself and was stationed on Battleship Rio Grande when he was contacted by an LSF recruiter. He gladly accepted when they offered him a position as an agent of Liberty. To this day he works to protect the national security of Liberty, fending off Hellfire Legion invasions, assassinating political leaders and generally performing covert operations.
The current times are dark. With regular raids on Liberty outposts by the growing annoyance that are the Liberty Rogues and the constant threat of the Xenos terrorist group, Liberty was in peril. Luckily it had dedicated LSF agents such as Felix Valdar to help uncover the plots and planned assaults before they happened, allowing them to be foiled. His main job now that he had progressed to the rank of supervisor was to interrogate captured pilots. He was based out of a base that didn't exist and got information from people that weren't alive. He was LSF.
“So, what've we got today?” He strolled over to a table in the corner of the room. It was a fairly large room with a food and drinks dispenser in one corner, a large oval table in the centre. Along the southern wall were a series of portraits of the various LSF directors, Brian Copeland being the one on the far right. At the table sat Tristan Sofet, a fellow agent. He was one rank lower than Felix but they treated each other as equals in almost every way. Tristan's job was to get the captured pilots into the interrogation room alive and well and gather information about them before the extraction could begin.
“Rogue, late 30s, name of Arnold Jenkins, call sign Phoenix. We found him trying to sneak into Manhattan airspace. By the looks of it he was trying to access the main city. Luckily a passing LPI patrol spotted his ship and managed to intercept before he could land.” He was reading the basic report in front of him, mostly comprised of post-its and barely legible notes scribbled all over the piece of paper.
“So? We get cases of those every day, what's special about this guy?” Valdar was curious now, a Rogue trying to stroll into Manhattan was not special news. Every day they would try to get Cardamine in and various illegal goods out. Hell, they'd even try to assault a police officer every now and then.
“This guy was carrying a package ... addressed to you.” He tried not to just drop it on him but however he said it, it'd be a shock.
“What's inside it? Has it been screened for radiation? Bombs?” Worry ran across his face. A packed for him, from a Rogue!? Of all people to bring him a package, why a Rogue? What importance was he? They all ran through his head. He was confused and quite scared. If the Rogues knew about him that was bad, he was supposed to be a nobody.
“Well, it's electronically disabled. There's iris recognition, DNA requirements and fingerprint checkers on it. Any attempts to open it so far have failed. It seems it's only for you. Whatever it is, the Rogues have gone to a lot of trouble to get it to you.”
“Well, let's go talk to our friend about it, shall we?” Valdar walked through the door to his immediate left. Tristan turned on a recording system and looked through the one-way glass facing the interrogation room. This was going to be a long night.
He put the file down on the clear, glass table in the centre of the room. Arnold Jenkins was on the other side, in chains. He had a huge grin on his face and even started sniggering as Felix opened the file to the first page – his mugshot and physical attributes.
“So, Rogue, you flew into restricted airspace, you refused arrest even when warned multiple times, you endangered the lives of hundreds of Libertonians, you carry a locked briefcase and yet you still sit here smirking?”
“Felix Valdar? It really is an honor to see you, sir. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time.” He replied with yet another beam on his face. He seemed genuinely happy and excited to meet Felix, something was going on here.
“And why might that be? I've never met you before. I'm hardly famous among the Rogues, in fact I've probably killed more than my fair share of your pilots. If anything, you should hate me. Yet you do not. Tell me why!” As he progressed through this he was getting angrier and yet more confused. Why did the Rogue feel honored? What the hell had he done to make him this way? Was he really famous among the Rogues? So many questions needed answers.
“I've been preparing this for some time. All is not what it seems. Your father was a naval hero but not because of what you believe. The government lie. The briefcase contains more. Find the scrapyard, prove it all.” After this sudden outburst of what was clearly pre-designated information, he just slumped back in his chair and refused to answer anything. It was as if all he had meant to do in life was deliver that message. Nothing afterwards, not even the slightest movement.
Leaving the room, Valdar walked back into the observation area. Asking Tristan to leave the room, he played the tape over and over to himself. So many questions needed answering, he was totally confused. He'd dealt with Rogues before but this was different. He knew his name, the sealed briefcase, his mannerisms, his good pronunciation and his good manners. This Rogue was definitely different.
After several hours of pondering, thinking, considering, listening to the tape, thinking some more and then finally deciding to check it out, he went to find the briefcase. It had been left in the confiscated goods locker. While it was under heavy lock and key with a marine on the door and a pass code to get inside – he was in the LSF. With a flash of his badge and a beep-beep of the “Code Accepted” message, he was inside. This room was like a treasure cave, full of gadgets and gizmos confiscated by the LSF. Most of them were valuable in some way – quite a few of them of hacker designs. He rummaged through the piles of doodads until eventually a briefcase was spotted on the top shelf of the nearest cabinet to him. Lifting it down he noticed 3 locks – an iris scan, fingerprint checker and a DNA checker. This must be important.
After going through the seemingly unnecessary locks and protects, he could finally open the case. Suspense filled him, he had no idea what to expect from this. Could it be a bomb? Could it be a secret to his father's death? The Rogue did mention his father and his demise ... perhaps he could be right?
“Come on, Felix, get a grip. It was a stupid Rogue high on cardamine. No doubt you'll find a joke or some kind of hoax in here. Just open the damn thing man!” He reassured himself in a harsh but needed way. Some may think him crazy but this was his way of calming himself down – he treated himself as another person and so reacted as such. Swinging the briefcase open, he revealed a small, sealed note inside. It was an old-fashioned note. In a very old envelope with a wax seal on it. Opening it his eyes immediately hit the page, scanning through. The note read as follows:
Quote:Your father's death was not what you have expected. Go to the navy scrapyard on Planet Manhattan. It is at the 5th junction after the LSF headquarters, going east. In the north-western corner you will find a Guardian. It is old and the technology out-dated. Check the windscreen, there was no single shot. Liberty is a lie. Your government is a lie. That ship proves it. That Is all.
“Has he said anything else?” Valdar was now in the observation room, briefcase in hand, talking to the guard on duty. His face was filled with desperation as he knew something was going on, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.
“No sir, nothing since the questioning.” The guard sounded bored out of his mind. A 14 hour shift used watching a silent and motionless Liberty Rogue. He wished he could get a job on a battleship or a border station, at least they had action.
“Alright, well no need to record this, he probably won't say anything anyway.” With that Felix tightened his grip on the briefcase and went storming through the door where the Rogue was being held. Upon entering the room he slammed it down on the table and opened it up. Pulling the note out, he began to recite it's words.
“Does this mean anything to you? What's this scrapyard? Who the hell is B Richton? Answer me!” He was fuming now, demanding answers from the daydreaming Rogue. His reaction was the same as before – he reeled off his memorized message and went into a comatose state.
“I'm gonna get nothing out of here! Well, have fun with your lifetime on Prison Station Mitchell, I'm sure you'll love it (!)” He was now reverting to sarcasm and threats, that's how desperate he was. He needed to know what this meant. He had to. It involved his father and what he had taken to be fact for ten years time, he needed to know if It bore any truth.
Storming out of the room yet again, he rushed over to the launch deck and climbed in his new Raven's Claw. He had dubbed it the “Niezck”, a name he'd picked up from a book he once read. Strapping himself in and putting on his flight helmet, he began to start pre-flight checks, eager to get down onto Manhattan.
“Initiating pre-flight checks, ETA to launch 2 minutes.” A voice came over the comms to the flight control station. They were puzzled as to why Agent Valdar would be leaving with such short notice. Tristan came onto the comms, confused like the others.
“Felix, where are you going? You aren't scheduled to leave for another 6 hours? Are you alright?” He sounded panic-stricken. His best friend in the LSF was now flying away with no prior warning and from the sound of his voice – he was angry.
“I'm just going to check on something down at Manhattan. I'll be back in no time. Engaging engines, prepare to open launch door 7!” His engines roared and the lights within his cockpit all switched on. His Raven's Claw was fully powered up. A large silver plate was stuck to the starboard wing - “Agent Niezck”.
“Systems functional, engines ready, launching.” And with that his assault fighter jolted into action, sending him flying out into the deep darkness of space. He had got used to space fighting now and had even excelled in capital ship tactical combat. He had received honors for his dog-fighting abilities and had been top of his training group in gunboat combats. However, regular flying was not his strong point. He got bored very easily and once or twice he even fell asleep while soaring above Manhattan – a very dangerous mistake.
After some twenty minutes of boring flying, he found his way to the trade lane. Using his LSF access codes, he entered the sequence and was sent hurtling forward at roughly 1.5 kilometers a second. Manhattan was getting closer and closer as he approached it's orbit. Within a matter of ten seconds he found himself firmly locked in the gravity well. Engaging hailing frequencies with the docking ring allowed him to put himself firmly in the queue for planetary landing. However, due to some LSF tricks, he managed to get to the front of the queue and flew straight down.
As if by instinct he veered his ship towards the LSF headquarters in Manhattan city. However, remembering the note he changed direction and flew east of it. After a few minutes and 5 flight junctions, he found the enormous scrapyard. It was owned and run by the Liberty Navy and was the place all the heavily damaged and useless ships were placed. If it was cheaper to put another one into space than to repair the existing one then the ship went here. They would eventually be raided for parts that could be used for new ships but the vast stock ensured a good chance of remaining as intact as they were when placed there.
“Agent Valdar, codename Niezck, of the Liberty Security Force. I need to look around your scrapyard.” After climbing out of his Raven's Claw which was now landed just outside, he approached the guard with those words. Flashing his badge at him, he was allowed to enter. It took some time to get to the north-western quarter as the scrapyard was kilometers long. Eventually, however, he found the remains of what looked like a Mk I Guardian. It was old alright, from around 12 years ago if he had to guess. But he didn't, he knew when it was from, that was his father's ship. “The Positron” was barely visible on the broken remains of the hull. While the main hull was in pieces and the wings were barely there at all, the cockpit screen wasn't really damaged. There were a few scratches from being hauled to the shipyard but no shot holes. His father had not died like they said he had.
Felix was distraught. Everything he had ever come to rely on was up for questioning. His father, the hero, did not die how he thought. Maybe he was not even what they were told. Maybe he was LSF too? Maybe he was a pirate? His mind was full of thoughts and questions. One thing he did know, however, Liberty had lied to him. The Government had betrayed his trust and that of his parents. He needed to return the favor.
“By order of the LSF, I am requisitioning this ship and whatever parts are required to make it fly again. Is that clear?” He barked the orders at the guards on duty, flashing his LSF badge at them once more. He loved having such power. One flash of a badge and he could get away with anything he liked.
“Now then, I need one of you two to help me. Which one will it be?” He eyes them both up, strong men, muscular. Strong enough to do the heavy lifting required. While he may have been Liberty Navy for 8 years, he had recently let himself slide a little with his cushy desk job at the LSF. While maintaining his flight requirements, he was not what he used to be.
“I will, sir! Just tell me what you need doing.” The one to the right stood forward and saluted. He stood roughly five foot eleven and was incredibly muscular for his size. He was a stereotypical marine in almost every respect – obedient, incredibly strong, trained in multiple forms of combat and stubborn to the last.
“Well then, let's get this old bird working again.” Felix walked over to the old Guardian, marine just behind him. They both began work on rebuilding the flightless bird, welding pieces of scrap metal back on and getting things back into shape. His 3 years serving as a deck technician aboard the LNS Mississippi had taught him how to disassemble and reassemble a Guardian with ease. He knew these ships inside out. The Positron was going to fly again.
They worked on The Positron for the next twelve hours, on and off. While it was using quite out-dated technology, Felix was able to update some of it as he went along and managed to figure out how the rest of it worked anyway. In the end it stood before them, re-armored, re-wired and (almost) fully operational.
Climbing inside, he was filled with a sense of nostalgia. His father used to let him look around his ship whenever he came back to Los Angeles. Every now and then he would even take him out to a remote area and let him fly the thing. Oh how he loved those days. He and his father would spend hours in the fields doing barrel rolls and loop-de-loops. He was deeply saddened when it finally hit him – those days were gone. His father was dead. He didn't even know how. He had to find out. Even if it was the end of him, he must know.
It struck him like a ton of bricks – he had not checked the comms devices! Oh of all the basic checks, he had forgotten one of the most important ones. After any ship has crashed or been shot under unknown circumstances, you always check the comms system. It usually records the last 20 or so inbound and outbound messages. Usually the Liberty Navy removed these when they were taken to the scrapyard but he had to hope. Frantically checking through the logs, it had all been wiped. His released a sigh of despair. He knew that he would never find out what happened from the Libertonian government. His only chance was from an independent source.
“Wait a second ... the back-ups!” Another genius idea hit him. From what he had read, old version Guardians had a small memory bank that stored any and all emergency messages transmitted to and from the ship. This was usually hidden in a small microchip inside the comms system. If he could find this, he may be able to figure out exactly what went on that day. If it hadn't been destroyed, that is.
Felix may have had basic training in building and repairing Liberty fighters but he had no clue about advanced comm systems or similar technical equipment. All he knew was how to place it into the ship pre-built and connect it all up. Tristan, however, did know. He once trained for 5 years as a Naval Engineer and as such knew how to assemble comms devices, fighter engines, weapons systems and a host of other technical equipment used in Avengers and Guardians.
He knew that the agents back on his base were totally unaware of what he had found. He always checks for bugs. Ordering the guard away he moved into the bare cockpit of the Guardian. They had stripped most of it out except for the basics and the seat. It was only just flyable. Starting up the launch sequence, his mind began to flood with memories of his teenage years. Those long days spent with his father. A tear even fell slowly down his cheek. Wiping it away and putting on a determined look, he engaged full thrusters and began to fly up and out – towards his base station.
After some ten minutes of flight, he reached his base station and what a sight it was. Larger than any base he had ever seen yet still it remained concealed. Nobody knew of it's position except those that needed to. It was a wonder of Libertonian technology.
“This is Agent Felix Valdar, LSF, I am requesting to dock.” He spoke clearly into the barely functioning comms. A crackled response followed.
“Rog- -at Valda-. Begin doc-ng seq-ce at bay on-.” The voice barely came through his comms unit, this was such an old ship. He didn't realise it before but this ship needed a lot more work to be done. He couldn't risk asking the Libertonians to do it, he had to get it done privately.
Engaging docking sequence, he gently eased the ship into bay one, being aware that one wrong maneuver and it could potentially fall apart. Lucking for him, however, it managed to safely land in the bay and he climbed out to a greeting party of sorts. Tristan, the guard watching over Jenkins and a number of the deck crew.
“What on earth? Why've you brought this wreck of a ship back? What happened to your Claw? More to the point, where've you been?” Tristan reeled off question after question at him, seriously worried about his state of mind. Flying off like that without just reason or good cause. Returning with a half-destroyed Guardian and obviously leaving his expensive Raven's Claw elsewhere.
“This was my father's ship, the Positron. You remember how I told you he died by a stray shot to his cockpit? Look at it, Tristan. There are no gunshots to the cockpit. Now, I need your help with this comms device.” He slowly lifted it out of the ship and handed it to Tristan. “Let's get going, shall we?”