Posts: 2
Joined: Tue Mar 19, 2013 3:58 am
Mon Apr 01, 2013 10:19 am
Phantoms of Earth
Another day, thought the lone pilot, another dollar.
He sat in a old and patched leather seat. The normal harness dangling at the sides as the soft hum of the engines sung its tune. The ship was old, covered in lines of grease. Paint faded and chipped decorated the steel box like the starlight outside.
The ship was torn apart and repaired with what was there. Wires ran from one panel to another, and sometimes to multiple. The cold blue light flickered at a stead beat every minute or so. Displays near the pilot were fussy, and cracked. The only good screen showed a flat field of green with specks of white highlighted with each basing ripple, which came from the bottom of the screen.
Without warning the sensor hit a blue speck. A small alarm chirped and the pilot leaned forward in his chair. His face was covered in stubble, and a good layer of grime. His old eyes were framed by wrinkles and busy white eyebrows. They strained hard to focus on the blip. It was just ahead of the ship, he hit a switch and looked up. A small light beamed from above his cockpit and shown the vast field of debris. Plates and wires floated in silence as the lone ship moved ever so slowly to the foreign object.
‘Bout time I found something, he thought as his eyes looked through the screen. The field around him was an old one. The metal and design suggested something out of Earth itself, back during the escape to the Sirius sector. The ship digging its way through was a first generation CSV, like the inside dirty, old, jury-rigged, and missing all but a pinch of paint. Small bits of debris bounced harmlessly off the shields as they flicked with their strikes.
“Warning, unknown ship on approach.” Sounded the ship, making the old pilot grab his chest and curse under his breath.
You damn thing, already close to death, don’t need to rush it! He thought looking at the ships location. It was moving fast, but was just short of a hundred klicks from his ship. It had no known ID or signature, but it moved like a ship. He eyes darted back and forth from the object still buried from his sight, and the rushing blip on his screen. Shit, what in the hell could that be? There shouldn't be another ship out here for a few systems. Especially one that doesn't seem to exist. His eyes widened for a moment and then punched his controls to increase the speed. The curtain of floating wreckage rushed past his ship bouncing off his shields and burned a little when it came close enough to the engine. Nomads, has to be. One pass Jimmy, not luck, no going back. Best not fight something unknown for something in this field.
The CSV rushed closer and closer to the blue blip. The incoming ship was moving faster, but still over 50 klicks out. Jimmy looked back and forth from the screens and window nails bite as his ship came into view of his prize. A simple cylinder was highlighted on his screen. Looked like an old cryo-tube, but with no time to space the white lighting of the tractor beam reached out with its ghostly hand and snagged the cylinder. As the CSV rushed past its open cargo bay grad the pot and some bit of debris and flew past.
Alright, that jump hole should only be another ten klicks, that bastard still has 30 to catch me. Come on you rusty, pile of junk, get my ass home!
“Enemy ships on scanners.” Add the computer.
“What?!” Jimmy said aloud looking at the scanner. A whole swarm of ships were coming towards him, many where only 20 klicks out.
Oh sweat mother of junk, where is the damn jump hole! He mentally screamed as the purple and red cloud flashed with light before him. With in an instead the view filled with stars streaking past into a blur before a final blinding flash of light. The his eyes slowly adjusted back to the dark starlight, but this one different, empty. And nothing on his scanner. A loud sigh came from him, as he slumped back into his chair.
“Ship,” he muttered, “Plot a course for Rodchester base.”
“Plotted,” the ship responded.
“ETA?”
“Two days, six hours, twenty minutes, and thirty-seven seconds.”
“Make it so you pile of junk,” he cursed as he slowly left his chair. He walked to two steps to the hatch leading to the cargo hold. “I’ll be looking at my find, anything pops up tell me.”
“Affirmative, James.” The computer said with a different, very cold voice. Jimmy paused, and looked at the closest speak.
“I’m sorry?”
“Do not recognize command, please rephrase,” said the computer with the old emotionless voice.
“Getting told old, starting to jump at shadows.”
“Do not recognize command, please rephrase.”
“Never mind.”
“Affirmative.”
Jimmy walked slowly into the cargo hold, plates, wires, rocks, and thawing organic material littered the floor. But his main object sat in the middle, surprisingly upright, but covered in whatever was around it when it was grabbed. Hull plating and panels were the main obstacles in his way, but a quick shove they fell to the floor with a echoing crash.
The prize was an old cyro-tube, it held the name, Liberator.
He sat in a old and patched leather seat. The normal harness dangling at the sides as the soft hum of the engines sung its tune. The ship was old, covered in lines of grease. Paint faded and chipped decorated the steel box like the starlight outside.
The ship was torn apart and repaired with what was there. Wires ran from one panel to another, and sometimes to multiple. The cold blue light flickered at a stead beat every minute or so. Displays near the pilot were fussy, and cracked. The only good screen showed a flat field of green with specks of white highlighted with each basing ripple, which came from the bottom of the screen.
Without warning the sensor hit a blue speck. A small alarm chirped and the pilot leaned forward in his chair. His face was covered in stubble, and a good layer of grime. His old eyes were framed by wrinkles and busy white eyebrows. They strained hard to focus on the blip. It was just ahead of the ship, he hit a switch and looked up. A small light beamed from above his cockpit and shown the vast field of debris. Plates and wires floated in silence as the lone ship moved ever so slowly to the foreign object.
‘Bout time I found something, he thought as his eyes looked through the screen. The field around him was an old one. The metal and design suggested something out of Earth itself, back during the escape to the Sirius sector. The ship digging its way through was a first generation CSV, like the inside dirty, old, jury-rigged, and missing all but a pinch of paint. Small bits of debris bounced harmlessly off the shields as they flicked with their strikes.
“Warning, unknown ship on approach.” Sounded the ship, making the old pilot grab his chest and curse under his breath.
You damn thing, already close to death, don’t need to rush it! He thought looking at the ships location. It was moving fast, but was just short of a hundred klicks from his ship. It had no known ID or signature, but it moved like a ship. He eyes darted back and forth from the object still buried from his sight, and the rushing blip on his screen. Shit, what in the hell could that be? There shouldn't be another ship out here for a few systems. Especially one that doesn't seem to exist. His eyes widened for a moment and then punched his controls to increase the speed. The curtain of floating wreckage rushed past his ship bouncing off his shields and burned a little when it came close enough to the engine. Nomads, has to be. One pass Jimmy, not luck, no going back. Best not fight something unknown for something in this field.
The CSV rushed closer and closer to the blue blip. The incoming ship was moving faster, but still over 50 klicks out. Jimmy looked back and forth from the screens and window nails bite as his ship came into view of his prize. A simple cylinder was highlighted on his screen. Looked like an old cryo-tube, but with no time to space the white lighting of the tractor beam reached out with its ghostly hand and snagged the cylinder. As the CSV rushed past its open cargo bay grad the pot and some bit of debris and flew past.
Alright, that jump hole should only be another ten klicks, that bastard still has 30 to catch me. Come on you rusty, pile of junk, get my ass home!
“Enemy ships on scanners.” Add the computer.
“What?!” Jimmy said aloud looking at the scanner. A whole swarm of ships were coming towards him, many where only 20 klicks out.
Oh sweat mother of junk, where is the damn jump hole! He mentally screamed as the purple and red cloud flashed with light before him. With in an instead the view filled with stars streaking past into a blur before a final blinding flash of light. The his eyes slowly adjusted back to the dark starlight, but this one different, empty. And nothing on his scanner. A loud sigh came from him, as he slumped back into his chair.
“Ship,” he muttered, “Plot a course for Rodchester base.”
“Plotted,” the ship responded.
“ETA?”
“Two days, six hours, twenty minutes, and thirty-seven seconds.”
“Make it so you pile of junk,” he cursed as he slowly left his chair. He walked to two steps to the hatch leading to the cargo hold. “I’ll be looking at my find, anything pops up tell me.”
“Affirmative, James.” The computer said with a different, very cold voice. Jimmy paused, and looked at the closest speak.
“I’m sorry?”
“Do not recognize command, please rephrase,” said the computer with the old emotionless voice.
“Getting told old, starting to jump at shadows.”
“Do not recognize command, please rephrase.”
“Never mind.”
“Affirmative.”
Jimmy walked slowly into the cargo hold, plates, wires, rocks, and thawing organic material littered the floor. But his main object sat in the middle, surprisingly upright, but covered in whatever was around it when it was grabbed. Hull plating and panels were the main obstacles in his way, but a quick shove they fell to the floor with a echoing crash.
The prize was an old cyro-tube, it held the name, Liberator.
