Sherril Orbital, Witch Head Sector HW-W c1-9 - 3305-11-15 08:23, Galactic Standard Time
Jennifer Ng pushed the congealed remains of her breakfast around the plate. She wasn't hungry, but if she didn't at least make an attempt to finish it, then Pierre, the owner and barman of Un Petit Verre, wouldn't serve her more wine. And she wanted more wine. She forced down a few more fork fulls of beans, toasted bread, & "sausage" made of myco-protein, grains, and algae. It didn't taste bad. It tasted pretty good, if she was honest with herself. It was just that she didn't seem to have much appetite these days. She hadn't really felt like eating much since waking up on the rescue ship. However, her efforts seemed to be enough this morning: Pierre walk over, picked up the plate, and left a small bulb of wine in its place, with a curt nod. Jennifer picked it up and took a drink. It was fruity and spicy and burned her throat as it went down, but it was very welcome. Un Petit Verre was a small bistro bar buried in the middle of the habitation section of Sherril Orbital. It had no windows and the artificial gravity wasn't very strong, but it was a refuge for Jennifer. It was a place where she could both hide from the world and be distracted from her thoughts. There were a few regulars in already, those that Pierre called the stray cats: Francois, a deep space explorer, Fenella, a deep space miner; Marcus, a long distance freighter pilot. Marcus flew a Type 7 transport to and from The Bubble. He normally flew as part of a convoy wing, just like the freighter pilots on her last contract. The contract where she was supposed to protect three Type 9 transports from attack. The contract ended by the alien ships... Jennifer drank a large mouthful of wine and the sting of it brought her back from her memories.
Jennifer was seated at a small table, at the back of the bar, in a corner. She couldn't see the door from where she sat but it was a cosy corner and the rest of the clientele left her alone. Occasionally, some young pilot who thought he was a hotshot would come over and try and chat her up. She ignored them. If they didn't take the hint and invaded her space, then there would be a fight. Rage would flow through her and coupled with her military training that normally meant that the fight went badly for the other guy. Pierre and the other regulars normally stayed out of it, content to watch. When it was over, Pierre would have the guy brought to a med. center, and she and the other regulars would get back to their drinks.
She'd been coming here, every day, for the last seven weeks. After being discharged from the med. center on the rescue ship, the company had arranged quarters for her, Paul, & Tatiana on the newly repaired Sherril Orbital. Tatiana left for The Bubble after a few days. Paul couldn't cope with the memories of what had happened and slammed a sidewinder into the side of the station at high speed. The escape pod failed to deploy and that was that. That left Jennifer alone here. She couldn't go home: Official Tewanta Order had a kill on sight contract out on her. She wondered how Frederico was, whether he had survived the war with The Buurian Protectorate, and what he thought of her now, after she had deserted? He probably hated her, she thought bitterly. Tears were threatening, so she took another swig from the wine flask.
She heard people enter the bar. They greeted Pierre. There were three of them. He knew them. They ordered sandwiches and coffee. Jennifer stared at a blob of grease on the table. She poked at it with her finger. It was something to do in between mouthfuls of wine. If she drank too quickly, Pierre would refuse to give her more, and then she'd have no shield from her thoughts. Thoughts like the alien missile shattering the canopy and decapitating the captain... She took another drink. When she lowered the flask, she noticed that the three strangers were standing by her table: two women and a man.
"Mind if we join you?", the older of the two women asked. She was reasonably tall, 175cm, approximately, with a close cropped haircut and light brown skin. She wore a jacket and cargo pants. The cut of the jacket suggested a laser pistol holster underneath. She carried herself with an air of quiet confidence. The other woman was slightly shorter, in her early twenties, also with tightly cropped hair. She also wore a tight fitting cat suit. Her laser pistol was clearly visible in its holster on her hip. She moved like a cat, graceful, poised, ready to react at a millisecond's notice. The man was in his late forties, dark skinned, with short hair and a big bulky jacket. She'd put money he was armed too. He was alert, cautious, and completely aware of his surroundings. Jennifer would bet all the wine in the bar that they were combat veterans. They all held sandwiches and a flask of coffee, and looked down at her with friendly, but uncertain smiles. She'd rather they went away, but a fight with these people might go badly. She grunted at them, hoping that they'd leave her alone. They sat down.
"My name is Giselle. My friends are Blake and Alia. We're looking to hire another pilot for our company."
"Why are you talking to me then. I am a screw up. People who fly with me die."
"That's not how we've heard it. We've heard that you are a skilled pilot, with a cool head in an emergency."
"Well you heard wrong.", Jennifer mumbled.
"I am pretty sure we didn't. We're careful like that. Besides, we were all screw ups before. The Old Man gave us a second chance, a way to start again and get set up on our own. We believe we should pay it forward."
"So I am pity case? Is that what you are saying?", snarled Jennifer. Giselle laughed a deep throaty laugh.
"Hell no! You have skills, skills that that we need. But more importantly you have experience and good instincts. At least, I believe so, from what I have heard about your last contract."
Jennifer recalled the huge eight petalled ships gliding past Dauntless, their scan of the cargo ships, how they opened fire without provocation. She remember how powerless they were to stop them. She remembered the captain being decapitated, a man she had grown to like and respect over the course of the contract. She remember her second chance evaporate and her being powerless to prevent it. Jennifer stood up and screamed across the table.
"YOU DIDN'T SEE THEM! YOU DIDN'T WATCH THEM KILL YOUR FRIENDS! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I HAVE EXPERIENCED! NONE!"
She was standing, her hands balled into fists, and the table was flipped over. The three strangers were also on their feet. Alia had dropped into a stance, her hand hovering near her laser pistol. Blake had stepped to one side and narrowed his profile, left side forward. His right hand wasn't visible to Jennifer. Pierre and the rest of the regulars watch on anxiously. Giselle stood between her companions, rising out of a defensive stance. She stretched out her arms and placed a placating hand on each of their chests. After giving both of them a quick glance, she slowly started rolling up the left sleeve of her jacket. The others did likewise. On the inner forearm each of them bore a tattoo of the eight petalled alien ship. As she stared, she noticed that the tattoos were animated. The animated alien ships exploded.
"We know what you have experienced. Believe us, we know!"
Witch Head Sector HW-W c1-8 A 4 (40.6439,159.8270) - 3305-11-22 15:11
Jennifer sat in the driving seat of an SRV and slowly maneuvered it forward to scope the glowing green meta-alloy flower into the SRV's cargo bay. The past week had been a blur. Giselle had explained to her what she, Blake, and Alia did. They had fought the alien ships, the Thargoids, before, flying with the Old Man. They told her how the Old Man had stopped flying with other pilots onboard after their friend Eleanor was killed in combat: the Old Man blamed himself. They were still in the fight, though. They opposed the Thargoids where they could: rescuing people from ships that they attacked, evacuating attacked stations, and, what they were doing today, harvesting meta-alloys before the Thargoids could. There were four roles in this particular operation: SRV driver, pilot for the Krait Mk II, which hovered about 800m above the site, the SLF pilot in the Krait, and the lookout in the Vulture a few kilometers higher up. This time she was in the SRV, though she normally flew the SLF. They'd done a few sites on this planet today and were about to return to base with twelve tons of meta-alloys, just short of two million credits worth. That sort of haul was a tempting target for pirates and so far pirates were they only problem they encountered. The profits from they operation were put into a fund to improve the ships they flew. That wasn't to say that she was paid badly. In fact her pay was quite good. It was just that the end goal was for the four of them was not riches and an easy life, but to be able to outfit a ship capable of fighting the Thargoids.
"Okay, boss. I got the last of the meta-alloys at this site. You can come down and pick me up."
Before Giselle could reply, Blake cut in, "Contact, incoming, fast! It's a Basilisk interceptor!"
"Frakk! Which direction Blake?"
"From the north!"
"We need to get out of here. There's no time for an on-site pickup. Jennifer, get to rendezvous point Charlie. We'll meet up there."
Jennifer looked up to see the Krait wheel around and boost away as the huge alien ship bore down on the barnacle site. It was even larger than the ones that she had seen before, with a red tint to its petals. She felt pinned to the spot, transfixed by the avenging demon coming towards her, intent on punishing thieves.
"Quit gawping soldier and DRIVE!", screamed Alia.
Jennifer snapped out of it and slammed the throttle forward. The Scarab accelerated, bouncing and bucking under the uneven terrain. Jennifer transferred power to the SRV engines. She fired the thrusters to lift off the ground, pitched forward, and held the thrust to make forward progress. Alia had taught her that this technique - flyving, she called it - was the most effective for traversing rough terrain. She aimed the SRV at the gap in the valley wall. The terrain was difficult and she had to focus on finding even areas to land the SRV while its limited engine capacitor recharged. By executing a series of hops she reached the gap, all the while imagining the alien vessel right behind her, aiming its plasma cannon right at the back of her head.
Jennifer reached the gap and crested the saddle into the neighbouring valley. The SRV completed its latest hop and landed hard. The HUD showed that the chassis had taken 3% damage, but worse than that, the comms. had cut out. The last thing she remembered hearing was about some sort of shutdown pulse and a neutralizer device, then nothing. She hoped it was the SRV comms. unit that was damaged and not that the ships were destroyed. There was nothing that she could do, but get to the rendezvous point. Once in the next valley the terrain became smoother and she spent more time on the ground. She was averaging about 120km/h. She drove along the valley floor, only occasionally jumping over craters or large rocks. After about four minutes the valley started to fork. She took the left fork. The valley sides got steeper for about two kilometers and then started to flatten out. She was getting close: rendezvous point Charlie was in the next valley at coordinates 40.4638, 158.6547. She turned right and crested the ridge. The valley came into view. The descent into it wasn't too steep - barely fifteen degrees - but very uneven. She started flyving again. Three minutes of intense concentration brought her to the smooth valley floor: the perfect landing place for a Krait. She stopped the SRV and waited.
The next twenty five minutes were the longest in her life. She had resolved to stay alive as long as she could. She knew that slowly running out of oxygen wasn't the worst way to go: she'd just fall asleep and never wake up. If that was the way it had to be, then so be it! She had just resigned herself to that fate and mourned her new friends, when the Krait and Vulture appeared above the valley wall. She flashed the SRV lights and the Krait landed 100m away. She drove over, tears of relief running down her face and boarded the ship. She stepped out of the SRV and Giselle and Alia were waiting for her at the door to the vehicle hangar. They wrapped her up in a big hug.
"We're taking you to Maia.", said Giselle, "It's about time you got the tattoo!"