Dartz Wrote:To : Cathy@jenga.ci.fen
From: jet-jaguar@frigga.fen
Subject: FW: Need your help
It'll take me two hours to get there from here. What do you need? I can guess what it's related to.
-Jet From : Cathy@jenga.ci.fen
To: jet-jaguar@frigga.fen
Subject: Re: FW: Need your help
I need your help as a courier, something I don't want to send over the Interwave. Unfortunately we have no armed ship here at the moment to do it ourselves.
Cathy
An asteroid in the Main Belt.
"So this is where you've been hiding." Miranda Petite remarked as she walked Julian towards the concealed bunker entrance, ignoring the hidden gun turrets tracking her as she broadcast into the open, "First Nicholas, then Strelnikov, Ilya, and now you Silus. You couldn't hold yourself to the ideals we promised to live up to, and now you're paying for it." She stopped Julian in front of the entrance and crossed the Gear's arms, "Nicholas is dead, Strelnikov and Ilya are going to join him, and you're hiding in a bunker. Me? I've got money, I've got contacts across Eastern Europe, Russia and China for gear, resources and supplies, I have a wide and varied client list that actually includes a few minor Fen factions alongside Daneside clients, and in a few days I'll have a business of my own to run."
She smiled behind her VR helmet as she aimed her anti-aircraft cannon at the bunker entrance, "But I can't have a stain like you floating around Silus, especially when I need you alive long enough to sign over Triax to me. So I'm going to give you a choice Silus. Hand over Triax and I'll let you live in your rock until someone sells you out. Or you can open fire and I shove you into a Catgirl machine after tearing you out of there myself and torturing you for the info." The turrets shifted and Miranda snarled, "Don't be stupid Silus. I fought on the Boskone side of the War, you know that my core team are former Boskonians, you'll be living with cat ears and a huge rack chasing string within an hour."
There was a long pause, before the door opened and Miranda smiled as she switched radio channels, "All units. Move in and secure Silus Markin. Weapons free." The Tarantula came over the edge of the asteroid and came to a halt as armoured forms dropped down from the ship and dashed inside.
Inside, the Black Talon troopers swept the interior, finding only rooms full of supplies before they stopped at an office. Kicking in the doors, the troopers swept in and took aim as Silus Markin sat at his desk looking at a screen, "Where did I go wrong? Where did we all go wrong?"
"Silus Markin." One of the troopers interrupted his musings, "You will hand over control of the Triax Corporation to Commander Petite and come quietly. Resist, and you will be dealt with severely."
Silus nodded, "Of course." He rose from his seat and moved towards a wall safe, covered by the AK-220's of the troopers, and opened it to reveal a datapad that he held out to the leader of the troopers, who took it, "Everything is on there. All she has to do is make the calls."
The trooper leader nodded, "Good." She turned to another trooper, "Deal with him."
"What? Wait!" Silus gaped as two troopers grabbed him and held him in place, "What are you doing? I gave you what you wanted!"
The leader shook her head, "Commander Petite doesn't want any loose ends. Moreover, for all of your flaws you are a good businessman." She nodded to the troopers holding him down, "Prep him for transport, we have one to be added to The Family."
"Nyahahahahahaaa..." One of the troopers chuckled darkly, "See you real soon Little Sister!"
Listening to the conversation inside Julian, Miranda Petite silently regretted ever allowing the Black Talon's resident Cat Girl collective to decide on Peace River's capital punishment scheme.
Even so, this was poetic justice in a way, and vengeance for a certain platoon of Black Talon Gear pilots back at Peace River.
So Miranda Petite simply ordered, "Commander Petite to Tarantula, one for the Iron Maiden, inform Peace River that The Family will soon be having a new member."
"Dang it, we really need to have a referendum on that topic, I really don't think we should let the Cat Girls obsessed with making more of themselves have a say in our Capital Punishment system. You know it's a warcrime to have the Iron Maiden, can't you do something Commander?"
"The next Referendum Vote is in a month's time High Wire, with any luck we can push for Indentured Servitude rather than using the Iron Maiden."
"I hope so Commander, otherwise our prospects for joining the Autonomist Alliance are not looking good."
Miranda Petite said nothing as she watched Silus Markin get carried towards the Tarantula.
After a few minutes, she keyed her music player to play a song as she watched the bunker get looted of its contents.
-Triax Corporation Website Front Page, March 2022-
To all our valued customers,
We at Triax are pleased to announce that we are now merging with Paxton Industries as a subsidiary after intensive negotiations with Paxton's CEO Miranda Petite.
We appreciate the loyalty of Triax customers and Paxton will uphold all maintenance and service agreements from now on, and Triax Products will continue to be sold, although our catalogue will now be accessed through through Paxton Industries website.
Please head to Paxton Industries at the following link: www.paxtonindustries.com.fen
-Paxton Industries Website Front Page, March 2022-
Hello, and welcome to Paxton Industries.
We here at Paxton are a company dedicated to providing you with the very best in personal and habitat defence solution at affordable prices in these adventurous times, whether what you need is a personal Needle Pistol or one of Paxton's iconic Heavy Gears, we at Paxton Industries will strive to bring you the very best from our production lines at Peace River, Mars, Luna and Venus.
If you have come here from Triax's website and are wondering if we will continue to honour maintenance and service agreements made with Triax, fear not, Paxton Industries will continue to sell Triax products and maintain all agreements with Triax clients, simply head to the Triax section of our catalogue or contact our sales offices at Mars, Luna, Venus or Peace River to update your service agreement.
Paxton Industries, based at Peace River, is not only a provider of defensive equipment and weaponry, but also provides security to our clients in the form of the Peace River Defense Training Program, where habitats are trained in proper militia operations to defend themselves against attack, and are provided with weaponry and Heavy Gears direct from Paxton Arms, a division of Paxton Industries, to protect against pirates and other hostile elements, and when required can call upon the Peace River Defence Force for reinforcements, which also includes the elite Black Talon Teams.
With that I welcome you to Paxton Industries.
Miranda Petite,
CEO and Founder, Paxton Industries.
Can you just tell us what do you edited in your post?
HRogge Wrote:Can you just tell us what do you edited in your post? cleaned up some typos.
EDIT: And added a little extra to Miranda's final speaking part.
Just a comment, whats the use of building up Triax with some background when you assimilate them into an unknown second entity as a first step?
HRogge Wrote:Just a comment, what's the use of building up Triax with some background when you assimilate them into an unknown second entity as a first step?
Not my fault you guys put in response story posts to a series of plot hooks. At least Triax still exists in 2022 instead of being dismantled.
EDIT: With the majority of its staff still in place I might add. Staff who might not be so happy about the change in management and the Fen responsible. Plenty of antagonism still left in Triax.
Also, none of this is canon anyway. The Black Talon stories will be the ones that are 'canon' in relation to the GTV, Material Defenders and Triax.
Gideon020 Wrote:Not my fault you guys put in response story posts to a series of plot hooks. At least Triax still exists in 2022 instead of being dismantled. Not our fault that you advance some hidden timeline that quickly.
You made the decision to add another unknown company, not us.
Again, the Black Talon stories are the canon for this timeline, so this really doesn't matter.
EDIT: Seriously, this is done.
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Right. Where's that anti-matter bomb? These clowns really deserve it. As soon as anyone finds out about the active approach to catgirling, among other things - all bets are off.
Otherwise. It is a bit peculiar to spend so long coming up with a good hook, only to yank it away when people start nibbling at it..... with no warning whatsoever. Collective writing projects like Fenspace work best when everyone has all the information at the start - or at least has been told that some things are incomplete.
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Dartz Wrote:Right. Where's that anti-matter bomb? These clowns really deserve it. As soon as anyone finds out about the active approach to catgirling, among other things - all bets are off.
Well, its a good thing none of this is related to the actual Black Talon stories is it? And its certainly a good thing that none of what's been posted save for the actual Corporate Profile is actually canon to any stories that will involve Triax.
What you just saw is a discarded ending, rejected because of what you just read, posted simply to put an ending to the story that seems to have sprung up in this topic.
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Gideon020 Wrote:Also, none of this is canon anyway. The Black Talon stories will be the ones that are 'canon' in relation to the GTV, Material Defenders and Triax. Everybody's taking part in this one, unlike the BT stories. Based on reception and participation, I'd say this is the canon thread...
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."
- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
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Gideon020 Wrote:Dartz Wrote:Right. Where's that anti-matter bomb? These clowns really deserve it. As soon as anyone finds out about the active approach to catgirling, among other things - all bets are off.
Well, its a good thing none of this is related to the actual Black Talon stories is it? And its certainly a good thing that none of what's been posted save for the actual Corporate Profile is actually canon to any stories that will involve Triax.
What you just saw is a discarded ending, rejected because of what you just read, posted simply to put an ending to the story that seems to have sprung up in this topic.
What? Why not canon?
You introduced an obvious antagonist, then gave the groups in Fenspace hooks to affect the outcome and downfall of the antagonist - then declare the results non-canon when people try to nibble on them? It's a collective writing project - not just a case of carving out your own personal fiefdom inside the verse. Part of it being a collective writing project is that people will respond to your inputs with feedback that might shift the story in odd or strange directions you didn't expect. The rest of the universe responds to your actions because other minds control the rest of the universe.
You want to attack an employee of Stellvia - well this is how Stellvia responds, this is who they hook in, and these are the consequences of that response. It's worldbuilding, not a monolithic BRoB like SB.
Posting in thread is how a lot of that happens - story fragments and communiques that built relationships and responses and set attitudes.
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Well, I consider this thread to be canon... (The Fenspace Collective ends up deciding what is and isn't canon. For example, the writer of the "Kemwer" stories considered then canon, but the rest of us didn't, so they aren't.)
As for the ongoing story, a change of leadership and ownership isn't going to get StellviaCorp to back off. Stellvia Takes Care Of Its Own.
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."
- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
I think we should add that most of the members of Fenspace can be reasoned with.
If I do something with Catgirl Industries that the rest of the writing collective finds too off, I hope they will tell me... I might decide to discuss a change of action with the other writers or follow the flow of the new story. Sometimes I even have to scrap an idea because it doesn't fit.
I still think making this canon is a bad idea, but if you're set on it, I'm not going to stop you.
Seriously people, the Black Talon stories are the ones I have in mind that have a plot more in line with Fenspace. You guys make this canon and it's just going to be grimderp.
But in the end it doesn't matter. My thought processes are too dark for Fenspace so I'm just going to jump ship. Do what you want to the GTV, Material Defenders and Triax, but please let the Black Talons have a happy ending.
Don't bother trying to convince me to stay, I know what I like in a story and it won't work for Fenspace. Besides, the ticket's already been submitted.
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What the?
Either way, I've finished this up. I stayed up way to late getting it done.
Quote:Micheal Pinkerton felt like throwing up. He wasn't sure if it was from the concussion throbbing inside his skull, or the horrible feeling that the rest of his life was going to be spent in a jail cell, alongside real criminals.
Most of all, however, he felt utterly drained of energy. He'd sat himself on the bed in his otherwise empty cabin, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and reflect upon how utterly screwed his life was.
The door opened. A flash of anger twisted his face into a snarl as the armoured woman stepped inside. For the first time, she saw her face, blue eyes staring at him. It'd been an act - that much was obvious. Get him off balance. Get him to run. Get him to fall right into their arms without ever firing a shot.
He nearly did throw up.
"Just thought you should know," she said, her voice soft, but hoarse. Her tone was deliberately even and calm. "your friends sent a squadron of Blackjacks to make sure you don't talk to anyone. They'll catch us inside 150 minutes."
He knew exactly what that meant. Death in hours. Or death after decades in prison for doing his job. He struggled to gauge her mood. She didn't seem outright angry. If anything, she looked tired - disappointed even.
"They think you already know too much." he answered, his eyes falling to the floor. "They'll kill you too."
"This ship's well armed. And I can take them on myself if I have to."
She spoke with such calm certainty, he had an inkling that it wasn't an idle boast. He had an inkling of who he was talking too. Nobody human could take on five bombers by themselves, but he doubted the person he was talking to was entirely human.
"We have all the information from your computers, and your network drives," she told him. "But there's always more to it than that." She placed her hands lightly on her hips for a moment, her gaze still fixed solidly on him. "The way I see it, you have two choices. You can keep quiet and hope your friends from Triax blow us out of the stars. Or you can save the Space Patrol and yourself a full interrogation and talk to me and my recorder here in a nice, comfortable cabin."
She paused, giving the implied threat weight. Her eyes stared straight through him, as if he wasn't even sitting there.
"So. What'll it be?"
------
"Fides says they'e dispatched fighter cover. They can intercept us in about 8483 seconds." Anika looked up from her sensor panel, the transponders on the veritech squadron pinging out their location. With a brush from her fingers, she switched the view aftwards "But, the Blackjacks will catch up in 7928 seconds."
That hung in the air for far too long. Everyone in the room was doing the maths in their heads and coming to the same conclusion. There was no way they could last ten minutes in a fight.
"We've got twenty four shells for each cannon." said Ford. "I spec'd the guns to scare pirates, not fight a full-scale war."
Dragon Wagon II was fitted with four forward firing seventy-six millimetre autocannon, with a further two firing aft. For a ship of its size, it was an average armament, enough to swat a pirate ship or two and make an escape. It was no warship.
"That might kill one of the bastards," Daryl added. "That leaves four."
"And Jet," said Kotono, her tone faintly hopeful "How many could she take out?"
Ford glowered darkly at her. "You know she's not invincible."
Kotono's expression remain mild. She sat in the comm's chair with her legs together. "I know if we'd brought our hardsuits, we could easily take them on ourselves."
"One each?" said Daryl, quickly running through the scenario in her mind.
"I think I could do it." The more she thought on it, the more it made perfect sense. "I might even get two. And I'm only human."
Knucklebombers could do a lot of damage, applied correctly. Enough to slow a bomber down, if not knock out the crew. Bomber defences were designed around fighters, not highly maneuverable hardsuits.
"Sis can kick ass!" Mackie declared.
Daryl glared at him."We need other options. One person against five bombers is insane, no matter what they are."
"Can you get us any more speed?" asked Anika.
"I've overridden the auto-scram and bypassed the criticality sensors and thermal trips." Mackie's face was split in half by a grin. "These are new engines so we've got some excess reactivity to burn. I just need to override every safety protocol in the manual."
No big deal, like. Anika looked at him like he'd just taken a stroll over her grave.
"What'll that buy us?" Ford asked.
"Already did it. It bought us ten minutes."
"This is stupid!" Said Daryl, her voice cutting the air. She stared at each one of them in turn."We need something that gives us the initiative."
------
"We've a few hours before I have to go. Lets start with a little thought experiment."
The cyber stood there, gauging Pinkerton's reactions against those expected in the manual. She'd deliberately interposed herself between him sitting on a sparse bed, and the locked hatch behind her.
"A catgirl machine operator senses the end is near. He hears FESWAT barreling through the corridors towards him. He hears the gunfire and he knows what really happens to catgirlers so he sets the auto-sequence on the machine and dives in. But he screwed up and accidentally erased his whole mind in the process, leaving a blank catgirl in the machine wearing his clothes. FESWAT knew the catgirl really had been him, but she had no memory of his life whatsoever." She gave him a moment to have it all sink in. "So, should that catgirl pay the price for the operators crime?"
"Of course not." Pinkerton answered.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because...." Pinkerton stopped, a flash of anger crossing his face. "I see what you're doing."
"You're not stupid." She smiled at him. He didn't seem to be outright rejecting the theme, but he definitely recognised it. "You destroy a person's memory, and they're no longer the same person they were. The question you then have to ask then, is how much of a memory do you have to destroy before the person ceases?" She set her expression just a little bit harder. "There's a reason we call what you did mind rape. It's an attack on the very core definition of a person."
She paused just enough to let it sink in, watching him swallow. He didn't look up at her, keeping his eyes on his shoes. Jet continued, still maintaining her calm, even tone, despite herself. "Now, I want you to think. Your employer can tamper with memories. Your employer can happily make you forget anything that's inconvenient to them. Think about that. You did it to that woman, I know that much. How do you know they haven't done it to you?"
He looked up at her, his eyes widening as the idea bored into his mind.
"Here's the thing. An AI friend of my said it best - the human mind has terrible memory protection, but extreme error tolerance. You could've had a family - a wife and children and you'd never even know about them. The memory is gone from your mind and you'd never know it ever existed. Your mind just plasters over the cracks with extrapolations of known data."
"I'm just a manager. I don't understand how it works. That's someone else's problem."
He glanced to the porthole a moment. She saw the flash of true fear.
"You understood it well enough to order it used." Jet called it, letting the accusation sit, before denying any chance to answer back. "Anyway, how this applies to you. I think your memory may have been tampered with, without you ever realising it. It's terrifying I know - I've experienced it myself, and the sudden realisation that you're not the person you thought you were for the majority of your life is pretty fucking scary."
"I..." he began. Again, he looked away at the porthole, then back at her. His hands were clasped in front of her body. "There'd be evidence. In my apartment, in my personal files."
He spoke quickly.
"And that's how I found out. A thirteen year old girl would never have gotten changed for P.E. class in the boy's changing room. And she definitely wouldn't have been ignored if she did...."
Pinkerton couldn't help but smile momentarily. It was an amusing idea. It built a slight rapport. It helped dispell the monster who'd terrified him out of his apartment. It helped that it was, on the whole, true.
"How this applies to you?" she continued, softening her voice. Now was a time to give him an opening, a hope that he could improve his position. "If I find evidence that your memories have been tampered with by your bosses then that changes everything. It's mitigating. It suggests that you may have been acting under someone's influence, against your will. And that makes a big difference to how the Patrol will see this. So I have to make sure."
She kept her posture relaxed, supporting herself with one hand against the wall, her legs crossed as she stood.
"They might've done it me too?" The turmoil was clear on his face. He didn't know wether to hope for it, or fear it, or both. "Why would they do it to me?"
That was the crack. She'd planted the idea in his mind. All was going according to the manual.
"Why wouldn't they?"
Her tone was still mild. It was the armour-piercer.
His gaze snapped to hers. "Because I ran the project. I knew where everything was. If they erased me like that then they'd lose that information."
Bingo. The hardest thing was not to smile and reveal her hand. Inside, a giddy thrill rolled through her body.
"They might've done it keep you from talking to me, or to cover their own asses." she continued, adjusting the theme. "They had to have known you'd be arrested. You don't piss off Noah Scott and A.C. Peters and get away with it. If they erase all memories of you receiving orders from higher up, or make you think it was all your program." She saw his expression change, the idea taking solid hold. She saw fear, mixed with anger at the thought that he might've been the victim of poetic justice. "Then it all falls on you and they get away with it scot free. You're their patsy. And you don't want that, do you?"
His mouth hung loosely open. He sat upright on the bed, his eyes focused in on the wall behind. He folded his arms across his body, hiding a nervous chill.
To Jet, it had the benefit of being genuinely possible.
"So. I need you to tell me everything. I need you to tell me your side of things. Then, I can cross-check it with the files we have from your computer, and I can tell if you're really just another victim."
Again, his eyes focused in on her. That was the path to freedom, the chance that he might still get away with it. It was his way out.
"But I can't do that unless you talk to me." Jet continued. "And you can talk to me now, or you can talk to a Space Patrol interrogator in a cramped room, in front of a two way mirror. And you will talk to the Patrol. A professional interrogator can make you say anything they want."
She cooled her voice once more, applying a deliberate sinister overtone. Clearly then, better to talk to her now when he was comfortable, and not when he's getting the Third Degree. She smiled at him, allowing the natural earnestness of her face to seal the deal.
"So, let's get started - right to the beginning. How did your career at Triax begin?"
And that was it. Begin with something harmless. Something far removed from the crime. Something to get the ball rolling. Once it was going, it'd be hard for him to stop again. He sat there, taking a deep breath to steady himself and gather things together in his mind.
"I was hired five years ago from Monsanto. Direct to management as a business unit manager...."
He'd begun to clear his throat. Soon he'd start to sing. She closed her eyes, taking a few moments to reflect in on herself. You didn't spend years working as a troubleshooter without learning a thing or two about making people talk.
-----
Pinkerton sat alone in his cabin, with nothing but four walls, a mattress and the stars outside the window for company. The cabin had been stripped bare, and the door locked from the outside. He paced around, disbelieving it all.
Outside, space was still and quiet and eternal. His own reflection looked back at him, eyes tired and draw. He was middle-aged, unshaven and with his grey-streaked hair still messed up from his pillow. They'd caught him in his jeans and a light shirt, not even giving him time to dress properly. At least he'd dried off a little.
Pinkerton swallowed a lump of shame.
Could anyone blame him for that? When they kicked his windows in and told him he was about to die, terrorising him straight into their waiting arms. Manipulative bitch.
All he'd done, was his job.
A dread chill crawled over his skin that maybe he'd done a lot more than that. He rifled through his memories, looking for anything strange. He began to wonder if maybe it'd be as obvious as it had been for the bounty hunter.
He began to fear it wouldn't. How easy would it be to tell, when your own mind was betraying you?
He recalled what she'd said to him about mitigating circumstances, and the catgirl - and perversely found himself hoping it was all true. A frame up.
He thought about her screaming, about how he'd received the instruction to protect the company's intellectual property, and how he'd gone about it in the usual manner without a doubt.
Come to think of it, it did seem a strangely alien. That he could do something so terrible, so casually. It occurred to him that that might've been the sign. There had to be something else in there, something hidden - something that exonerated him of everything.
He paced around the room, rubbing his clammy hands together. Certainly no Good Man in the universe would do the things he'd done.
And he was a Good Man.
He scored exceptionally well in High School, earning a place on the Talented Youth program in the process. He excelled in college graduating with an honours degree in International Business. As art of Monsanto's patent enforcement department, he'd directed his team to consistantly achieve the highest performance benchmarks.
He was a good worker, a Good Man in all their eyes. He made sure those who stole Monsanto technology without paying for it, paid through the courts.
And now, at Triax as a business unit manager, he still hit his markers. He exceeded his benchmarks. He earned glowing performance review after glowing review, even as the project shifted objective. A project that had begun as a treatment for PTSD found new uses that benefitted the bottom line far more than a few old soldiers unable to pay for medication.
And now, he began to wonder how it was possible that such a Good Man, who'd never harmed a soul in his life, could ever have done something as vile as what he was accused of doing.
She'd made sure he understood exactly what's happened to Sarah Trackman, and anyone else who'd been subjected to the drugs. And he couldn't understand how anybody in their right mind would ever do such a thing
So he told her everything he knew. She thanked him and left him alone with his thoughts for the rest of the trip.
Since clearly he had given the orders the only conclusion he could somehow come to was that somehow, he hadn't been in his right mind.
-----
The thick aroma of well roasted coffee filled the galley of the cruiser. It drifted down the passageway between cabins, tickling at Jet Jaguar's nostils, tempting her away from Pinkerton's door.
She stood there, quietly allowing all her pent up anger and hatred to drain from her body
At the heart of the Kunst was self control. And the key to self control was self awareness - being aware that her actions didn't always match up with her idealised self image. She took a deep breath, cleansing herself before following her nose to the galley.
Ford was there, leaning against the countertop, a steaming cup of black coffee in her hands.
"How'd it go?" she asked, the edge of her lips curling up.
"It's him." said Jet, wearing a satisfied smile as she crossed the galley floor towards the kettle. Her eyes betrayed the tiredness of her mind. "He pretty much admitted to everything, while trying to blame his boss.It seems to match his email archives. Fairbanks asked him if he had a solution, and he obliged. "
"A hundred grand," said Ford, exhaling a long breath as she gently swirled the liquid in the cup."If we can get him to civilisation."
"I'll deal with the bombers when I've had a cup of tea," Jet said, checking the weight in the kettle before feigning a yawn.
Ford rewarded her with an amused smile as she began to fill a reinforced mug with steam liquid.
"Daryl wants to try a Crazy Ivan."
"Crazy Ivan?"
She recognised the term, if not how it applied to a high speed stern-chase.
"Do a hard-stop one-eighty and charge right at them at full throttle. If we time it right, we'll be accelerating back past them with the advantage in momentum. They either have to stop, flip and accelerate, or take a long wide turn to keep their speed." She paused to take a long gulp from her mug. "Then we can either turn into them to try and fight, or change our course to one that puts us closer to Fides."
"And if I'm busy pissing them off, they might not notice until you scream straight past."
A grin spread across Ford's face. "Exactly."
Jet began to stir the brewing tea in her cup with her finger, ceramic scratching against ceramics, before finally mixing in her daily dose of handwavium.
"Taking on five fully loaded bombers single-handed." She stared into her reflection on the tea surface.
"I know..." Ford said softly
"....I left my Go Pro on Frigga." Jet grinned at her, before downing a mouthful of black tea. "They're rigged to attack ships, and maybe defend themselves against fighters. Not handle something small and fast like me."
Ford finished the last of her coffee before offering a deep chuckle.
"Anika calculated the best time to do it is ten minutes from now."
Jet took a moment to do the sums. "I can get back to them in less than three minutes."
"Better drink up then," said Ford, placing her empty mug in the sink. It'd get washed when there was time.
The cyber finished the last of her tea, obviously not bothered by the heat. The gears in her mind were turning as her attention left the room. "We still have those grenades and stuff aboard from the Stellvia pitch?"
"Probably....." said Ford. She was about to ask why, when it hit her hard.
The pair shared a long, loving smile, morphing into a sinister grin.
"I love you," they said, simultaneously
-------
Jet felt their sensors lock on to her immediately. It was almost a ticklish sensation that traced up her anntenna vanes and buzzed inside her brain. Far away, computers were analysing and classifying her, trying to determine her threat level.
She reached out with her mind through her own sensors, touching each one of the five bombers, marking it and its course in her navigation software. Software plotted optimal intercept trajectories to the one furthest away from the others, on the edge of the formation. It gave her a route that brought her beneath the formation to swing up and around fro behind.
They were watching and tracking, radar reaching out to determine if she was missile or not.
She traced an arc through open space that no mindless missile would ever follow, coming up behind the lumbering bomber. Capable of going half as fast again as the lumbering birds ahead, she raced up to meet them, locking her helmet visor down in place.
On her elbows, her shining blades gleamed in the flare-like sun. Strapped to her hips, a pair of fragmentation grenades. She was operating free of all restraint, her mind and body free of the mental shackles that kept her safe and in control around normal people.
It was liberation. It was freedom. It was a high cold scream of joy that rose up out of her throat.
"Run, live to fly, fly to live, Do or Die,"
Another radar reached out to grab her, spackles of light flickering from the tail of her target. Hot green tracers arced through the sky, giving her pause for thought as she began to wonder how solid-slug bullets were tracking her flight. It didn't matter.
They couldn't turn near fast enough to catch her as she danced through space.
"Run, live to fly, fly to live, Aces High,"
The other bombers in the distance added their fire, cordinated streams of armour piercing shot trying to pin her down - without accidentally shooting the other Blackjack down.
She swooped in towards the tail of the White Swan bomber. She felt herself pass through the drive field of the craft, shifting patterns of energy threatening to send her spinning out of control. Instinct controlled her body as she allowed herself to slow.
The bomber's pilot began a desperate evasive corkscrew, pushing the nose down and to the right, rolling it over onto its back. It slowed him up. It pushed him out of the formation. He'd figured it was better than taking a smart missile up the arse.
Jet was no smart missile.
She slammed feet first into the top of the fuselage, punching a pair of holes in the outer skin. The pilot reversed his turn, trying to shake her loose. She could feel the other bombers tracking her, a burst of encrypted radio chatter being exchanged between the formation already accelerating as panic took hold.
She clambered forwards, using the sharks-fin antennae to steady herself. Without the benefit of atmosphere, and with inertial dampeners having some effect even outside the hull, nothing the pilot could do would shake her off. She made it to the cockpit, peering in through the overhead glass at two humans in pressure suits, staring wide eyed back at her.
A driving punch shattered the glass. The atmosphere inside burst out in a puff of white snow, showing her in bits of paper. The crew were wearing pressure suits - a depressurisation wouldn't do much more than annoy them. She could see one of them reaching for his sidearm, straining to aim it back at her.
She dropped the first of her grenades down through the broken window, letting it land somewhere in the cockpit. She didn't need to be able to decrypt their comm link to recognise the panic that broke out inside. Jet dived off the fuselage, passing over the tail once more, watching the Blackjack recede away from her, timing the fuse in her mind. Every window on the cockpit blew out at once, shattered glass chased by grey smoke and the unidentifiable remnants of the contents inside. The bomber accelerated on out of control, turning itself into a slow spiral, whisps of smoke still trailing from the nose.
"Got one!" she broadcast. "The others left it behind."
It carried on out of control, computer auto-systems finally steadying its course before it could tear itself apart.
One more grenade on her hip meant one more dead bomber. It really wasn't an attack vector they were designed to handle. This would've been so much easier with the Knight Sabers and their built-in weapons.
That didn't mean it wasn't fun.
They chose to put themselves in harms way the moment they decided to give chase in a heavily armed attack bomber. They just didn't know what harm they put themselves in the way of.
-------
"Got one! The others left it behind."
Synthetic vox couldn't hide the energy in her voice. Anika giggled to herself, double checking with her sensors.
"One of the bombers is veering out of formation."
Daryl took firm hold of the controls. "Right, lets do this thing.."
Mackie grinned, getting ready with the engine systems in case something went wrong. Kotono strapped herself down as tightly as she dared, worried that she might accidentally cut off the blood flow to her legs with the lower straps. Ford was aft, making sure Pinkerton was properly strapped in and not going to cause a problem.
"Ten seconds, "said Anika.
Nobody said a word. Four people in the cockpit all held their breaths, each counting it out inisde their own minds.
"Now!"
"Shutdown!" Daryl yelled.
Mackie decoupled reactor outputs from the main engines. Instantly, the drive field collapsed, sending the Dragon Wagon crashing back into normal space. Inertial dampers struggled to compensate. Something smashed in the cargo bay, sending a hard shudder through the frame of the cruiser.
Daryl fired forward and aft thrusters, pitching the ship nose down.
Alarms blared, red indicators popping up all across the bridge as systems overheat. Warnings surrounded the main reactor cores as the continued to produce energy with nowhere for it to go except back into themselves. Fuel temperatures spiked dangerously. The auto-scram function had been disabled.
Along with every other safety feature designed to prevent a careless pilot from doing what they were trying to do. It would take seconds only for the underloaded cores to start to melt. Or worse. The cores could go critical and blow themselves apart - irradiating the entire ship.
Another cannonfire blast from the main thrusters locked the Wagon on a new heading.
"Power!" Daryl barked. "Now!"
Mackie reclosed all four connections. The main engines exploded to life, blowing streaks of hot red exhaust out the back for a few moments before finally burning clean and blue. The drive field came back with a bang, inertial controls going through a loop.
They were thrown backwards into their chairs as the whole ship lurched forwards, the frame shuddering once more as the contents of the cargo bay crashed around. The master alarm still sounded on the pilot's panel, but Daryl ignored it as she rapidly adjusted their heading, aiming dead on for the centre off the bomber formation.
It'sdtake less than a minute for them to cross at a relative speed exceeding .2C.
Anika's sensors started to warm of a conflict alert. Further warnings broke out as ranging radars began to track the ship.
"They're tracking us!" she announced.
"Countermeasures," ordered Daryl. Truthfully, they were in the best possible position to avoid a missile attack. Their pursuer had only moments to plot, lock and shoot before it would be too late to hit.
And avoiding a missile coming head on was almost as easy as it came. They just couldn't turn that fast.
"I'm trying to jam." She was panting, struggling to keep herself cool as her mind accelerated into overdrive to keep up.
Kotono kept quiet, calmly watching her own instruments - in case whoever it was decided to surrender. It was unlikely. All she had to do was trust that the others would see her through it. And next time, ask to bring her hardsuit. Mackie's hands raced across his controls, struggling against safety limiters and emergency cuttouts to keep all four main engines burning at full power. He was doing things that'd horrify the operators at Chernobyl. But the engines kept burning. This was Fun.
"Target lock!"
Everyone turned to face Anika.
------
Jet swung herself between spitting tracers, zeroing in on the one Blackjack that seemed determined to hold its course. The other three had begun to break off, turning away from the charging Dragon Wagon to loop around. She glanced to her left, spotting its transponder rapidly accelerating towards her.
Ten to twenty seconds, maybe.
She saw its bomb-bay doors drop open, revealing the missiles inside. Jet knew what was about to happen. Heart in her mouth, she raced toward it. A single shell clipped her leg, warning her against being so hasty. She knew she wouldn't be able to repeat her cockpit stunt a second time. Positioning herself alongside the fuselage, jet tossed her remaining grenade towards the intake of its left engine.
It bounced off the lip of the intake, hanging in space for one terrible moment before falling right own the throat of the engine, disappearing into the dark.
One missile streaked away, followed by a second, then a third.
Then the grenade detonated. Burning shrapnel punched through the top of the fuselage, rupturing the fuel tanks in the wing. A belch of hot gas burped engine parts out through the intake. It began to turn towards the damaged engine, drive field warping and crackling as the pilot tried to regain control. Chunks of fuselage spun off, propelled by venting fuel gas and the hot burning plasma still being exhausted from the remains of the engine's fusion core.
The damaged wing tore itself off, shedding more metal as the bomber began to spin out of control, still trailing white clouds of gas and hot red embers. The tail tore itself off, followed by the remaining wing as the roll rate accelerated.
Two ejection seats fired, plumes of smoke pushing the pilots free of the dying bomber. The remains finally broke apart, disintegrating into dozens of spinning chunks of metal propelled by a rapidly expanding cloud of gas.
-----
"Five missiles!"
Daryl didn't wait. She pushed the nose straight down, aiming straight out of the ecliptic.
"Countermeasures!" she demanded.
Kotono triggered them. Panels blasted off all four nacelle supports, launches inside ejecting a two-dozen blazing white fusion canisters. They flared bright and hot in the void of space, each one a miniature sun spinning away on its own. Clouds of tinfoil sprayed fro their surface, propelled by venting gas jets that sent them whizzing chaotically through space, smearing the thermal signature of the ship that'd ejected them.
The intent was to blind infrared and radar sensors just long enough to break the missile lock.
One missile diverted, followed by the second.
Mackie swore he saw the Third scream right past the porthole beside him. He waited for what felt like an eternity for a detonation that never came, bracing himself in his seatbelt.
"All clear," Anika reported, exhaling a long hot breath before slumping back in her seat. "The others..." she gasped for air. "...air turning away."
Kotono'd already unbuckled her seatbelt, making her way back to Anika. t was well know what happened to her when she overexerted her mind.
Daryl could see the three remaining bombers turning away. They were turning to match her course, still holding speed. She turned the speeding cruiser around to follow them, to chase.
"I'm going to chase," she said, feeling a thrill rise through her body. "They'll just turn on us otherwise."
She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she really wanted to shoot one of those beasts down. After hours of running, it felt good to be in control.
------
"We're alright Jet," said Anika. Jet could hear her breathing deeply. "We're going to chase after the last three."
"Not turning to Fides?"
"Daryl thinks they'll catch us."
"Right, right." It was a case of damned if you do, damned if you don't, really. "If one breaks off, I'll take him. I'll keep him from flanking."
Privately, she wondered how she'd do that without any more grenades, before deciding to worry about crossing that bridge when she came to it. She'd figure something out. She always did.
------
Daryl stared at the three contacts, slowly accelerating away from her. Both the Wagon, and the Blackjacks were closely matched for top speed, with a slight advantage going to the bomber. When they had enough distance, they'd be able to turn back around to attack at leisure.
Her only option was then to run right at them once more.
With no missile countermeasures left.
Her leotard was soaked with sweat, her hair stuck to her forehead. The alcantra trim on the control yoke kept her hands from slipping.
She could see how it was going to play out. With nothing and nowhere to hide in open space, it was only a matter of time before they wore her down. Outnumbered and outgunned - with their trump-card now out of grenades - Daryl was forced to revise her earlier estimate.
They'd be lucky if they got one.
It didn't matter. It wouldn't stop her from trying - from trying to buy minutes that might make the difference. Kotono had gone back to fetch water to cool Anika down. Mackie was buried in his controls. Ford was still busy making sure the prisoner didn't take the chance to try escape.
She watched the three contacts accelerate away. They'd go far enough out that they could loop back around into a safe attack position. She'd turn to face - maybe take a few potshots - maybe take a few hits in return.
Once the ship was hit and damaged. Once they lost their speed, it was over. She tracked Jet, following along at an easy cruise a thousand kilometres away. Daryl took a few moments to adjust trim to account for some lost heatshielding, and a change in centre of gravity caused by the contents of the cargo bay shifting.
If forced, they could even get in and fight close with the grappler arms. The Outlaws were supposed to be tough. It might even work.
She exhaled a deep breath, relaxing back into the pilot's seat - trying to find herself a comfortable place.
The comm speaker hissed to live once more. All three still in the cockpit stared up at it.
"Dragon Wagon, Dragon Wagon. This is Brown Leader coming up fast on your six!"
The Welsh accent practically confirmed it.
"Cavalry's here!" Anika cheered, jumping clear out of her seat,.
Daryl pounced onto her scope, scanning. One... two...three... four.... Ten separate signatures. Approaching from behind at near .15C.
They streaked overhead, lost somewhere in the darkness of space, screaming in to engage the three remaining bombers.
For two full squadrons of Valkyries, three solitary bombers equipped with anti-shipping missiles were nothing more than a formality. Daryl watched it via Radar.
It took less than thirty seconds.
--------
It took nearly 12 hours to turn around to Kandor city. The unpiloted bomber was left to the faster ships of the Roughriders to catch before it went too far out of the system, with the surviving crew from the others returned to Atalante for medical treatment. It was, all things considered, an uneventful trip. Having a squadron of Veritechs escort you most of the distance helped. Even if it cost money.
Figuring it in her head, Ford still thought she'd make it out on top.
Barely.
There'd be enough to pay the new Wagon off. Then repair the damage. Then the damage her truck had caused going ping-pong in the cargo bay. Then landing fees at Kandor....
Maybe they'd get a nice meal at a good restaurant with the remains.
"This sucks," she said to herself.
The battered Dragon Wagon I wore the scars of its rough treatment as she drove it through Kandor city. The wrecked tailgate hung open, clattering against the tow bar over every single bump. Still, it could be worse, she told herself. She could've been sitting in the passenger seat. Micheal Pinkerton sat silently beside her, head bowed. His hands were cuffed to the armrest to keep him from fighting with the controls.
She had to do this alone. Only she had the license. The others had just assisted her. The last mile was hers alone to savour. And hope she didn't have an accident that blew it at the last minute. She didn't listen to the radio, preferring instead to let some soft jazz froma genuine Compact Disc keep everyone calm as she cruised through the city. She found herself wishing she'd made enough money out of this to buy a replacement on top of the new Outlaw Class... just a city runaround that could be parked in the cargo bay. But it wasn't to be.
She turned down Atlas Park Drive, feeling a pang of hunger bite deep inside her stomach as the smell of hot food drifted in through an open window. But she couldn't stop.
Pinkerton didn't say a word as she turned into the local Space Patrol office, trundling around for a moment before finding an empty parking spot. The truck shuddered as she shut it down.
"Time to go," she said, in a cheery tone.
It was hard not to be. One of the biggest bounties of all time wasn't even bothering to look at her as she led him out the passenger door, then up the steps to the front door of the station. It was an imposing building, designed in the traditional style and build from blocks of cut lunar stone.
It looked like an old fortress. Inside, it smelled of strong disinfectant and old paper - like all police stations.
She checked her handgun with the guard at the door, giving her name and Pinkerton's, before being directed to custody sergeant to handle proceedings. The bureaucracy of it all was familiar to her. Sit and wait for her number to be called, then lead the bounty to the desk.
The room was empty, with the pair of them taking a bench to themselves. Two of the big fish had been caught already, not including Pinkerton. It was reported on the noticeboard. She could tell herself how excited she was - to bring in a number far bigger than anything she'd ever done before. 100 G was a big damn fish in anyone's book - one worthy of renown among certain circles. And it made Noah Scott just a little poorer....
That brought a big smile to her face.
She decided she didn't want to think about the dozen or more ways it could still go wrong. There were still ways she could walk out of that room with nothing. She checked her license - Marsbase Sara, but valid anywhere. She checked the paperwork and her printout of the actual bounty. She checked the drives she'd brought with her, including a dump of his computer, and his 'conversation' with Jet where he basically admitted to doing the whole thing while trying to prove he didn't do the whole thing.
The police loved crap like that. It wasn't even illegal. It was two private individuals having a conversation.
All seemed in order. But that'd happened before.
"Three... Number three."
Her heart skipped a beat as her number came up.
"C'mon," she whispered to Pinkerton, tugging at the chain of his handcuffs.
His legs seemed to have turned to jelly as he struggled to follow her the short distance across the waiting room to the desk. In fairness to him, he didn't break down crying like she'd seen some do. It always seemed to be the hard men who did that.
Pinkerton's eyes were filled with the defiance of an innocent man going to the gallows.
They both stepped up to the desk. The sergeant peered over the top of his computer terminal "Yes?"
Ford lent foward onto the desk, propping herself up on her elbows. The custody Sergeant seemed to be twice her age, and had probably spent the majority of his career behind that desk, judging by the looks of him. He'd grown large enough in his uniform to make the chair creak as he moved.
"Ford Sierra. Registered at Marsbase Sara. MB-272A. " She placed her License on the veneer desk, along with the bounty details and disk drives. "I'm here to claim the bounty on Micheal Pinkerton. The number's on the sheet."
"Very well," answered the Sergeant. He took a few moments to check a few things on his computer. A momentary surprise passed across his face, before he contuined. "Good, good. " He eyed the suspect. "A bit bruised but everything looks in order. Mister Pinkerton, if you'll accompany officer O'Hara, he'll show you to your suite."
He saw the officer come through the door, wearing full stab-vest with cell-door keys jangling on a ring hung from his trouser belt. His eyes went wide.
"I've been set up," Pinkerton blurted out.
"Keep it for the interview," answered the sergeant, unconcerned. He'd heard it a thousand times before.
That was when it hit Pinkerton. That was when it became real. The defiance in his eyes drained away, replaced by the horrible realisation that he was now beginning the rest of his life. And oh how long it would be.
Pinkerton made the long walk to his cell in silence
"I've forwarded the details on. You'll receive your payment once I've cleared it with the original posters. It should take a few minutes for the first part - you can wait here. The second will depend on an analysis of the drives, and the suspects interview with us, so might take a few days."
He actually offered her the smallest of smalls for a moment.
"Thanks," she said, finding it hard to hide the excitement in her voice.
Now for the truly nerve wracking part. She couldn't help herself but pace around the room, checking the postings on the wall, before reading a six month old copy of a magazine she'd always hated.
The waiting. The waiting was always the worst part.
Would they actually pay up?
-------
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Ah, I see Pinkerton's never heard of the Banality of Evil...
And just to put a bow on this:
Quote:"Ms. Sierra?" A woman Ford hadn't met before was standing near her - close enough to speak quietly, but not close enough to touch her. An attractive Asian, not quite as tall as Ford, dressed conservatively, with an empty holster at her side ... and a StellviaCorp logo barely visible on her lapel. "My name is Mishima. Would you care to accompany me to the disbursement office?"
Ford nodded and stood up. "I think I can find the time for that."
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."
- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
Gideon020 Wrote:But in the end it doesn't matter. My thought processes are too dark for Fenspace so I'm just going to jump ship. Do what you want to the GTV, Material Defenders and Triax,
Hmm... ok. You already sparked some small additional story, we will find a way to keep going.
Quote:but please let the Black Talons have a happy ending.
It would help if you tell us a bit more what you had in mind for them... we don't know much about them.
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i'll talk to Gideon elsewhere and get the lowdown on the Talons from him, hopefully get him to email me his notes on them. Though honestly with what he has in the "Storming Georgia" storyline, a happy ending doesn't appear to be in the cards, i'll try though
Rajvik Wrote:i'll talk to Gideon elsewhere and get the lowdown on the Talons from him, hopefully get him to email me his notes on them. Though honestly with what he has in the "Storming Georgia" storyline, a happy ending doesn't appear to be in the cards, i'll try though Lets see whats in the cards before we decide...
Maybe the scale of his ideas were just a bit too large.
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robkelk Wrote:Ah, I see Pinkerton's never heard of the Banality of Evil...
I came this close to going all David Webber on the concept. 99.5% of Triax employees are probably just ordinary innocuous people going to work every day and doing their jobs - and isn't that a far more terrifying thought than a screaming lunatic so obviously broken compared to us normals?
Quote:Lets see whats in the cards before we decide...
Maybe the scale of his ideas were just a bit too large.
He led a few of those BRoB threads on Fenspace. I suppose the expectation was that Fenspace was the same - or that it was a static universe when it really isn't. Part of the fun of Fenspace is that you can throw things at it, and it can respond in ways you didn't expect. I mean, I never expected the response I got to the Shinji Ikari project - and it made the story so much better because of it.
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