Introductions: Spacemen & Mutants
- A Space-Station Hanger, Somewhere
The man in the Spacesuit had circled the hanger twice with his pacing. His crate-bound possessions set where he'd left them after he'd departed the travel freighter. Occasionally looking down to the monitor on his wrist as he paced, and at one point giving up, marching towards the ship that was regrettably his destination.
He'd thought it was a local junker. Maybe a recovered wreck.
But the ID showed it was his contact's 'ship,' A rectangular cube of ablative plates stacked atop plates. He slowed as he neared it, taking time to dissect the atrocity he was dealing with. An abomination of stolen grav-sections and vandalized structure beams used for a hull. Fused by an overzealous technician and smoothed over to appear like an actual ship. The back was studded with fused grav-spikes without launchers, surrounding the only door like a pit trap. It seemed like there were haphazardly placed thrusters about the flanks that made the man stare, squatted down on his haunches and befuddled. Or perhaps he was admiring the atrocity. It was impossible to tell what he feeling behind the black glass of his helmet.
The powered door cranking open made him stand, walking about to meet his contact. A mutant in a ragged bath robe. "Spacer." She offered her hand. "Glad to see you made i' in one piece. Hope tha' ride in wasn' too bad."
"Nothing I can't handle. Yak, right?" He tersely took the offered shake and took a step back, again to look at the ship. "Is this what I'm working with?"
She nodded, following him out. "Yea. Got 'er built up from a skeleton. Couple years back."
"Genuine question. What am I looking at?" He put his hand up to point, but then just sort of waved it around unable to settle on one thing out of place.
The mutant shrugged. "Three cycles 'a work cross twenty contractors. Got the diagnostics se' up on tha' inside, so you can get a' proper look. Better explanation 'en wha' I can give you. 'Am not much of a talker, don't think ye are neither." She walked back inside, the doors remaining open after her.
He followed, activating his suit's flashlight and lowering the brightness as he walked. "Grav-punctures but no discharges..." He audibly muttered as he stepped past the slightly rusted Air-Lock. The interior was lit by a clearly stolen industrial lamp and was packed. The Spaceman slowed, as he realized that there was little more than a sliver of space inside, a single walkway dividing a stacked wall of things. He looked up at the construction light. "Did you just forget to add proper lighting or is that an artistic choice?"
"Didn' need it!" Ahead, the mutant leaned against the front operating controls, the bevy of screens flickering to life at her approach. The seat behind having almost no room to move with how packed the ship was. Walking past a wall of all the supplies and equipment a SCRAPPER could need for months out in the field, the source of the clutter revealed when one of the 'walls' moved. The Spaceman jerked as another mutant rolled up, occupying a bed of industrial crates. Fitted in plain clothes of red cloth that seemed to have been crudely put together, the giant quickly pocketed something and adjusted, head scrapping against the ceiling as his shipmate continued. "Leas' not until this shitshow. Also, this is Grok. Grok, Heyreddin. Red-Hay, Grok. Big Man's roomin' 'ere 'till we get 'im kitted out and fitted long term."
He looked the spacer over, indecipherable. Then he pulled back. "Pleasure." Grok rumbled.
"Same." Heyreddin forced himself to nod as he stepped over, noting a hammock occupying the space above him, presently occupied by a space bat and a station worm but realistically sized for the owner. "This ship... I thought this was a shuttle but this is a torpedo. I'm pretty sure I've seen cruiser torpedoes larger than this."
"Wouldn' doubt it. For 'is we got abou' half a' meter a' personal space for you right back at the start. Or ye' can take the chair. Is' up to you." She tapped the leather seat.
She stepped back as much as she could, allowing him to take a seat in the scuffed pilot's chair.
"I'll need to think on that and..." Heyreddin wasted no time, in opening up the operating systems. It seems everything had already been cleaned up for him as he sifted through operations and diagnostic systems. Though he stopped, voice drifting off as he realized what was sitting on the lower control panel in a bottle. "Ind-Sat acid?" He picked up the bottle only for Yak to snatch it up.
"Mouthwash." She said, moving to put it into a wall compartment.
"I call bull on that." Heyreddin scoffed.
To which, Yak uncorked the industrial liquid and took a long swig like it was a survival water ration, deposited the bottle, resealed the compartment and opened another with a metal sink. The sizzling of spit and fumes left little to the imagination. Yak briefly drank directly from the faucet.
"This is wha' I get for bein' a mess of mods an' biology." She resealed that compartment. "Better things ta' do yea'?"
The SCRAPPER forced another nod, turning back to monitors.
For several minutes Heyreddin went through the superstructure, electric, chemical and engine systems. More than once he visibly started, though he quickly redoubled, occasionally checking back on his own wrist monitor to consult something. Finally, he sat back in the chair, putting his hands behind his helmeted head and turned to Yak, sat atop the wall of crates beside. "This." He sighed. "Is a complete disaster of a ship. It flies like a tossed brick and I genuinely don't know how you fly it."
"Check the inpu' history. Does a better job explainin'."
He turned back, navigating through the command history as he began muttering under his breath as the calculations came in. All following a familiar pattern in the only good things the ship did. Sprints and stability. Always a rapid boost, a violent turn using boosters attached at the sides and stabilizing after a 180 degree turn. Activation of the magnetic spikes followed. "Like the most budget Federation naval marine. Then you cut your way in?"
She tapped something hidden on her hip. "I' works. Mostly 'cause 'am patien' until I push in."
"Not much space for anything in this as is." Heyreddin moved slightly, chair hitting something behind him as he adjusted. "Super-structure is just too small and that armour is restricting just about any work I can do. Unless you want to dismantle this thing so I can re-work her from the ground up. Which I can. If you're willing to front the cost. One pre-fab section is all I'd need to get started and I could make this thing functional. Keep that trick boost as well if I can get to the bones."
"Nah." Yak leaned over, looking at the reflection of herself on Heyreddin's helmet. "Tell me Spacer man, how you feel abou' gettin' yourself a real ship?"
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, and his voice was carefully articulated. "From that thing Claymore was talking about?"
She nodded. "Supposin' we can get that thing intact? Kick off the cargo, rescue anyone left? Migh' be we have tha' entire trade vessel just... falls into our laps. We'll need someone runnin' the Gambier if we can grab 'er, an' I know you operated a real ship a' some poin'. Ye' seen the specs? I gotta' full leak from tha' HFNB jus' an hour back." Reaching down she opened up another feed, this one lined with posts from SCRAPPER enthusiast forums and other assorted trash, sorting down to a government document.
Heyreddin took over without prompting, scanning through the file and quickly finding a full schematic from the Horsehead Federation's Naval Board. He stood, flicking through the lines of schematics studded with information from the contractors. A certain animation to him looking at the plans. "I can work with this. Shipping vessel of that size? Not exactly subtle though unless I can-" He stopped, looking back at Yak. "What's the catch?"
"No catch." She sighed. "Like to run with some groups. Talkin' with Claymore, thinking of settin' up a Network. Would be good ta' have someone whose got the chops to get tha' ship up an' running, operatin' her on the regular. A ship that you'd jus' so happen to be in a position to run. Am willin' to put all the creds in to get it up, if you help me- us- take 'er."
He looked back at the plans, sifting through the data beneath on the disappearance, the star chart opening up across multiple screens. "Supposing she isn't in that sun or cut in half or something like that. Pirates. Wannabe warlords. Corporate espionage or even just an engine malfunction." He tapped the star chart, which honed in on the star system. "And what? We take the Gambier?"
"We gotta' get to her, a' course an' it seems 'am the bus for 'is operation. Get 'er up an runnin', get the job attached done. Work out a share plan for 'is Net if you wan' in. Maybe a few favours down the line if ye fin' yourself pilotin' the Gambier. But yes."
The spacer quickly turned back, reopened the ship schematics, and began parsing through the outer systems "So long as I get my own evacuations shuttles guaranteed I'll consider it. Should have been four included but it seems only three were left. Only one was operational... Guess that's part of the lack of survivors. Can't say yes now. Not until I see something concrete. But I'll consider." He closed the document, turning back to ship's owner. "We have broad coordinates yet on the ship? It'll only be a matter of time before the vultures start circling with these files out there."
"Haven't talked wi' Claymore abou' it yet. But somethin' like that." She pointed her thumb back to Grok, and now Heyreddin could see what he was holding, shifting ever so slightly in his palm.
A rather curious artifact.