So, I decided to write some words for the Starfleet Comms competiotion. I hope it is as entertaining as writing it was.
The air was heavy with the moisture of oils and the stinking rust that came off the old pipes. Blake was taking the classical approach for inspecting the leaks that set off the alarms on the bridge. It wasn't easy work, as free space is not something you can find in abundance of the service tunnels within a Rifter class frigate. He kept hammering away at the hydraulic pipes that connected to the mechanism handling the main thrusters. As always, time was of essence. The dirt on the floor, formed from lubricants and various nasty substances started to thicken, and then at one turn the tertiary depressurizer gave up, and hot liquid started to drip as the wrench connected with a deep clank.
-Gotcha, bitch! - Blake spat as he began to search for something in his toolbox to close the leak with.
-Damn man, what's taking you so long?! - whistled an anxious voice from his comms. He dropped the wrench as an emphasis, and shouted back.
-Keep yer ass shut, ain't no fancy nanites here!
-Get that pipe patched up, we don't have all day!
Blake wouldn't admit but he really liked the owner of that voice. It's been two years since they worked together. The capsuleer was a 'chill dude'. He had a good sense of humor, insane ideas, and a deep wallet for all Blake cared. He particularly liked to join him on his shady deals, and he was pretty sure there were times when they wouldn't make it without the other. Blake kept telling him to stop, but he insisted that he didn't really care. All these risky endeavours were just for fun, he claimed. Well, certainly it was more fun than sitting around the station the whole day while the damn fool was sniffing around the market for his next lucrative deal, but Blake couldn't get over the fact that to the capsuleer, everything is replacable. It really didn't matter to him if the ship he was in blew up or he lost hundreds of his crew in the same explosion. He was even joking around with his life, saying to those threatening him to go on and gut him, telling his new clone needed a lot of biomass. Blake, on the other hand, as a regular and sometimes only crew member, liked his own hide where it was, covering his organs. He also liked his wallet flashing in green light on his PDA, so he did what the pilot asked and thought of the comments he was allowed to spout at him as a bonus.
The capsuleer stared at the directional scanner. The poor thing had been constantly running its calibration cycles. He had every reason to be anxious. The cargo was hot. He mused about his ship of choice. Perhaps it would have been better to choose a more powerful ship. He had access to the universe's sturdiest cruisers and fastest frigates. Yet he had to do it in a Rifter. The poor old fellow was collecting dust and adding new layers of rust in a dark corner of his hangar. He couldn't help but point at it - "I want you to get that ship ready". "You are an idiot. She's a glorified wreck with some thrusters and rotting guns attached." That was what Blake yelled when he noticed what he was pointing at. He had a big mouth, he always stank of oil and had no interest in the big goings-on of the world, but he was a damn good engineer and mechanic.
The nebulae did a good work of hiding the rusty frigate from the people sniffing around. 'Low Security Space' doesn't even start to describe the place they were forced to stop. A rival gang of capsuleers were waiting on the incoming gate, and the warp core wept as the enemy distruptor latched on it's signature. Luckily enough, the pilot was not really a sharp one and forgot that microwarpdrives don't require hudred percent stability to operate, so the combined effect of injected energy and mass field bloom was more than enough to toss the agile frigate out of range.
The ships capacitor of course fell short and the ship dropped out of warp way before the exiting gate. Luck seemed to be on its side when the sensors recalibrated and showed a small nebula with some rocks floating around. It could of course be one of the local scoundrels' outposts, but the buildings were apparently derelict, however still anchored to the plain asteroid. A quick sweep of the camera drone showed no apparent danger, and the dusty clouds all over the place could provide a good cover as they are heavily polluted with metals. It was a perfect place to hide for a few minutes, but only so long.
The markers still showed the 80 percent module damage on the MWD systems, as the directional scanner flashed and the signatures of the enemy ships became apparent in its display. Blake's rusty voice came like a heavenly blessing.
-Pfeh! Ya can fire up navigation again. If ya overheat the fucking MWD again, I'll put chilli in your pod fluid, ya asshole!
-'Bout time buddy, let's get the hell out of here.
As the rival fleet landed on sensor grid, the Rifter entered warp, structure creaking and crackling.
Blake cleared his throat and wiped off the sweat from his forehead.
Almost. Dead. Again.
Sessym out.
No comments:
Post a Comment