Test Drive
It had been a long damn time since Heyreddin was in the cockpit of his own personal craft. He could feel it so clearly in his hands. How hard the resistance of the yoke was when doing a hairpin turn. The hardened grip from how worn away the synthetic material had become from overuse. Even through the thick voidsuit, he could sense every single groove just beneath his fingertips. Of course, this was not his ship.
Rather, it was a client's industrial transport, similar to the old freighters of his past life except higher class and more up to date. He could barely shake off his daydream as he checked the all the meters during the ignition test. All good, as if there was any doubt on the work he did to refurbish the decommissioned vessel.
It had been a while since his last gig, but not long enough. Reth was still drinking his food through a straw, and the Gambier job was quicker than expected with the help of an aging heirloom. Still, there was an old world saying that he happen to take to heart despite never knowing its origin: "Idle hands are the devil's workshop." He always had to have something to do, and while ship repairs aren't the most exciting thing in the world, it kept his mind… active. It also kept him away from conversations as much as possible. That was his least favorite part of the job, negotiations. He didn't want to bother with any new names, new faces, something so fleeting. Why would he even bother wasting energy on someone he’d never meet again? Well, that's what he thought anyway. Before the price for the job had been finalized with the old man for the labor and parts, there was a notification on his communicator. Another job. Not from the Wings of Pandora, but from a rag-tag group he just finished working with.
"It's good to see that you'd be willing to accept a job from us again." Claymore said as Heyreddin exited the transit gate.
"Right…" Heyreddin nodded off. Staring far past the terminal walls to remember the brief introduction he had with the Problem Solver Network. "Clancy?"
Claymore was a bit taken aback, but didn't pay it too much mind. "A new nickname is cool and all, but let's try to stick to Claymore so it doesn't confuse everybody, okay?" Claymore stuck his hand out as a way to indicate some sort of agreement, yet all 'reddin did was stare at his gesture. Or, at least, that's what it looked like. It's hard to tell from how thick the shielding was on the visor.
"A-anyway, Do you like racing?"
Both of the suited SCRAPPERs entered the garage, the aging lights slowly lit up one by one until it revealed a small craft that barely filled the designated space.
"This is what I'm working with?" Heyreddin looked back at his contractor, who shrugged off the question.
"It's the fastest thing we have right now."
Heyreddin walked up to the craft, feeling the lifted paneling as he walked from nose to tail. It almost feels like it happened yesterday. Damned bastard left him for dead. The vast coldness of space. There was barely a single star on the horizon, on every horizon. Heyreddin's head spun around as all he could see was the darkness of eyes tightly shut. Everything. Everything was gone. He could almost imagine how he could wring out his dainty little neck for what he got away with- No. He didn't away with anything. Not if he could do something about it. Not while he fought against the world for the sick joke of a hand he was dealt with.
"Hey, are you alright?"
Heyreddin was leaning on the hull of the courier ship. Hands balled up into tight fists, gripping hard enough to dig into his palms and force his arms to shake from the tension. Idle hands are the devil's workshop. He needed something to take his mind off of things.
"It's doable, but it's going to need more than just streamlining." Heyreddin said while knocking on the ship's main thruster system.
There was a slight nervous tone to Claymore's voice "We still need to make a profit out of this, you know?"
"Good. I'll send you a parts list on the Dat-pad." The voidsuit SCRAPPER went about his way as if he didn't hear a thing. It was finally time to get back to work like he was born to do.
And from there, it was business as usual. Plenty of fundamental changes were needed to help the ship perform its best. Disconnect the reactor, discharge the capacitors, and clean out any build up between the connecting pin and ports. Well, it was supposed to be business as usual, but something was different about the whole routine. There was a bit of bickering, a few stops to ensure that both were on the same page, plenty of disagreements on how to best optimize the ship for both this job and any future ones. But there were also times when they could check different areas at the same time, hand each other the right tool while they were busy on the internals, and overall just cooperate on one task as a team. Did Heyreddin miss his time at the factory? Fat chance. But it was certainly better than having to deal with a certain psychotic crew mate who thought she knew her way around a ship.
The day of the event. The Crag-Race was an annual (as best as it could be) race amongst the rockiest canyons across the system. The top prize was enough credits to set him up a brand new, top of the line ship and then some, even after splitting it up. Heck, he could probably get his old ship back with that kind of money. Of course, there's always a catch to this type of thing, or at least something that makes it stand out over other sanctioned races. Ship weapons are open to use. The rules do say to avoid targeting the cockpit, but it's not like they could do much but sanction offenders when there's so much money on the line for both in and out of the track.
Both of the astro-engineers were at the pit, making the final adjustments after bringing the ship out of it's dedicated transport.
"That's everything." Heyreddin said after going through the performance tracker one last time. "Where's the rest of the crew"
Claymore stopped the engine and opened the cockpit to better hear his question "Oh, you mean Ta'ang and Grok? They're preparing for other things. It's not like you'll need their help piloting this thing."
"What do you mean?"
"They're meeting up with someone during the race. Part of the-"
"No, no. That's not what I meant. What do you mean I'm piloting this ship?"
"Ah, well… You probably understand this ship better than I do by this point. Plus, you're a much better pilot than I am."
There was a stillness in the air. The SCRAPPER simply stood there. Maybe making a few glances side to side. Maybe he was going to shrug. Either way, someone has to pilot the ship.
"Don't worry about it too much. I'll be right behind you the whole way through. And by that I mean I'll be managing the weapon systems while you drive."
The clone made a long sigh. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
There he was again, siting in the cockpit of another man's ship. Only this time it wasn't a test flight, or engine check, or even a simple transport job. Something about being behind the wheel of a fragile speedster while the opponents right beside him only want him dead made him feel like he was back in his element. The only question was if he still had it in him. Of course he did, that shouldn't even be a question. Yet actually being there just before the race starts almost made his stomach drop. Maybe it was his gene mods, but everything slowed down to a crawl during the count-down. Each glowing signal, each bat of an eye, all slowed down before him that he began to question how long he'd been white-knuckling the yoke.
And yet it started in an instant.
It was a slow climb towards the ship's top speed. But it's not like that was the only thing he had to worry about.
"Check your six, we've got company."
Small fry. Sure, he could out pace them, but it's only a matter of time until they start firing. According to the map, it was only a few kilometers away until the rocks could provide sufficient enough cover. Until then, they were flying in the open.
Like he predicted, bullets were whizzing past the vehicle. Left, then right. His options didn’t offer much of a choice other than to dodge. The chemical propulsion guns were mostly forward facing. But unlike the other ships, the Shock and Awe was just agile enough to narrowly graze through the volley of projectiles.
Years of tectonic activity shred through in mere moments. Every detailed rock face but a simple blur as third rate pilots crash onto ancient pillars of stone. And yet the barrage of fire still continued regardless.
"Aren't you supposed to be in charge of the weapons system? Do something about it, so I can focus on the race."
The SCRAPPER behind him made a grunt to acknowledge his request, but he didn't have the upgrades to keep up with the momentum, unlike the pilot in front of him. But as long as it was far away enough, he'd have the time to make something on the spot.
"Heyreddin. You better get ready to use those booster cells."
Almost as soon as he finished his sentence, Claymore locked in on the rock formations far ahead of him. Large chunks of the hillside came down as a torrent of rock and sand. You could barely see anything through the raining ruble, if your mind was fast enough to register anything at that point. But they had a different issue ahead of them.
The boulder was rolling in. Obscured by the impromptu sandstorm, all they could go off of in their upcoming leap of faith was rumbling noise just before its final impact.
As it flew just inches before its destination, there was a deafening silence to it all. A sense of weightlessness from the high speeds. 230, 240, 250… Claymore could barely see anything around him other than what was directly ahead. The activation of the boost was comparatively the loudest thing he would ever hear.
A corkscrew spin though a keyhole rock formation. Though they were far ahead of most competitors, but they could barely maintain the lead even with the booster cell.
Heyreddin held on to the boost switch like he was holding on to dear life. Only a strange prickling sensation making him let go and adjust his route to roll out of the way of a bigger craft landing mere inches away from where they once were. But it didn't matter much. They just exited the impromptu valley and were on their way to the final stretch made completely of flat land. It was now or never. Pedal to the floor using whatever's left in the half-used cell.
260, 280, 300… It was close. Almost neck and neck. But Heyreddin was catching up, and at their current pace he'll overtake them by an inch. Uncharacteristically, there was some light tapping on his shoulder, if you could even call it that.
It was faint, barely audible under the roar of the reactor, but it was a voice. The clone looked back as his passenger was straining himself against the speed. Fuck, he didn't have the implants to withstand this many Gs.
A split second decision. It was maybe half a minute away. Still, seconds without any oxygen is enough to seriously damage the brain. If he was going to decelerate, he had to do it now. Heyreddin kept swearing. Swearing that he should have known, swearing that his life wasn't what was standing between a ride home on a private jet, or the same old space shuttle service.
He had to slow down. How else was he going to get his credits if his client died before he could pay up. Disappointing, but probably the best course of action.
As soon as they got to a full stop at the pit, Heyreddin opened the cockpit to carry Claymore out. It wasn't long enough for him to fall unconscious, but it was enough for him to still be reeling from the whole thing. Heyreddin tried to mumble out an apology for not winning the race, but was interrupted by the guy he hung over his shoulder.
"I… I, I-I'm fine… Fine…" Claymore said in a daze, keeling over to take out the contents of his stomach. "D-don't worry about it. Doc's got something to fix this if he’s not busy, probably."
"Clone's really put ya through the ringer?" The short mutant walked through the entryway, with the Goz close behind.
"Yeah, I should've known. Look, I-"
"Like I said, don't worry about it. I'll just leave it to them to explain."
"Yea', only needed da' race to get inta' the otha' tents. The prize money was just a bonus." Ta'ang stuck a thumb back to point at the sack Grok was carrying. The fresh catch still struggling despite being bound and gagged.
"Anyway, we'll be going to a few stands after we put him in the trunk. You said you still needed a ride?"
The astronaut nodded once or twice.
"Then why don't you bring her home now that you finished the test drive? Consider the parts already paid for."
"You serious?"
"I mean, if you're waiting on your cut from the job, I'll send it out in a few days. But that's not what you're asking about, right?"
The ship wasn't all too bad. The hull just got a new coat, most of the electronics were replaced, and the auxiliary reactor could be enough to power the laser rifle. Sure, it was small, but that also made it easier to hide.
"I'll think about it."