Previous: Choices, Posts 1 - 4
(Content Warning: Language, Violence)
Day 709, 0433 Hours
Empress, but I hope this works. One tiny miscalculation and this endless ocean'll be my grave for a very, very long time. Nothin' but the black to look at til the breather runs out...or I vaporize my upstairs with this here burner. Least I don't have to worry about going insane. I'm already certifiable. It's been two days, me gliding through space in nothing but this slick black enviro. I launched myself (hopefully like the most perfect arrow ever fired) three days out, where the old girl's residual signature wouldn't get picked up by my target. Best part about this plan? Sneakin' up on folks in space is easy. Bastards can be lookin' right at ya and never see you coming.
All else aside, now all I gotta worry about is whether the intelligence on those highly regular Neo Camelot patrols is still good. It's been a bad year but something's got to give eventually, right?
Day 710, 0300 Hours
Sometimes, Lady Luck does you one better. The Grail Class Explorer running the rounds this cycle was not only exactly where it was supposed to be, and not only did I hit it with Robin Hood like precision, but they had also apparently blown a drive when they dropped out of FTL. Bully for me. Gave me a ton more time than I had prepared for to breach and control.
And here I was thinking I would have to manage the charge on my plasma rifle, blasting my way in. No, they bloody well sent an all access pass out to me in the form of some poor gearhead. Poor bastard never saw me coming, just as I said he wouldn't, and I took his noggin with the slight squeeze of a trigger. Left his body swaying on the hull, clamped down by his magnetic boots, like the wheat in a gentle breeze back home. I swiped his keycard, linked up my enviro to his power signature, and waltzed on in like I owned the place.
I was surprised to see a skeleton crew. Two newbie fanatics, all dolled up but with no real fight in 'em. I thought about that as the freshly vented airlock sent the both of them to join their friend outside. Camelot was losing ground. Which is good for me. I make the short jump back to my ship and I should have plenty of time to cannibalize this speedster for parts before they come a'lookin'. Then, I can head back into Hivespace and reacquire that legger's brain before the improvised forcefield sputters out and he becomes lunchmeat for monsters.
Some days, things just go your way.
(Content Warning: Language, Violence)
Day 709, 0433 Hours
Empress, but I hope this works. One tiny miscalculation and this endless ocean'll be my grave for a very, very long time. Nothin' but the black to look at til the breather runs out...or I vaporize my upstairs with this here burner. Least I don't have to worry about going insane. I'm already certifiable. It's been two days, me gliding through space in nothing but this slick black enviro. I launched myself (hopefully like the most perfect arrow ever fired) three days out, where the old girl's residual signature wouldn't get picked up by my target. Best part about this plan? Sneakin' up on folks in space is easy. Bastards can be lookin' right at ya and never see you coming.
All else aside, now all I gotta worry about is whether the intelligence on those highly regular Neo Camelot patrols is still good. It's been a bad year but something's got to give eventually, right?
Day 710, 0300 Hours
Sometimes, Lady Luck does you one better. The Grail Class Explorer running the rounds this cycle was not only exactly where it was supposed to be, and not only did I hit it with Robin Hood like precision, but they had also apparently blown a drive when they dropped out of FTL. Bully for me. Gave me a ton more time than I had prepared for to breach and control.
And here I was thinking I would have to manage the charge on my plasma rifle, blasting my way in. No, they bloody well sent an all access pass out to me in the form of some poor gearhead. Poor bastard never saw me coming, just as I said he wouldn't, and I took his noggin with the slight squeeze of a trigger. Left his body swaying on the hull, clamped down by his magnetic boots, like the wheat in a gentle breeze back home. I swiped his keycard, linked up my enviro to his power signature, and waltzed on in like I owned the place.
I was surprised to see a skeleton crew. Two newbie fanatics, all dolled up but with no real fight in 'em. I thought about that as the freshly vented airlock sent the both of them to join their friend outside. Camelot was losing ground. Which is good for me. I make the short jump back to my ship and I should have plenty of time to cannibalize this speedster for parts before they come a'lookin'. Then, I can head back into Hivespace and reacquire that legger's brain before the improvised forcefield sputters out and he becomes lunchmeat for monsters.
Some days, things just go your way.