ah, yes, the perfect recipe for part 2 of Friday's sordid tale of morally questionable wealth acquisition. another all nighter and more marijuanas. hope ya all enjoy.
there will, of course, be more.
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It was always when victory was so close, when you could reach out and touch the finish line- that's when problems arose. So, predictably, with the glowing purple hue of the jump point in sight, that's when every single alarm in Friday's ship went off at once.
Before Friday could even ask what was going on, Tom yelled out, “Luddic patrol spotted us.”
This was obviously not a good situation to be in. While both the Mudskipper and the Wolf had some light armaments, they were not prepared to take on a patrol of complete fanatics, armed to the teeth. Also, they were probably high on the cocaine that someone had just dropped off on Chalcedon. For all Friday knew, those were the exact acolytes he'd just sold the drugs to, looking to get their money back. After all, he was running dark and coming out of the thick debris field surrounding a long destroyed and abandoned station. There was no way for him to get spotted this fast. Probably.
This wasn't really the time to wonder how he got into the situation, however; instead, the more pressing issue was going to get out. Preferably in one piece, and not in an escape pod. He... he didn't have insurance on the ships.
Friday really regretted that decision right about now.
“Well, then let's go ahead and set the engines to e-burn and get the absolute hell out of-”
“They're within hailing range, they're sending a comms request. Do we accept?”
Friday thought about it for a second. “Why not. Go ahead.”
The bearded face that appeared on screen was not anything that Ganymede or anyone in his crew recognized. “I am Herald Captain Androsser. Non-believer, you have defiled our space. Moreover, we caught you sneaking around like a rat. By all rights, I should blast you and your two little ships right here and right now. However, I do not want to ruin my dinner with infidel blood. Pay a tithe of ten thousand shall let you pass out of here peacefully.”
What felt like a ten ton hammer hit Friday in the guts. Ten thousand credits was a lot of money. That was a whole new ship. That was a lot of drugs. That was a lot of supplies, fuel, crew... just a lot of money. That was Friday's money. He had worked hard to hustle it out of these fanatical morons. By no means was he about to give it back.
“Get ***! Block all incoming comms!” Friday stood out of his chair and shouted. The screen with the weathered face of the fanatic blinked out of his existence, his surprise frozen in Friday's mind as something he'll enjoy for the rest of his life. Hopefully that would be a long life. Hopefully no one in the crew was upset that Ganymede cared more about his profit margin than their lives.
No time to think about that. Deal with mutiny later. No one was smart enough to bring their own oxygen supply other than Friday, anyway. Simple soluti-
Friday shook his head. He got distracted too easy. “Ok, back to what I said! Set engines to e-burn, let's get OUT of here! Head straight to the warp point. Orin! Cecil!”
There was a small, bald man in front of a series of levers and blinking lights in the Wolf. For the transmission that carried over to the Mudskipper, there was a taller man with a disshelved mane of hair and beard. This was the Orin and Cecil that Friday referred to. They were brothers whom Friday had known for some time, and were well known mechanics in his hometown. He knew he could trust them when he could trust few other people, so he'd made sure to do what it took to get them to come with them. This moment was the pay off for all those hours spent begging them to come, offering them more and more of his meager startup cash until they finally agreed.
It was worth it.
Neither of them even responded verbally. Hands darted where they needed to go instantly. Almost before Ganymede finished his sentence, both ships lurched forward in bursts of extreme speed. He was almost thrown back into his captain's chair from standing, but Friday managed to steady himself. He quickly did take a seat and, much like the rest of his crews, buckled himself in for the ride. There was a ring around his neck, much like a necklace. He swiped his finger over a depression on it, and a nearly invisible field formed around his head. No one else in the crew noticed it, but in the event he was vented into space, this little object would keep Friday alive and floating until he could get pickup.
The good thing about a small fleet was speed. Friday probably could have purchased another ship or two in order to buffer out his chances of surviving direct combat in this situation, but first of all, Friday was not a fighter. Secondly, he wasn't sure how much a ship or two would make a difference in a fight against an experienced, well equipped military combatant. So he decided to stick with two ships. This too paid off. He thought he could almost hear the herald captain cursing to his crew as he left them in the dust.
In reality, that was one of his crew cursing. In fact, Friday was pretty sure that was Tom. Which meant that something looked pretty messed up. That meant nothing good.
“What! What's going on?”
“It's... it's *** burning towards us way too fast!”
“The *** are you talking- just put it on the bridge monitor, show me!”
A live feed blinked onto widescreen in center of the bridge of not behind the ship, as Friday had expected, but what looked to be starboard. There was very clearly one of the iconic bright red Dram tankers burning right towards his Mudskipper, No One Can Tell Me The Odds. It was also very clearly not on a refueling mission.
Internally, Friday was screaming. He had done everything right, everything the way you're supposed to do it! Why-
This was not the time.
“Tell them to keep on course in the Odds, it'll just follow them if they go off path until it rams them – and it makes it harder for us to hit it.”
Tom looked over at Friday. “What-”
“Orin, flip us around with the last of the e burn. Weapons team! Target the engines on that Dram and let our Reaper torpedo loose.”
Everyone hesitated. They weren't a military crew, they weren't trained to take orders without thinking. Friday read the room.
“Look, we don't have time! We have to try! Do it, please! Anyone has anything better, say it right this second! No? Good! Please, Orin, Tom!”
The clean cut man with glasses at the missile control station grimaced. He flipped a switch. “Torpedo primed and ready.”
Orin didn't say anything, as usual. Him and his brother were real silent types. It made Friday nervous sometimes. But, as usual, Orin didn't fail him. The ship began to turn.
Hopefully those critical seconds of hesitation weren't game changing. The dram tanker was much, much closer to the Odds.
“I have the shot!”
“T- this isn't a god damn movie Tom! *** take it!” Friday would have jumped out of his seat, but he was strapped in still. The straps cut into his throat, choking out his last words like a dog at the end of its leash.
The silvery tube streaked into view on the live feed. It moved far faster than either the tanker or the Mudskipper. Either the Luddic marauders on board didn't notice the torpedo, they noticed it too late, or the most scary thought- they simply didn't care. For one reason or another, the ship didn't budge from it's path to try and avoid the torpedo.
In a brilliant explosion, the objects collided. Bits of engine floated through space behind the tanker. Despite their best efforts to stop the tanker, inertia carried it forward at a more than dangerous speed. It spun through space towards No One Can Tell Me The Odds. They were going to collide. There was no way to stop it.
“Tranverse jump! No questions! Do it! Both ships!”
The ships both thrummed with energy as they charged up their trump card, one of the most illegal engine modifications in the civilized sector. It was Ganymede's last resort, period. He did not want anyone to know he had it. It would simply make his life more difficult. But, so would a heap of dead crew members. Screw it.
The last thing he saw before his ship blinked across the void was the collision of the two ships. He closed his eyes. A deep feeling of failure washed over him.
Outside of Kumari Kandom, the ships blinked back into existence. Everyone on bridge had already removed themselves quickly from their straps. They had gathered around the front of the bridge's main monitor, around Ganymede and his captain's chair. Many shot furtive glances at him.
“All cameras on No One Can Tell me The Odds, Tom.”
What they saw was not good.
No One Can Tell Me the Odds had almost made it. You could see it in the way that the gash ran all the way from its belly to the engine. It was eerie, to see it so empty. The crew that were vented must have been left before the transverse jump.
The crew murmured. Some were a little louder than a murder.
“Holy ***!”
“Friday, what the *** man! What the ***!”
“Do we know who made it?”
And so forth. Really, there weren't many people murmuring. Most of the crew was pretty upset.
Friday didn't let the mood sit. “Can we re-establish comms yet? Why are you not at your stations?”
The masses biting at him stopped. A few looked at each other. They shuffled back to their stations rather quickly.
“Comms re-established.”
Friday nodded. He spoke out loud. “Hey, Cecil? Celeste? Marion? Who's still there?”
Silence.
No one expected that. Friday didn't either. He shifted nervously in his seat.
“...Is anyone left?”
There was still no response.
Friday sat there for a minute. He felt everyone's eyes on him. So far, he had been quick. No hesitation. Even when, inside, he was screaming. This, this was a little much though. He had known some of those people his whole life. Cecil. He'd grown up with Cecil.
He looked over at Orin. He'd never seen that look on Orin's face before and Friday immediately didn't like it.
“Orin, I... I'm so sorr-”
For once, Orin spoke. He interrupted. “Friday... I hope my brother's life was worth your ten thousand credits.”
Friday almost met Orin's eyes, but couldn't. He looked to the floor.
Just when it almost became unbearable for the room, he looked at the rest of the crew. His voice came out a little hoarsely. He didn't mean for it to. He felt hot, though. So very hot.
“Send out a salvage crew to find what's usable... Then, we'll head to Sindria's home system, like we planned. No. I'll pick out the salvage team. Everyone, take some rest, I'll come to a few of you to help me with this.”
Everyone immediately shuffled out of the bridge. Except for Orin. Friday made sure he wasn't left alone with Orin. He immediately headed for his cabin.
Once inside, he shut the door. He thought for a second about those he lost. The price they paid. Friday stared at the hundreds of thousands of credits in his bank account. He smirked.
They would be the first soldiers that died for his empire.