(Di[NQ]D) [TC] "Changing Times," The tale of Lh'ren Daves

[Jaycen_Aelis]

All right, so here's my second try at writing a story through--my first one got bolloxed when my game screwed up--but we'll try again and see what happens. Bear with me as I'm still very new to this, and only write for fun, so don't expect any magnum opuses out of me That being said, I appreciate any critique anyone has to offer, and am always looking for comments. After all, I just write. You're the ones that have to read this!

Okay, now on to the details:
Rules: Argon Patriot Start

Due to this, I don't like the Paranid, but may be "convinced" to change my mind if they treat me right (read--give me well-paid missions). Also, I'm neutral to the Split, but if they don't treat me right (read--shaft me with poor missions or attack Boron ships where I can see it) that could change.

Also, being some time in "The Future" (tm) I am of the belief that Lh'ren at least has a basic universe map--even if it is a simple thing on a datapad. He may not know what's -in- all the sectors, but he at least knows where they all are.

S&M List:
Bounce
RRF
EJ's Trading Plugin
Marine Repairs
Mobile Ship Repairs
NPC Bailing Addon
NPC Salvagers
PSCO1's Cockpits mod
Engine Effects 1.7a

Onto the story!
_____________________________________________________________
Current Property: 1834Cr
1xElite (to be named "Bladesong")

"Pilot's Log: First Entry: This log is the property of Petty Officer Lh'ren Daves, pilot in the--"

"Yo, Daves!"

"Lieutenant Jaygen, ma'am!"

"Ease up, Daves. We're mercs now. Yeah, we're with Argon, but you can forget about protocols and formality. We're not going to be reporting to a CO anymore, or have any oversight. What we do is up to us, now."
I had to think about that--up to me? I had always been used to the rigid formality of the military--but after I had taken this position as a pilot in a new special forces division, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. My CO at the time said it was something like a "merc pilot, only with better pay". So far I hadn't noticed--

"Wait a minute, is that an Elite? They're giving us Elites?"

I saw Lt. Jay--well, Solano, if we were ditching formality--I saw her ducking under her Elite and whistling softly. "They're tricked out, too. Check it--full SETA, 4 PAC's, and Duplex Scanners right off the bat. Plus a full HUD-suite--you can control everything just by tapping your fingertips."

I chuckled softly as I watched her--her eyes honestly were as round as dinnerplates as she looked over her fighter. "You've not been in a ship much, have you? Once you got your bar they made you fly a desk."
Solano put her hands on her hips as she popped out from under the Elite and made a face at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I held my hands up defensively, laughing at her miffed expression. "Nothing, nothing! I'm just saying that as shiny as these Elites are--they are cool--I would have preferred somebody line up these engines a little better, get a bit more speed out of them...and as long as I'm wishing, PRG's would have been nice...get a little more kick out of 'em."

Solano tilted her head and fixed me with a quizzical expression. "PRG's? What are you talking about? Those are capship-only guns."

"No, you're thinking PBGs, Solano--those are the "fighter cookers". PRG's are Phased Repeater Guns--triplet cannons."

Solano nodded, the light bulb going off in her head. "Oh, okay, yeah--those would be nice. But if we're essentially mercs now, we won't have to go through a whole tome of paperwork just to give these things a shine--we can buy our own stuff now, right?"

After some thought, I realized she was right--not only did I have more--ahem, "creative freedom" in how to deal with any targets I was presented, but I had that same freedom in dealing with my fighter itself. Speaking of which-- "So what are you going to name your ship?" I asked.

Now Solano was on the far side of her Elite. She climbed up onto the wing, peering at a section of paneling on the tail section. "Ya know, I never did understand why we even put tails on our fighters," she mused, crouching next to the tailpiece. "There's no atmosphere--all this stuff is just for looks..." she gestured to the wings, the tail, and the distinctly aerodynamic design of the fuselage itself.

I walked over to where she was, standing in front of the wing. I shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know," I replied. "The only thing I can think of is that the Argon Extraplanetary Fleet originally was an extention of the Air Forces--which, let me see, if I remember my history right, was an offshoot of Old Earth's NASA, which designed space ships for both atmospheric and space flight."

Solano came down to sit on the edge of the wing, her legs dangling off of the end. "Wow, you really know your history."

I chuckled, leaning my elbows on the wing. "I'm a geek, what can I say? Especially about Old Earth--I've always thought it would be pretty cool to visit the planet we originally came from..."

"Attention pilots--The Terran diplomat Erin Iovis will be departing for her ship in 20 mizuras. There are still open slots on this escort mission, and qualified pilots are requested to report to Darrell Ohneam for inclusion into the mission."

Solano and I both looked up as the GA came over the comms. That was crazy timing, I thought. Escorting a diplomat back to the Sol system? Would be the chance of a lifetime. Apparently Solano thought much the same. "Hey, Daves, looks like there's your chance to see Earth--take this diplomat back to her home system."

I looked up at her. "Sounds like--you wanna come too?"
Solano laughed and shook her head. "No way. Honestly, I didn't want to say this, you being such an Earth buff and all--but since they've found us again, I've heard some--interesting things about the Terrans...and not all of them are good."

I frowned slightly. "Oh? Well then I suppose I'll just keep my eyes open then. So what are you gonna do if you're not gonna go on this escort mission?"

Walking across the wing, Solano punched open her cockpit. "Oh, I dunno--at first I thought I really wanted to be an officer. That bar on my uniform was all I could think about. But now that I am one, I realize that I really want to get out and explore. You were right, being a desk jockey never was my calling."

I backed off from her fighter as she powered it up and it hummed smoothly to life. "So you're just gonna see what's out there, huh? Well, keep in touch at least," I said, raising a hand to wave at her.
"Hey, space is a big place..." she began, "...But I'll do my best, Lh'ren," she added, her expression softening slightly as the plasglas cockpit whirred closed and the seals pressurized. I watched as she backed slowly out of the open bay, then whirled around and powered up her main engines, soaring away into the green nebula that surrounded Omicron Lyrae.

Suddenly I gasped, cursing under my breath. "She never did tell me what she was gonna name her ship," I realized. I shrugged. Nothing I could do about it now...now all I could do was head down and talk to Darrell Ohneam, the CO for this escort mission--hopefully there was still a slot open.
_____________________________________________________________

One caveat: Because my previous game was bolloxed--I went about playing through this one without recording screenshots in the first hour or so, fearful I would lose my progress again. I'll work this lack of visual imagery into the story, and will continue recording from where I'm at...

[Jonzac]

Sounds good. Can't wait to see what happens.

[Triaxx2]

Looks interesting, can't wait for more. Also, Added to the DiD list.

[Jaycen_Aelis]

Chapter 2: Getting one's Feet Wet

So, as it turned out, there was still a spot in the mission, and I was flying wing for a Terran Scabbard, a TP-class ship. "Looks nice," I murmured to myself as I looked at the holo-vid. Ohneam, for all that he was the CO of the mission, didn't give us much of a briefing, only saying that "This would look good on our record." He said that the actual flight and briefing would be handled by our wingleader. I never did quite catch his name, though. Oh well. Neither here nor there, I suppose. I walked back down the corridors and climbed into my Elite. Quickly breezing through the preflight checks, I powered up the engines, and the craft hummed to life. As I began easing the fighter out of the hangar, my mind wandered back to the coversation Solano and I had had earlier. 'I wonder what I should name my fighter?' I thought. Suddenly I was startled from my thoughts by a faint beep coming from one of my pockets. Reaching down, I realized that I had left my datapad recording this whole time--I forgot to turn it off after the aborted first log entry. "Well, that should be interesting to listen to," I remarked drily, turning it off. Then, I hooked the 'pad into the MFD bar of my Elite, where it would serve as a heads-down display, visual comms, and a second monitor for tracking and info, and after it had interfaced with the ship's computer, I would be able to access, and control, all its functions and information from the 'pad itself, no matter where I was or the ship was.

"Hurry up boy, don't be slack!" barked a stentorian voice as soon as I had connected the 'pad. I didn't really take offense to his tone--I couldn't, noting that the voice was marked by years of experience, and he was probably dealing with me the same way he would deal with any other green recruit. Which, I suppose, he thought I was, given that my ranks essentially "reset" when I joined the task force. "This is our chance to impress the Terrans--Scabbard approaching to starboard," my wingleader continued. "Stay sharp today--the Xenon may try and crash the party."

"This is Erin Iovis, awaiting escort to Heretic's End," came a comm from an unfamiliar voice--one I could only assume was Terran. I frowned as I realized that we wouldn't be escorting the Terrans clear back to Earth, and I wouldn't get a chance to see it up close. But then, I realized, after I got done with the escort mission, what was to stop me from simply flying to Earth and seeing it for myself? We were allies with the Terrans, and so maybe I could offer my services, if needed, in helping with curbing the Xenon incursions--like our wingleader had said, Xenon activity had been on the rise lately. "I hope you boys are better than our last escort--I was under the impression that the Argon Military fielded good pilots."

"Arrogant little..." was all I heard my wingleader mutter, hopefully on a private comm channel. "All right, wing, form up around the Scabbard!"

'Well, that was interesting,' I thought. Punching a few commands in on my 'pad, I let the autopilot slide me into the wing and network with the rest of the ships. No need for me to lock up my elbows on the stick flying in a straight line through three gates. In the meantime, though...

"Pilot's Log: First Entry: Date: 768-05-01." That sounded so official, I thought. Solano was right, I needed to relax. "After getting a short mix-up with a flight-school instructor sorted out--he thought I was part of a batch of new recruits--I'm flying with Erin Iovis to Heretic's End. A little frustrating that we're not going all the way into the Sol system, but I suppose the gate that links there is open--at least that's what I assume. Anyway, a bit of oddity about this mission--no, scratch that," I said, and the log dutifully excised that last sentence. I continued. "Tensions seem to be running high--our diplomat and the wingleader already are nipping at each other, and we're not even to Circle of Labor, yet. Could just be that the Xenon attacks are on the rise--Terrans call them AGI--but Solano had said something earlier about her 'hearing things' about the Terrans. I told her I'd keep my guard up--and it looks like I might have to." Shrugging, I completed the log entry. Wasn't the most graceful or fluent--but I suppose all it was really for was to keep my thoughts organized. I had no more time to reflect, however, for we were coming up to the gate into Circle of Labor. I closed my eyes and exhaled. I didn't mind jumping, per se, but it's one thing that most people...conveniently neglect to tell you about space flight. Oh the feeling isn't particularly painful--but jumping through an artificial wormhole isn't the most comfortable sensation. It's a bit like every part of you is 'falling asleep' all at once--tinglies all over. Here we go...

...Okay, that could have been worse. I could see the Trading Station off in the distance, with its cadre of fighters and freighters zipping around Well, the fighters were zipping, anyway. I had a thought, and one I wanted to record. "Pilot's Log: Note: Look into where to find odd-jobs," I said to the log. "Credits make the wheels turn, even out here, and I need some..." I had about 2,000C in my account--but that wouldn't be enough to even patch up my hull if I got into a scuff--and given everybody saying that Xenon were on the prowl--

"Scanners not picking up any Xenon activity," said my wingleader. Well that was good.

"No AGI detected," echoed Erin Iovis, almost in the same moment. For some reason, that irked me. What was she trying to do, show us up? Apparently my wingleader felt much the same.

"With due respect, ma'am, your scanners have a longer range, while ours offer clearer information. If a Xenon wing does jump in, you won't be able to tell if it's a ship or a rock, any faster than we can." No reply from Iovis on that note. For several moments the flight proceeded in silence. Then--

"Look alive, wing! We've got incoming--fighters!"

The wing pilots, who had previously been silent until now, responded with crisp "Aye-ayes" and "Yes Sir's", smoothly pinwheeling away from the transport to engage the enemies. Now I understood their stony silence--they were all military--except me. Was I the only merc on this mission? That was odd. "Focus, Lh'ren!" I chastised myself, shoving my throttle forward and powering after a fighter. It was a pirate raiding group--about a half-dozen fighters, but they were all light M5s, Harriers and Discoverers. Lining one up in my sights, I offered him the chance to surrender. The Teladi came back on the comm: "I have not even begun to fight!" he retorted, with the Teladi's ubiquitous sibilance. I shrugged. All right then... Pulling the trigger, my PACs pulsed to life, and shortly the Discoverer was reduced to its component molecules.

Just as quickly, however, another pirate was trying to do the same to me, as I heard the rapid-fire pattering sound of IREs impacting my shield. "Damn them not arming the turret," I muttered. The one thing they had bothered to upgrade in this fighter though were the puffjets. Cutting my engine, I whirled around and fired a volley right into the Harrier's cockpit.

"All right--here is my ship, just--please don't kill me!" was quickly offered over the comm. The pilot was surrendering? I was bemused. I thought Pirates always fought to the death. But--I wasn't going to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth. I thought about simply leaving the ship and coming back for it later--but as of late other traders had begun to make a living by salvaging the unclaimed ships floating around the universe--so, I thought, if I was to get it, it was best to do it now. As I cruised closer to it--I realized I may have gotten more than I bargained for--the shields were clearly fried, and there were scorch marks all along the hull. Either I had done more damage to this thing than I thought--or it was already a rust-bucket before I found it. At least the paint job was cool. But, at the very least, I thought, I could sell it for a few extra credits. Unfortunately, there was only one way to make her mine in the first place. Oh, yeah, I'd heard about System Override Software, but until they make a legal version, I'm not going to risk pissing off sector security at every gate I pass through. The tradeoff being I have to risk my ass, personally, in nothing thicker than an EVA suit to hop into the Harrier's cockpit and reconfigure the computer to accept my commands. The prices one pays...

"Ship Computer Control Transferred," intoned my EVA in its feminine computerized voice. Never understood why all ship computers were "female". I suppose it was for a similar reason as to why all ships were "her". After I dropped back into my Elite, I closed the lid and repressurized the cockpit. Keying a few commands in on my 'pad, I sent my new prize back to Omicron Lyrae to dock at the shipyard, loudly blaring my ID so it didn't get shot on sight. I couldn't sell it while I was still floating out here, but at least I knew it wouldn't get blown up under that station's massive shielding. Then I remembered. The mission. I was still expected to escort that diplomat--as grating as she was getting to be... Shoving the throttle all the way open, I soared after Iovis--at 121. "Log: Note: Get engine upgrades for this thing as soon as I can--I know I can tweak some more speed out of it." The good news is that that was still faster than the Scabbard could cruise...and it looked like there was a bottleneck at the gate leading to Heretic's End, so I would have some more time to catch up as they all lined up to get through. That was another thing I could never figure out--gates big enough to fit a Mammoth through--maybe two if they squeezed, and TS's and M5's all lined up single-file to get through. Oh well. Another little oddity of the way things work...

I caught up with Iovis, and the wing soared through the gate, heading toward Heretic's End. When we got through to the other side, my jaw gaped. As the Scabbard angled toward its destination--a Terran Orbital Defense Station--I couldn't believe its raw size. The only comparison I could think of--was of an M5 to an M1. But I had no more time to think on that--my screen lit up with red contacts--Xenon. "Incoming AGI--it's a small attack group," Iovis said. Quite a bold tone for someone who seemed all but petrified of them earlier, I mused. But she was right...only a few N's and M's...which were quickly decimated by our wing. It was a 1 on 1 fight--and the Xenon, at least here, were sorely outclassed. After I shot down one N, I looked around for other fighters, but their wrecks were already drifting lifelessly amongst the space dust. Although it's hard to call them lifeless since they weren't really alive to begin with, being AI and all...

"Huh, I guess you boys weren't so bad afterall," Iovis cut into my thoughts again. This woman had a knack for that. "Come to think of it, we could use some pilots like you. AGI--that's Xenon to you I guess--have been attacking this sector recently. Any pilot with experience is welcome to join."

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't think any of our boys would be up for it," my wingleader replied, pretty accurately reflecting my thoughts. "No disrespect ma'am, but side-switching isn't in our character." Comms were cut, and just like that, everything was over. The wing headed back to Omicron Lyrae, and I was left sitting in Heretic's End. I commed Iovis to collect my payment for the mission, and then cut off a Lt. Samuel Plinter about some patrol in Neptune, another planet in the Sol system. Originally I was receptive to the idea of working with the Terrans, but given the chilly reception they gave us, and how they seemed to be rather dismissive of us, that idea had noticeably faded from my mind. So... "Log Entry: Date: 768-05-01. Time...erm...05:43. After the mission, I'm deciding to simply fly to Earth and see what it looks like, then head back. After Iovis looked us over and, apparently, didn't like what she saw, I'm starting to wonder what else Solano heard about the Terrans that she didn't tell me. I wonder why they're so stuck up? Aren't we supposed to be like brothers? I thought they'd be happier to see us reunited with them--welcome us with open arms." I closed the log and pondered that for a moment. I had heard of the exploits of Julian Brennan--he was one of the reasons I signed up to be a pilot in the first place--and I had just assumed that everybody was one big happy family again. It looked like there were many more shades of gray in between the black and white I originally saw the 'verse in...I decided to dock at the local trading station for the "evening"...sure it's not really evening in space, but what else do you call it? And I figured my thoughts would be clearer after some rest.
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Current property:
1xElite "Bladesong"
1xPirate Harrier
7,683C

[Sabrina Bergin]

Excellent start I look forward to your future posts.

[Jaycen_Aelis]

Hey all...sorry about the delay--with the Plugin Manager update I got temporarily locked out of TC--but I'm back and so will begin writing the next chapter ASAP

[Jaycen_Aelis]

Chapter 3: Alliances and Allegiances

“Pilot, awaken. Pilot! …Unholy creature… “Pilot!”

I gradually surfaced from the inky blackness of half-consciousness and was greeted by the sight of two Paranid staring me in the face. “Yeeagh!” I scrambled into a sitting position, reaching for my sidearm.

Apparently none of this even warranted the notice of the Paranid; one of them simply said, “You are awake. Now you must leave.”

I blinked in confusion. Was I still asleep? “Wait, what? I’m not going to leave, are you kidding? I paid for this room—besides, what business do you have ordering me around? You’re two Paranid on an Argon Trading Station in Terran space. How you even got on here is beyond me.”

“What is of greater interest to the superior Paranid is how a seemingly Argon pilot has a name belonging to that of the Split race,” said the second Paranid, breezing past my question as if it wasn’t even there. I was reminded of why I didn’t like these people, other than their eerie appearance.

“How did you--?” I began, then sighed. “It doesn’t matter. That’s really none of your business, anyway. What is it you want from me?”

“As was stated earlier, you must leave this station,” said the first Paranid. “You were able to discern part of the reason why yourself, despite your status as a—” he paused. “—Lesser life form?” I bristled. I was sure this Paranid was attempting his level best at being diplomatic, which was made all the more grating by how thin it was. Heedless, the Paranid continued. “The Terrans have claimed this sector as their own, now that our sectors have been joined with theirs. To keep from becoming excessively verbose, that means that anything non-Terran must be removed from this sector by the time their ships arrive. That will be in roughly—eight stazuras.”

I was becoming more confused by the minute. “Then why don’t you have to leave?” I asked.

The Paranid laughed, a very disconcerting sound—no wonder it was one that was rarely heard. “The original ownership of the sector was ours,” one said, as if speaking to a small child. I found myself bristling again. “And we and the Terrans have been quite—amicable in coming to an agreement on the matter. While several Paranid have indeed been granted right to remain here, others have not. Those others include you, pilot. It is time for you to depart this station.”

I sighed. “Look, you said the Terrans would be here in eight stazuras, right? I’m tired. I paid for this room, and you know what? I’m going to get some sleep. Come back in four, and then we’ll talk.” I expected the Paranid to be reasonable about the matter. I should have known better. A flat “No” was the only warning I had before four massive hands were forcibly lifting me out of my bed and carrying me out of the room. “Hey! What gives? Put me down! I said lemme go!” Finally I was put down—rather unceremoniously—near the entrance to the docking bay. My pack and EVA suit were similarly dumped.

“Suit up,” ordered the Paranid. I half-thought about blasting the both of them—but if this was really Terran-controlled space now, what would I get? Besides, I wasn’t sure if I could get them both—for people whose average height was over two meters, they moved fast. So, rather than argue, I wordlessly climbed into my EVA suit and grabbed my pack, heading for the docking bay. It wasn’t worth fighting over—but it wasn’t something I would lightly forget, either. As the inner airlock closed and depressurization began, I gave the Paranid a gesture that they couldn’t possibly understand, they way their ‘things’ worked, but it sure made me feel better.

Climbing into my cockpit, I undocked as quickly as I could, foregoing the automatic procedure. Sure it was a risky move, especially in an internal bay, but I was frustrated, and almost didn’t care about what happened. But then I remembered. “My Harrier!” My prize. That almost made this whole debacle worth it—I had two ships instead of one. Even if I just were to sell it—that was a good feeling. Then, I got another good feeling…I realized with a notifying “beep” that my log had been recording the whole time. Plugging it back into my ship, I made a cursory review of the audio. “Aha!” I backed up the audio and listened closer. I found what I was looking for. Names. By Gunne, Paranid had some of the craziest names—not even Teladi were as bad. Lots of tongue-twisting just to even approximate them. But I had them in my log. Isolating them, I put them into my computer and set it to notify me if it ever found them again. It wasn’t a perfect solution…but while the Paranid may have had the advantage on me in the trading station, out here in space, everybody was equal. Realizing my course of thoughts, I laughed ruefully. I idly wondered if I would have even been allowed to think this way when I was a military grunt. Now that I was, essentially, a merc, though...Anyway, now it was back to Omicron Lyrae to see what to do with my new ship. I certainly wasn’t going to the Sol system now, not if part of the Terran war machine was headed here, and they weren’t coming for “tea and crumpets,” as it were…

…Okay…where is it? Even in a nebula, that thing had a paintjob that would be visible half a sector away. I checked at the shipyard to see if it had docked—I didn’t think it had, being as damaged as it was, its top speed would have been even lower than my snail’s-pace Elite. And, as I expected, no dice there either. I commed the station…maybe they had at least seen it. I was surprised as I saw a familiar face pick up the comms on the other end.

“Commander Ohneam, sir!”

“Hello Daves. I see you returned in one piece; one must assume the diplomat has as well.”

“Yes sir, although Ms. Iovis was—somewhat abrasive,” I admitted, making a face.

“Oh?” Ohneam asked, although his question seemed more a simple space-filler than actual surprise at this admittance. “However, it begs the question why you have contacted me in the first place. As part of the new ITF, you are no longer required to officially debrief with a CO after a mission; of this you must be aware.”

I nodded. “Yes sir. I did want to let you know that Ms. Iovis was safely returned to Heretic’s End, however, that is not the entire reason for contacting the shipyard here. I was wondering, sir, if you had received notice of a Teladi-made Harrier docking at this facility.”

Darrell thought for a moment, then looked down and keyed a few commands into the computer. “I haven’t seen any Harriers, Teladi-made or otherwise, and the computer’s not showing any that have docked within the last tazura. Why do you ask, Daves?”

“Well, sir, during the escort, a small group of pirates jumped us, in scout ships. I fired upon one of them, and he bailed out of his craft. Due to my—increased freedom as a member of the ITF, I claimed this ship as my own and ordered the piloting computer to dock here at the shipyard.”

Hearing this, Darrell cringed. “You said this was a pirate Harrier?” I nodded. “So naturally it would have an altered coloration and possibly a hacked ID-chip?” I nodded again, then cursed under my breath. I realized where this was going.

“The sector patrols shot it up, didn’t they?” I asked, exhaling.

“I’m sorry, Daves,” Darrell said.

I shrugged. “Thankfully I hadn’t put anything valuable in there,” I replied with a chuckle. “Thanks for your help, sir.” After Darrell nodded, I closed the comm and cut my engines. I needed to think. Hell, I needed some rest. Too much had gone on in the past tazura and my brain was overloaded just trying to sort it all out. It wasn’t a trading station, but the accommodations at the shipyard would at least be passable while I tried to sleep. And this time there wouldn’t be any sharding Paranid trying to shake me down. So I punched a few keys into my computer and let the autopilot fly me in to the shipyard’s dock. I decided that after I disembarked, I would find the nearest bed I could and fall into it. I wasn’t even sure if I’d make it out of my EVA first…
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Current property:
1xElite "Bladesong"
7,683C

[Jaycen_Aelis]

Thanks everybody who's reading and watching! It makes me so happy to see that there's someone out there who actually is following along with what I do...

Chapter 4: Ex.P(oints)

I was still a little ticked at Ohneam for sending the sector patrols after my Harrier—I don’t know how I could have had it blaring its ID any louder than it was, but I couldn’t do anything about it now. I sat in the station’s café, eating lunch while letting my mind wander. Suddenly it hit me. I hadn’t named my Elite yet. Every good ship needs a name; what was mine going to be? For all the Terrans arrogance, they definitely knew how to name ships. Scimitar, Saber, Baldric…all very evocative of the roles they played. I liked the idea of naming a ship after a weapon—at least a fighter, because that was, after all, the role it played. But I just couldn’t seem to find anything that really fit. Sabrestrike? No, too close to the Terran ship class. What about Bladesong? That seemed to fit, especially given that there was something about my maneuvering jets—they seemed to whistle oddly during really hard maneuvers. I had had it checked when I docked here at the EQ, but the tech had said that there was nothing wrong with it, so she wasn’t going to worry about fixing it. So now, here I sat, wondering what my next move would be. I needed to make more money, so I could finish upgrading the Bladesong, but how?

“Heh, I’ve seen that look before,” said a voice to my left. I turned, and there was a grizzled old man sitting down at the table next to me, a datapad in his hand. “Let me guess; you’re just starting out—and have no idea what to do or where to go, right?” I nodded. “Well, I gotta say, you’re better equipped than when I started out—assuming that’s your Elite parked outside?”

I nodded again, a little confused as to how the man knew so much about someone he had seemingly just met. I asked him a question to that effect, and he replied, “You learn to pick up on things when you’ve been a pilot as long as me, kid. When I was your age, all I had to my name was a thousand credits and an old, beat-up Discoverer.”

It was then that I suddenly realized who the man was. It stunned me that it had escaped me before. Sitting before me was Akira Jon—one of the most famous Argon pilots short of Julian Brennan himself. He had amassed a powerful trading empire that spanned the whole X-Universe—but that was in a time of peace. He said as much.

“Now that the Terrans are back re-united with us—a lot of things have changed. With all the skirmishes, most of my factories are gone—destroyed in the firefights.” He shrugged. “The Paranid are at Argon’s throat about some dispute in Priest’s Pity—the Boron are trying to take back sectors from the Split, and the Terrans are obliterating anybody who gets past Heretic’s End.”

“And that’s not counting the Xenon and the Kha’ak that have been raiding everything they can find,” I replied.

Akira nodded. “The short of it is that there’s a profit to be made for those with an affinity for combat. And, like I said, you’re starting out much better equipped for that than I am. And not only that, but even your HUD makes life easier—there are popups on-screen when someone is offering you a mission; you won’t have to hunt through the BBS at every station just to find a cheap escort.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll see what I can find,” I replied. “Thank you for your advice.” Pushing myself to my feet, I nodded to Akira.

“Sure thing, kid,” he said.

I walked out of the café and down the hallways, heading back to my ship. Getting clearance from the stationmaster, I unclamped from the station and cruised out into space. Akira was right—wasn’t sure why I didn’t see it before, but about half-a-dozen ships and stations were sporting icons over their target boxes. After looking them over for a few minutes, I commed a Computer Plant that was offering a patrol mission. It wasn’t ideal—a patrol mission was only a small step above babysitting a transport—but at least I would be flying with other Argon pilots, and not any Terrans…

Got my briefing from the stationmaster and joined up with his flight wing. It was a small patrol, only three fighters, including myself, and we were only cruising from gate to gate around Omicron Lyrae, looking for any Xenon activity in the sector.

“Are we seriously looking for Xenon here in Omicron?” one pilot crackled in over my comms. His name was Van Hillenbrand.

The other pilot, Raychel Deneb, was quick to reply. “The only reason there isn’t any Xenon out here is because of patrols like us. Now form up! We’ll do a sweep from gate to gate, checking for Xenon or any other reds on the scopes, and light up anything we see. Hey, new guy, you think you can keep up? Sure you’re military, but that probably means you spent more time in the sims than in actual action.”

I rolled my eyes. “Wait and see, sweetness,” I shot back, rolling slowly over her fighter to slide into position in formation. “Bladesong, in position,” I commed smoothly when everyone was locked in.

“All right,” said Raychel. “Let’s move out.” As promised, we made a sector sweep across the three gates, finding stars, dust, and nebula…but no activity, until we got back to the Computer Plant—a fleet of Xenon N’s were nipping at it. I almost laughed—Xenon though they were, N’s didn’t have a chance of even breaking through the station’s shields.

“Watch and learn, smiley,” I fired over the comms as I rolled over, inverted, and sliced under the station between the ports after one of the N’s. As it whirled around for another pecking at the station, my PAC’s pulsed to life and it surprised me how quickly the N evaporated. Pushing the rudderjets to the stops, I knifed around and chewed into another N before it zipped past me. My Elite was fast, but not that fast, and I couldn’t turn with it. I had it in my sights, but then I heard the pattering of IRE fire, and the N exploded under Raychel’s guns. “Nice shot,” I said as I formed back up with Raychel and Van.

“Yeah, I guess you weren’t half-bad either, Wings,” Raychel admitted grudgingly. Laughing, I flew back to the station and commed the stationmaster.

“Good job, pilot,” he said, smiling. “Payment being transferred, now.” I checked my pilot’s status, and I found myself nearly 7,000 credits richer. Not bad, I thought. I’d have to check into more of these patrol missions, if they were going to be as lucrative as this.

Then I got my second surprise of the day. I realized, quite by accident, that my log, when interfaced with a ship, would function as a visual recorder as well as an audio one. “Now that’s something,” I mused. I supposed that it could be useful, adding more authenticity to a pilot’s record. I snapped a few shots of the stellar scenery, then stumbled across something interesting. Floating in amongst the debris of our recent altercation with the Xenon was an abandoned Discoverer. ‘There we go,’ I thought with a smile. Then I blinked. It had been a while since I made an “official” log entry—this seemed to be an appropriate time to do just that.

“Pilot’s Log: Date: 768-05-03. Time: 07:32. After some preliminary exploration, I’ve discovered that the ‘X-Universe’, as the gate system is colloquially called, is ripe for profit, for any spacer willing to make the investment. For better or for worse, the unrest the Terrans have caused amongst the races of the Commonwealth can translate into an advantage—it seems like every spacer; pilot or stationer has something to offer, and you only have to be the first one to accept their offer. Although I’ve discovered it’s more complicated than that—each mission is offered with an estimated “rating”…I’m not entirely sure how it’s calculated, but the rating corresponds to how difficult the person offering the mission thinks it will be. In Omicron Lyrae alone there were several missions, ranging from apprehending criminals to station-building. I didn’t have the resources to build a station, yet, and the mission chasing after—Imenckesslat, I believe his name was, hinted that he was in nothing smaller than an M6. So I had to politely decline that one. The pay was good, sure, but if I didn’t make it out of the mission alive, money wouldn’t mean much. So instead I opted to participate in a sector patrol mission of Omicron Lyrae. Two other pilots joined me on the mission offered by the stationmaster, and we swept from gate to gate, looking for any reds that lit up out scanners. The mission itself was uneventful, only turning up a small fleet of Xenon warships. After the mission I found an abandoned Discoverer floating amongst the wreckage—it looks to be fairly damaged, but my repair laser should be able to fix that.” I paused, briefly reflecting on the misnomer.

While the repair laser’s name was true to function, the common thought was that it acted much like an in-station welding beam. However, the Teladi, deceptive masters of innovation that they were, actually created the repair laser to be a nanomolecular hull regeneration tool. The laser emitted a stream of microscopic particles of Teladianium, which would then adhere to the ship’s hull, patching over the damage. In theory, this meant any damage on any ship that wasn’t completely through the hull could be repaired, but I had yet to hear a pilot repairing their M2 in their EVA suit.

Chuckling at that thought, I resumed my log. “I think that I’ll take the Discoverer back to the shipyard here and sell it. It has no shields; they must have been fried, and I don’t really have a need for a dedicated scout ship at the moment—nor do I have a pilot to fly it. However, the credits I get should be enough to upgrade the Bladesong.” I closed the log, then eased my ship over close to the Discoverer; I didn’t want to have to limp halfway across a sector in my EVA. Punching a few keys on the main panel, I dropped the second visor on my suit, the one that would shield me from solar radiation and other visual unpleasantness while out of my craft. Soon, I heard the mechanical voice: “Warning. Depressurization commencing.” With a hiss, the cockpit of my fighter opened, and I floated into the nebula and over to the derelict Discoverer. I beamed over a signal to the ship, and in moments, I heard; “Ship computer control transferred.”

I wasted no time in sending the Discoverer to dock at the shipyard, then climbed back into the Bladesong and followed it. I cleared both ships for clearance, then, when I had docked, I climbed out of my fighter and made a beeline for the trademaster. There was at least one on every station; they were the people you wanted to talk to if you had something you wanted to buy or sell. Thankfully, being a shipyard, the trademaster’s office wasn’t far off the main dock. It was busy, as shipyards usually are. “Take a number,” said the woman at the front desk. I did, and then sat down to wait. I peered down the hallway, and could just make out the office at the end of the hall. A smile curved my mouth as I saw that a Teladi was a trademaster. This could be very good for me, I thought. The Teladi loved to barter, and I was sure that this trademaster would be no different.

He wasn’t. He was unbreakably firm about the low price we eventually negotiated—although he was somewhat apologetic. For a Teladi, that’s about as good as you can ask. He mentioned something about my “race-rep.” He said that if that had been higher, things could have been different. I’ll have to look into that. Anyway, after becoming roughly 30,000 credits richer, I cruised over to the local equipment dock and spent the credits on kitting out my Elite. The Bladesong still wasn’t 100% upgraded, but it was a lot better than the bare-bones hull the Argon military gave me to start with.
_____________________________________________________________

Current Property:
1xElite "Bladesong"
957C

[Jaycen_Aelis]

Okay, so I'm a little ahead of this in my actual game, and I'm starting to build a fleet--so I'm going to need a crew But I'm new to this--so in addition to anyone who wants to join up, I'm asking for any people who can assist me in how to work with a "join-in" game...

[Sabrina Bergin]

Jaceyn:

Just a post to let you know I am reading.

[Triaxx2]

The best part of a join-in is that you don't have to create all the characters yourself. Mostly you take someones idea for a character and then weave them into your narrative. A good example is Scion Drakhar's from nothing. I gave him Ea't s'Quid and he took the idea and ran away with it, laughing like a mad man.

If you're lucky, you'll get creators who will also write journal entries or other bits for you to weave into your story.

[Jaycen_Aelis]

Thanks everybody for the replies, watches, and specifically Triaxx for adding my story to the DiD list and for giving me tips on everything This is just to let you know that no, I haven't died (in-game or otherwise ) I've just hit a bit of writers-block. I've got plenty of notes of my exploits--now's the trick of putting them into a coherent whole...which isn't as easy as it sounds, at least for me. So, hopefully soon I'll have something for you to read...but unfortunately I can make no promises, as I am also returning to my scholarly studies next week--I'm a graduate student, and as fellow students know, that tends to eat into your time. So, wish me luck! And keep checking back for updates!

[Zaitsev]

Luck
Also, good story. I'll be watching this one.

[Triaxx2]

You're welcome, for everything. Yeah, always kind of annoying. Both writers block and grad studentry.

[Khayul]

Looking good there
Going to think of a character while I sleep hehe

Okay, I've got one hehe:

Name: Olmankstrat
Race: (obviously) Paranid
Gender: Male

Characteristics: A joking Paranid, trying to grasp the concept of humor and sarcasm. He often tells quite unfunny jokes, yet sometimes get's some good ones across. For a Paranid he is quite "humble", meaning he doesn't see him self as much more superior than the other races.

Description: Sand like skin colour, is very tall, even for a Paranid and is a quite capable pilot, who almost always follows orders (as long as they make sense, in the even slightest way)

Favourite ship: Perseus (standard version)

Hope you can use him [/quote]

[Jaycen_Aelis]

Hey, Khayul, thanks for the message Dunno why I didn't see it until now, though. Unfortunately, He may have to wait until my next DiD...I got shot up entering Veil of Delusion...one of these came through and ruined my day. So, I'll finish up writing what I have with some of my own characters, but stay tuned for a new story starting--if all goes well of course.

[Khayul]

No problem, the character can wait

poor you though, sucks to have a brigantine in the face >.>
I recently started a test-DiD, just for the fun so that I could do something in the forum sometime, but nooo 2 hours into the game, I come into hatikvah's Faith and get BBQed

Good luck on the next one Can't wait hehe