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« on: January 05, 2025, 08:26:28 PM »
Donil's mask chafed.
He knew better than to take it off, though. The atmosphere on Nomios was breathable, technically. But he had no desire to spend a week doing lung rehab from all the ammonia he'd take in trying to get a full breath in the thin, horrid atmosphere.
Most of it would just clump down in the form of the caustic snow that could be easily cleaned off his suit later.
Most of it.
Best to keep the mask on.
Up ahead, his display registered body heat. That was intentional. He tramped over to the hab entrance, an old Mark VII bunker which had been repurposed as a lab.
"Donil," the voice purred synthetically.
"I'm here, Gaz." Donil relaxed.
Donil didn't know how old Gaz was, but he did know that the old lady was half machine or more by now, and rumor had it that she had a beta core installed somewhere in her spine for the express purpose of assisting with constant cellular repair. Mbaye-Gogol may or may not have survived the Collapse...but Donil was certain in his bones that old Gaz had.
"I have it for you. Your credit was as good as you assured."
Donil nodded. If it hadn't been, there was a good chance that the ubiquitous defense turrets of Nomios would be pointed at his shuttle by now.
Gaz continued. "When I am hearing you want to refurbish a ship, I am thinking, how did Donil get his hands on something worth that kind of money? But then, it is not every day a man stumbles onto two gamma cores."
Donil frowned. "That should be enough and then some."
Gaz purred, the servos replacing her left hand, whining reluctantly in the cold, while they tramped into the restoration area.
It was beautiful.
"Fuel capacity is cut in half. Storage capacity quadrupled. Drive augmented and insulated. Crew requirements cut by three-fifths. Can be flown by one, so long as you dare to keep weapons inert. Worth much, Donil."
More than that, the dull orange paint of the Dram's hull, the color that was never, ever repainted, screaming the universal warning, AM FUEL, if you're going to blast me, do it from several units away, or die with me, was gone. In its place was a simple dull black.
"It's not really a tanker any more, you know." Donil smiled.
Gaz nodded. "No augment on sensors. You'll need that, you know."
Donil knew. "We've already lost the Harpoon and one of the vulcans."
"Vulcan 2 shifted to point conspiculously to the rear, covering your hatchway?" Gaz mused. "Not subtle, Donil."
"That's the point, Gaz," Donil smiled, running his hand over the like-new ship's hull. "I've got a lot of desperate people to feed. They need to know I'm a friend, not prey."
Gaz nodded absent-mindedly. She didn't mind the atmosphere inside the facility. "I keep this design on hand. A pity it cannot be made into blueprint."
Donil waved his hands in the universal "shrugging" gesture every spacer knew. "Most people would rather have a Hound."
"I offered you a Hound," Gaz countered.
"I know," Donil placated. "But you see why now. This carries five times the fuel and about as much cargo."
"At the cost of a one-third speed reduction for emergency maneuvers," Gaz countered.
"Well," Donil replied. "An gram of careful beats a kilo of belt-fed."
Gaz ignored Donil's precious folk wisdom. "I still need to program your transponder. What will your ISS be?"
Donil smiled. "ISS Still Decivilized."