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Post by 0 on Jun 4, 2017 18:11:42 GMT
Light in the hue of wheat glinted off the planet's blued atmosphere, slanting sidelong across the silvery surface of an orbiting space station.
The stars in outer space were many, but even they paled in the nearer light of the system's single yellow-white star.
Around the space station, a myriad of smaller vessels waited in a scattered array for their turn at docking, the garage glowing blue as its doors opened to let another pair exchange places, both of whom were agonizingly slow to do so.
From inside his black-and-red Vivaldi KT-33.6, a two-seater atmospheric spacecraft with a build not too far off from a sailplane, Nicolás Soto leaned back in the pilot's seat with a frustrated, impatient sigh, drawing the ringed tail of his meteorite coonskin cap over his eyes.
The space station, with its comparatively small docking bay, had quickly grown too big for its britches after the planet below had suddenly exploded with extraplanetary activity.
It was a bustling spaceport that boasted services such as a bulletin board, commodities market, munitions, outfitting, refueling and repairs, and even a shipyard, with half of the amenities having been tacked onto the port after the fact; apparently, whoever thought to add onto the port, never thought to include expansions for docking.
In simpler terms: it was essentially a giant-ass gas station-slash-mall with a teeny-tiny parking lot and a lot of potential customers at any given time.
The munitions, refueling, and repairs were what Nic was primarily looking for.
After chasing down a bounty halfway across the planetary system --and subsequently failing to catch it-- his old craft was battered, dented, dinged, frayed and more, all while puttering about at an aching pace in an attempt to conserve what little fuel remained inside its tank.
The pilot was a little worse for the wear himself; hungry and tired, his own body bruised and scratched from being thrown around inside the ship, all with nothing to show for his efforts.
His eyes cast to the communications console, before rolling back into his head.
Only three more hours to wait....
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Post by hekate on Oct 19, 2017 20:01:46 GMT
The FCS Wild Horse was a small vessel compared to some of the Federal Combine’s more grand ships, which were mighty enough to hold the front lines against plenty of enemies that make problems for them. It wasn’t even the size of a corvette, but was instead an older, light scouting craft that had been retrofitted and then sent out to survey the spaceports of this sector to get an idea for how best to expand Asterian trade. Seeing as how there wasn’t much of an organized government here, the Federal Combine had to rough it. Roughing it meant manual surveillance, and trying to make contacts that could provide information on the surrounding area.
”Hmm.” The captain, Arison Pok, stood rather than sat as he gazed at an even smaller, battered vessel that could hold maybe two people. Scans reported that the person could probably help them. ”Hail that vessel.” The captain said, moving to sit in his chair. The young red-head with his first, not all that illustrious command took his job seriously. Despite the Wild Horse being a small vessel, it had the FCS tag, and was probably the fastest vessel within 300 parsecs.
”This is Captain Arison Pok of the Federal Combine ship Wild Horse. Are you in need of assistance? The dampeners that keep you from rattling around in your ship seem to be very inefficient. You seem to have sustained some damage yourself. Your ship is low on fuel, and, uhm, you might need some tending to.” The Captain explained, quirking his head while thinking of what to say next to the man. At least the scans said he was a man… biologically.
”If you identify yourself and your allegiance, our vessel may be able to help. We would, however, like to trade for any information on docking points in this sector of space. If you have them. We may also be able to provide some other form of payment in exchange for such information, if it meets our needs sufficiently.” The Captain said, ”how long do you expect to wait?” He asked, giving a pleasant smile. His eyes were a more vibrant green than they should be, while he had what seemed to be a cybernetic arm more robotic than the usual, lifelike cybernetics seen on some people. He liked the way it looked.
Arison was sure that he would be able to get something out of a ship as dinged up as the one in front of him. It looked like it had been around.
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Post by 0 on Oct 19, 2017 20:28:56 GMT
Nic was well into his nap when something began beeping at him.
He opened an eye and tugged back on the hardened lip of his stony cap.
The comms wanted his attention.
He pushed himself forward, dragging off the handheld speaker as he leaned over to flick a switch.
It was then that he noticed another ship had come rather close to his own--alarmingly so.
One could only guess that this was the vessel trying to communicate with him.
Flipping to the correct channel a voice came through immediately, and Nic leaned back in his chair as the stranger droned on, his gaze drifting to stare out at the ship not much more than a wing's length away.
When finally there was room left for him to talk, Nic allowed a moment of silence to pass as he gathered his thoughts, then pressed the button on the radio transmitter and spoke into it.
"Yeah, I think you have the wrong channel," he answered, squinting at the nearby ship.
It was, perhaps, almost as puny as his own, enough so to make him doubt just about everything they were trying to feed him, no matter what was painted across its sides.
He wasn't going to identify himself to such a poor attempt at a scam.
Besides....
"Maybe turn your ship the right way and you'll see the space port."
Lifting a hand--if they could tell just how bruised he was, they must be able to see at least that--he thumbed in the direction of the space port, a big collage of unpolished metal and rusted advertisements orbiting the planet below.
There were numerous other ships scattered about the station's small section of space, not all of them at great distances from one another.
Perhaps his was just the first they found, or the one looking the most desperate.
But he could wait.
Hm...if they were actually that clueless, however, perhaps he could offer up one little tidbit?
"Flip to the channel with the blinking light," he added with a wry smirk.
"That's probably the station trying to hail you."
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Post by hekate on Oct 19, 2017 21:35:56 GMT
”Look, mate. We’ve already spoken to the station. We do not need to dock. All we’re looking for is information on the sector.” The man said, he sighed, and sat back in his seat. He crossed his arms, frowning. Still a bit immature - he was just a kid to some after all - the Captain of the scouting vessel was about the same as many academy students, but had the experience to handle command of a small scouting ship… for the most part. Federal Combine vessels of all types were still quite powerful. ”We also do not have flashing lights for answering hails. We get notifications, like any modern vessel would. Asteria hasn’t used flashing LED lights for decades.”
”I’m from Asteria. Giant moon orbiting an even more giant gas giant called Tycho. You may have heard of it. Maybe not. Right now I just need to do my job. This is my first command.” He said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
”You looked like someone that could help us, seeing as how your ship seems rather weathered. That means it’s been places, right?” He asked. He admitted internally that hailing the most banged up ship near the port was probably suspicious. This was so embarrassing.
”I mean, that’s the general consensus. It has a story. This ship has a crew compliment of 38. We have enough room to entertain you. We will invite you over to our little… sloop if you want to make an exchange in person, or even just talk…. Actually, no, that’s a security risk for the both of us.” He blushed. He had been flustered earlier, and wasn’t exactly the most composed person in the first place, so there was that.
”My crew needs a break. This is the thirteenth station we’ve surveilled today. I’ll bring the money, and a currency convertor. You bring the information we need. My crew will ‘port over to one of the main promenade, and we can meet. What do you say… Mister?” Antios asked.
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Post by 0 on Oct 19, 2017 21:55:08 GMT
Nic glared out of his small ship's glass cockpit.
The guy was persistent.
He was tempted to flip over to another channel, but the mention of money was equally tempting.
He flopped back into the pilot's seat, pulling the cap's tail over his eyes again.
Just because he was freelance didn't mean that he should let his greed override his common sense.
He'd certainly never be so dumb as to step foot on the stranger's, but he did briefly entertain opening a credits channel for the transfer of currencies, but he wasn't going to overlook the possibility of his account being hacked.
Rustic as most of his ship's technology was, even a novice technophile could pull out what little he had if he was so bold as to just...open the door for it.
The chord of his radio transmitter stretched as he pulled it with him, thumb over the button.
"Yer mighty impatient," he observed.
"Just wait in line like the rest of us."
If he could do it in his battered little clunker, why couldn't this fancy-pants captain?
"I'm sure there's a tourist shop there to give ya some knick-nacks.
Give yerself and yer...crew some, uh--leave."
That's what the military sorts called it, wasn't it?
He paused, the radio's speakers still hissing at him as he'd not yet taken his finger off the button yet.
Come to think of it, how much time was left before he could dock?
His eyes flicked over to the panel's clock and he sighed.
"If ya still want to talk once yer on the station, I'd be happy to meet up with ya."
Right in the all-encompassing camera'd view of the station's authorities, and a cheap, fresh, greasy burger in his hands.
"Oh, and: don't forget the cash."
Nic flipped the channel back over to what the station had set, ending the call.
He hooked the transmitter back into place and got comfortable once more, curling his arms behind his head and kicking his feet up on the dash.
Time to finish his nap and dream of a better meal than what he'd be getting in another hour and a half.
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